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      The Passing Storm

      Emily Rennie

      Copyright © 2012 Emily Rennie

      No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior consent of the publisher.

      Cover designed by Sublime Designs Media LLC.

      The Publisher makes no representations or warranties with respect to the accuracy or completeness of the contents of this book and specifically disclaim any implied warranties of merchantability or fitness for a particular purpose. Neither the publisher nor author shall be liable for any loss of profit or any commercial damages.

      2012-05-25

      Dedication

      For my grandmothers

      Acknowledgments

      Thank you Jay and Mom for your reviews and moral support. Thanks Liz Irwin for your editing help. Thank you Megan Lynch of Sublime Designs Media for your gracious work on the cover. And thank you to all the family and friends who have been so excited for me to publish a book.

      Grandma’s House

       The wind pounded against me with the force of a giant ocean wave. Each step was an enormous effort, and I struggled against it as if walking through a hurricane. My heart beat wildly as I tried to figure out where I was. I held one hand in front of my face to shield my eyes from the wind, and with the other tried to feel my way through the darkness. Suddenly a shape loomed before me, first shadowed in darkness, then growing brighter as it bobbed closer. My stomach lurched with anticipation when I realized it was a face. I peered hard into the inky night, trying to see who it was, but I couldn’t make out any features. The face floated in front of me like a low, pale moon rolling out of its orbit. I shrank back in fear and turned to run, but I felt as if I was running in molasses. He was behind me, coming after me. He called to me, his voice full of anger and sadness. He was unknown to me, yet strangely familiar. I turned around, expecting him to be right behind me. But there was no one. No one but the moaning, furious wind.

      

      I jerked awake, gasping sharply in surprise. The white light coming through the tiny airplane window hurt my eyes, a stark contrast to the darkness of my bad dream. Next to me, Gabby looked up from her seat-back tray where she was dressing and accessorizing her dolls.

      “It’s okay, Anna,” she consoled in a grown-up voice. “You had a bad dream. But we’re still safe here on the plane heading to Grandma’s house.” She stood one of her dolls on my arm.

      “Anna,” she said, disguising her voice to speak as the doll, “do you have any more gummy bears, because Gabby would really like some.”

      I took a deep breath and tried to shake off the feeling of dread that lingered from the dream. I reached down under the seat in front of me and pulled the bag of candy out of my backpack.

      “Hold out your hand and I’ll give you some,” I instructed.

      “Can’t I just have the rest?” Gabby whined, returning to her own voice.

      “No, you’ll get too hyper and won’t sit still,” I replied, shaking a little pile of bears into Gabby’s outstretched hand and popping a few into my own mouth. I gazed past Gabby out the window and wished we would land soon. The earth below was brown and empty, crisscrossed here and there with intersecting lines of roads and zigzagging rivers. Crop fields looked like odd-shaped pancakes in the middle of a giant flat griddle. I wondered who lived down there; who drove on those straight, lonely roads that stretched on and on into the horizon.

      “Anna, are we over Texas yet?” Gabby asked, leaning forward to look out the window, blocking my view.

      “Probably, but geez, quit hogging the window,” I replied. Gabby and I were spending a month with Grandma in Crisper, Texas, our mom’s hometown. Mom thought we were old enough to make the trip from California alone, and it gave her and our stepfather Alex a chance to do some major renovations on our house, and also have some time alone since they never really had a honeymoon.

      “Anna, when we get to Texas, will everyone sound like Grandma?”

      I was getting tired of Gabby’s questions, but I knew there was no stopping her. I couldn’t wait to get to Grandma’s, because I knew Grandma wouldn’t get tired of Gabby’s questions. At least she would never show it like I did. “What do you mean?”

      “Will they say ‘How y’all do-in’?” Gabby drawled, imitating Grandma’s slow Texas accent.

      “Yeah, a lot of them probably will,” I answered.

      “Will we see Uncle Gil?” Gabby dropped her voice to a whisper.

      “Probably not,” I replied, and added sternly, “And don’t ask Grandma about him either. You know it’s not polite.”

      Gabby turned back to the window, twisting a lock of her curly, dark blonde hair. I started to remember the last time I’d seen Grandma’s brother, the mysterious Uncle Gil, but my thoughts were interrupted by a bump in the leg from the passing drink cart.

      I pulled my book out of the seat pocket in front of me. As I did, I caught a glimpse of a dark-haired, older gentleman several rows ahead of me. It jogged the memory of the dream I’d had, and the horrible fear of being chased by a crazy man came rushing back to me. I remembered the ghostly face and shivered as a feeling of apprehension washed over me. I turned back to my book to get my mind off it and waited to land.

      “Grandma!” Gabby spotted her before I did and ran ahead, breaking the grip of the flight attendant who had led us off the plane, and struggling to hold the straps of her pink backpack bouncing wildly behind her. I saw Grandma then, and smiled. I felt too old to run, though. There was a big difference between being six and being twelve.

      “Gabrielle! Anna!” Grandma said happily as we reached her. She let go of Gabby’s embrace with one arm and extended it toward me. I hugged Grandma tight and inhaled her warm, familiar scent—a mixture of the countless number of face creams, lotions, perfumes, and soaps that covered her bathroom counter. Grandma seemed smaller than I remembered. I felt as if I could get more of my arms around her this time. It was probably because I’d grown since she’d visited us last Christmas, and I was pretty tall for my age. Grandma’s face and hair though, were just the same. Her skin was soft and smooth, and her signature bright red lipstick stood out against her pale face and cornflower blue eyes. Her hair—once a deep, vibrant red—was grey and highlighted by white around her temple.

      “Oh, Anna,” Grandma said, “I can’t believe how tall you’re getting!” I smiled awkwardly. I still hadn’t gotten used to being so tall. I’d already passed most of the boys in my class, and was embarrassed when people pointed it out. Mom told me I’d get used to it and would start to appreciate it soon.

      Grandma touched my hair lightly. “You look more like her every time I see you.”

      “Like who, Grandma?”

      “My sister, Ginny,” she said softly, smiling.

      “Oh,” I said, unsure what to say. I knew that her sister Ginny had died when she was quite young, although Grandma seldom mentioned her and never seemed to want to talk about her. We only knew about her from what Mom told us, and from old family photographs.

      “Well, girls,” Grandma said, gently breaking free from our hugs and standing up. “Let me give this young man the paper to claim you so we can head home.” Grandma handed a slip of paper to the flight attendant standing next to her.

      “Okay, Anna and Gabrielle Olsen, meeting Nora McCarthy. Looks good, Mrs. McCarthy,” he smiled, looking up from the paperwork. “I can tell these girls certainly are glad to see their grandmother.”

      “And their grandma is even

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