Chaos at Coconuts Page 9

  “Dad?”

  Chapter 27

  Alex turned toward her computer as a long siren wailed. She bristled. Shit. That sounds like a tornado siren. After glancing at the dark, murky sky, she crossed the lobby to her boss’s office.

  Nervous customers stood in the teller line or in loan officers’ offices. Alex didn’t see the bank president and walked to Stu’s office. “Think we should steer everyone into the vault?”

  The security officer glanced at his phone. “I’ve been watching the weather. According to the radar, it looks like the storm is far north of us. I don’t think we’re in the path.”

  Alex shivered and rubbed her arms. “Thank goodness.” She stepped back across the lobby, then stopped. Hope’s on the north side of town. Oh, God. I hope she’s okay.

  Back inside her office, Alex tried to concentrate on work and opened a file for radio scripts. It had been a while since she had bought airtime on a radio station, so she decided to write several 30-second spots featuring the upcoming grand opening of their fourth location. She snuck a peek back out the window. The sky was a dark, ominous gray. Lightning zigzagged, thunder boomed, and heavy rain pelted the windows. The wind picked up and tree branches swayed. Soon hail pinged against the windows and off the tops of cars. Then it was quiet. Just like that.

  After several tense minutes, an all-clear alert sounded. Alex relaxed her shoulders and blew out her breath. I’ve got to focus on planning. I can’t let Hannah—nor a storm—break my concentration. She glanced back outside. I hope my friend is okay. I’ll text Hope later.

  Alex immersed herself in writing scripts. After she wrote three drafts of 30-second commercials, she dug in her drawer for her stop watch. She needed to time them. One script featured her boss as the narrator. She knew he loved that role. Yet another focused on the lenders who would eventually be located at the fourth branch, and her third idea was to showcase customers—sort of testimonials—telling why they enjoy banking at Show-Me Bank. The last idea was her favorite and she hoped the marketing committee agreed.

  For once, Hannah wasn’t mouthy and appeared to be concentrating. Alex glanced over her shoulder to see her computer screen. Her intern was viewing promotional sites. She actually listened to me. They worked in silence except when Alex asked Hannah about her progress on the annual report. Hannah replied with a grunt and Alex let it go. She hated the damn things too.

  Two hours passed as Alex finalized the copy. Hannah apparently got bored, walked in and out, and then chatted on the phone. Maybe just maybe I should put Hannah in charge of the ground breaking and eventual grand opening of our newest bank. That’ll get her out of my hair for a long time. Alex smiled to herself as she typed up an email detailing a million planning items for Hannah to consider.

  After she hit send, she texted Hope: I heard about the tornado on your side of town. Are you okay? ~A

  Alex waited all of ten minutes for a response. She stared at her phone, added Suzy to the group text, and typed: Hope, let us know whether you’re okay. ~A

  Another fifteen minutes passed without a word from Hope. Alex broke out in a full-body sweat and texted: Dammit, Hope. Are you okay? Meet us at Coconuts tonight at six if you can. Love you.

  Her phone pinged several times. Alex jumped each time. But each notification was Suzy badgering Hope with many of the same questions. Again, there was no answer from their friend.

  Chapter 28

  The frail janitor’s eyes were blank with recognition but filled with concern. “Are you okay, Miss . . .?”

  Willow chimed in. “Oh, dear. She must have a concussion. What next? First a tornado and now this.”

  Hope’s mouth flew open as she simultaneously rubbed her sore head and gawked at the man. His face was drawn, indicating a hard life. When his sad, compassionate eyes locked on hers, she fainted again.

  ~ ~ ~

  A few minutes later, Hope came to as Britney nudged her shoulder. “Miss Truman. Miss Truman, are you okay? Oh, my God. You were knocked out by a tree limb. You sort of came to, then you blacked out.” Britney crouched beside her counselor and reached for her arm. “Take it easy. Let me help you up.”

