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Show Twisters . . . 91 After that Stacey and I went back to our "cell," as I was starting to think of it. We sat on the floor while she finished her drink. "What does it mean when the pressure dies down like that?" I asked. "I don't know. I guess it means we're in trouble. "I mean . . . even more trouble." There was plenty of water outside: it was raining again. Mixed with hail, it tapped sharply against the window, pelted the roof over our heads. I got nervous just listening to it. What was to keep those tornadoes from coming back and flattening the Public Safety Center the way they'd flattened our houses and all those big buildings on South Locust? "I'll never be able to sleep," I told Stacey. "Me neither." But she stood up just the same. "Come on, we gotta try." She sat down on the cot next to Arthur to take off her shoes, so I stretched out across the end* . We lay there in the half-dark, facing each other, hardly a foot between us. Having her there made me feel much better, I have to admit. I figured I could spend a whole lifetime lying that way next to Stacey and not be unhappy about it. "My face is really a mess, huh?" she whispered. I shook my head against the plastic. Even black and blue, she looked terrific to me. I asked, "Does it hurt?" "Not if I lie on this side." We closed our eyes. When I opened mine again, she was looking at me. "Don't be worried, Danny." "I can't help it." "You know something? Mama quotes scripture when she gets upset. |