  Hope’s hands trembled and her head hurt. “I must be hallucinating. Pinch me, Britney.”

  Britney leaned in close. “That tree hit you hard. Should I get the school nurse?”

  Hope rubbed the growing walnut-sized knot on her head but was much more interested in the janitor, or had that been a vision? She glanced from her student to Willow to the scraggly haired, sixty-plus-year-old man. Nope. He was still there. No one but Hope had any inkling how profound this moment was. Sadly, apparently neither did her dad.

  Her mind raced. Where are Suzy and Alex when I need them? How is it possible that this man is either my father who was killed in a train accident or his secret, twin brother who I never knew existed? Which is it? Maybe I’m going crazy.

  With Britney’s help, Hope sat up and leaned against the wall. She shook her head, as if to clear her murky thoughts. The janitor stood nearby, his creased forehead even more wrinkled as he studied her with grave concern. But nothing else. There was seemingly no recognition on his end.

  With Britney on one side of Hope and Willow on the other, she scrambled to her feet but got woozy and nearly fell back down. “Whoa.”

  Willow steadied Hope. “Maybe you should stay seated.”

  Hope shook her head. “I want to stand for this-this whatever this moment is.” She noticed Willow and Britney exchanged glances as she grabbed the wall for balance. Hope never took her eyes off the man whose familiar, lined face haunted her. She feared he’d evaporate like an apparition.

  The janitor gave her a half-smile. “Feelin’ better? Your color’s comin’ back.”

  Hope’s voice quivered as they locked eyes. “Don’t you remember me?”

  His kind eyes studied her face. “No, Ma’am. Don’t believe we’ve ever met.”

  Britney perked up. “This is the new janitor I told you about, Miss Truman. He’s a hippie. Isn’t that cool?”

  Hope knew all too well about hippies. Her parents had never grown out of the hippie phase complete with peace signs, tie-dye, mood rings, macramé plant holders, and a decal-covered VW Microbus. That was before the unspeakable train accident. They were dead. The tragic event had altered her life forever. Hope shivered from nerves and shock as she peered into the man’s blank, bloodshot eyes.

  What’s happening? I attended my parents’ funeral. This man’s funeral. Everyone had been there. But now he’s here. In the flesh. Right?

  Chapter 29

  Rain pelted her grandmother’s tile roof. Cheri lit candles as lights flickered and thunder boomed. I hope I don’t lose power. Lightning lit up the dark sky. She peeked outside and observed the rain bouncing off Crystal Lake.

  A drenched fisherman pulled a small bass boat to shore and carried a medium-sized cooler over his head, obviously trying to keep the one dry thread of his clothes from getting wet. For a moment, she considered calling out to him so he could come inside but all of her security training as a Van Buren wouldn’t allow it.

  She had never been a fan of storms and paced, wishing her grandmother had built a basement. She made a pot of hot chamomile tea to calm her nerves and was drawn to her computer to get her mind off the storm.

  Opening her favorite online dating site, she studied a new member. Spencer intrigued her, to say the least. She read his profile and sent a thumbs-up. He immediately sent an instant message and asked her to meet. That was fast. She wasn’t about to meet a stranger on his turf, so she suggested coffee at Starbucks later that afternoon if the storm cleared.

  Since he responded so quickly, it unnerved Cheri. He was far too eager. Never mind that she was too, but that was somehow different. After sending Spencer a quick message saying she had to cancel, she
turned her computer off, and watched her favorite Food Network show, Chopped. Someday, her dream was to appear on that show—or any show—on The Food Network. For now, I need to concentrate on grandma’s estate and Fifth Avenue Catering. She ran her fingers through her hair. New friends would be nice too.

  Lightning cracked again. Unnerved, she checked the weather radar app on her phone and considered calling Gage but didn’t want him to get out in the bad storm. After squinting and deciphering the squiggly, brightly colored lines, Cheri determined the storm was far north of Branson near Crystal City.

  At least it was miles away. Still she was fearful and alone. Cheri decided to get a glass of wine. Day drinking. So be it. Her mother certainly never had a problem with it.

  As if on cue, her mother called. “How are you?”

  “I’m not sure I should be on the phone. There’s a bad storm out. Really bad.”

  Her mother’s voice rose a notch. “Oh, dear. What kind of storm?”

  “It started out as a bad thunderstorm and high winds but I just turned on Ozarks5.” She gulped. “There’s a tornado in the area.”

  “Oh, my God, darling,” Victoria said. “What will you do? Call Gage. He’s hired to protect you.”

  Cheri smiled into the phone at her mother’s concern. It felt good. “Thanks, but I’ll be okay. I don’t want Gage to get out in the storm. The meteorologist said to go to a small room in the middle of the house, so I’ll get in the bathroom soon.”

  She opened the draperies and peered outside. The dark skies, thunder, and choppy water scared her, so she closed the window treatments.

  Her mother talked faster than usual. “Are you sure? I can call Gage right now. I’m scrolling for his number as we speak.”

  “Mom, I’m not a little girl. I can handle this but thanks. I’m already gathering what I need while we’re talking. The weather guy said to have a flashlight, a bottle of water, and a device to watch the news.” She threw her car keys in her purse and heaved it onto her shoulder and tucked her iPad under her arm as she rushed down the hallway. “I’m in the bathroom now. I’ll be careful.”

  “Please call or text when the storm is over.” Victoria actually sounded concerned. “We love you.”

  Cheri wanted to hug the phone. “I will. Tell Daddy hi. Love you too.”

  Chapter 30

  Still dizzy and confused, Hope sat back down. Even though the tornado was over, the room spun as she faded in and out. After being plied with water, coffee, and a frozen bag of peas for the growing knot on her head, she assured everyone she was okay. At this point, she wasn’t sure what she saw and wanted clarification.

  Rubbing the back of her head, she reached for Willow’s hand. “Sit with me.” Hope stared up at her friend as Willow’s dreadlocks hung near her face. “Tell me what happened.”

  Willow patted Hope’s hand. “Remember the tornado drill when we were in the teachers’ lounge earlier? You and I rounded up students in the hallways and school cafeteria since the basement was already full. Remember any of that?”

  “Yeah.” Hope touched the growing bump on her head. “Ow, that hurts.”

  “You should see the school nurse,” Willow said.

  “Maybe later. Are the kids okay?”

  Willow nodded. “Yes, Dr. Holmes and several teachers walked the halls. She gave the all clear and several students have already contacted their parents or boarded buses to go home. School has been called off for the rest of the day. I stayed behind with you.”

  “What hit me? I think Britney said it was a tree limb.”

  Willow shrugged. “I was herding kids over there.” She pointed with her head. “I didn’t see exactly what hit you but my guess is it was the huge tree limb that catapulted through the window. Whatever it was, it knocked you out cold for a couple of minutes. You scared us to death.”

  “I remember the school janitor was about to give me CPR. I remember his face,” Hope said.

  Willow grinned. “Yup. He sprang into action as if he were a paramedic or something. He knew exactly what to do. I’m so proud of him.”

  “Providing CPR certainly isn’t in his job description.” Hope’s mind swirled. He’s a dead ringer for my father but Willow will think I’m crazy if I tell her. “What’s the janitor’s first name?”

  “That’s the weird thing. He said he has bad long-term memory. He asked me to call him ‘Mac.’”

  “Mac,” Hope repeated.

  Willow nodded. “Yep.”

  Hope couldn’t process both the tornado and her potential now-living father. She decided to focus on the tornado. “I want to see the aftermath.” She shakily stood and grabbed the wall as she held frozen peas someone had provided against her throbbing head.

  After she regained her balance, Hope glanced around the cafeteria. Several tables and chairs were overturned and students’ paperwork was scattered like fall leaves. Willow steered her down the hall to observe the mess. Shards of glass were strewn across the floor in the hallways, cafeteria, and several classrooms. A few downed tree limbs had made their way through the arched window above the front, double doors and a trophy case had fallen victim. Gold basketball and football trophies and plaques were broken and scattered along the floor.

  As they rounded the corner, the janitor moved his cart near some debris and began sweeping. Hope stared dumbfounded at the man before her. He was a dead ringer—no pun intended—for her dead father. She studied the janitor. His skin was weathered, his forehead more wrinkled, and his eyes were lackluster. He sported a large anchor tattoo on his left forearm. Dad didn’t have that tattoo. Maybe he does have a twin.

  As she stared at the man, a few of the long-suppressed memories came flooding back. Hope recalled being surrounded by police officers at Hilltop. Suzy and Alex came to her aide. She had been too distraught to ask many details about the accident and had relied on her best friends to handle everything. It had always bothered her that her parents’ bodies were never found. For weeks afterward, the authorities had assured her that the dilapidated van had been sheared in half by the train. They said no one could have survived. Hope had not been in any state to question them. She recollected a witness mentioned blaring music and had observed Montana, her mother, outside the vehicle dancing in the street, most likely stoned. Her dad had been behind the wheel. Hope had always taken comfort in assuming the drugs she had always chastised them for had likely been soothing anesthetics in the end. Could the train have missed him? Maybe he was thrown into a tree? I feel like I’m in a soap opera.

  As Hope gawked, the janitor stepped toward her and patted her shoulder. “Glad you’re better, Miss. You hit your head pretty hard.”

  Hope bobbed her head while still holding the peas. She wanted to ask questions but the words wouldn’t come.

  The janitor smiled at Willow, poised his broom, and said, “I’ve got to get to work ‘n sweep up the glass. I love these kids. I don’t want nobody to get hurt.” He walked away and began sweeping.

  This isn’t possible.

  Hope studied the custodian who simply swept the broken glass with seemingly no recognition of her. He was thinner than she remembered but still had the same long, stringy hair. He was the only father she had known most of her life. She could barely wrap her head around this moment and she was a counselor. But she was convinced this Mac guy was Larry—and Larry was Mac—the father who had raised her.

  At the same time, she was saddened that Montana, her adopted mother, obviously hadn’t survived. Larry’s amnesia wouldn’t help solve the mystery. She wondered if he remembered anything—the impact or the crushing ordeal. Hope surmised that he was thrown into the nearby wooded area, was wounded, and unable to call for help. Her parents could barely afford food and beer, let alone a cell phone.

  Hope’s imagination ran wild. Maybe a truck driver picked him up.
Maybe he had his usual stash of pot in his pocket and exchanged that for a ride. No one will ever know unless his memory returns. For now, she was glad he was back and working at her school. What a coincidence for him to return to town and to Hilltop High. Something told her that part of his memory was intact. They just had to tap into it. Otherwise, this was too much of a happenstance. This was not the time to question him, though. The tornado aftermath, students’ safety, securing the school, and checking on neighbors were their priorities. This implausible whatever-it-was would have to wait.

  Chapter 31

  Britney interrupted her thoughts. “Miss Truman, I’m afraid.”

  Hope placed her hands on the student’s shoulders. “Let your mom know you’re okay. Then Dr. Holmes said everyone should go home for the day.”

  Britney nodded. “I already texted Mom. She knows I’m okay. I’d rather stay here with you.”

  Hope’s eyes filled with tears. “It’s over, hon. Tornadoes are scary. We were lucky. They come in fast and leave just as fast.”

  Britney linked her arm through Hope’s.

  “Do you want to walk through the school with me?”

  Britney bobbed her head. Hope noticed her student’s acne was clearing up. “Yes, Miss Truman. I wanna stay with you.”