purple teddy bear by shooting three baskets in a row at a basketball stand, and she proved to be remarkably skilled at Skee-ball. By the time they finished their Sloppy Joes, potato chips and blueberry pie at the Methodist Church tent, he wanted nothing more than to be alone with her somewhere.
The breeze had picked up by then, and he remembered the storm that was coming in over the lake. "We should go," he told her.
She nodded, and he realized for the first time that she looked utterly exhausted.
"Can you make it back to the car?" he asked.
"I'm not that fragile. I'm fine."
She leaned heavily on him as they returned to the Expedition. He helped her into her seat and cursed himself mentally for not noticing her fatigue earlier. He still didn't fully understand exactly what had happed to her or why she tired so easily, but he felt like a selfish pig for allowing her to get so exhausted while he played stupid carnival games.
"You're mad," she said quietly, when he had started the vehicle. "I'm sorry." Thunder rumbled off in the distance.
"Why didn't you tell me you were getting so tired?" he demanded.
"I – I didn't want to be a bother."
He put the SUV into gear and maneuvered through the grassy field that had been turned into a parking lot for Fair Week. A few fat raindrops splashed on the windshield.
"I hate being like this." Her voice was so quiet that he almost missed her words.
"Like what?" It was raining in earnest now. He switched the windshield wipers on high and eased the vehicle out onto the road.
"This. Tired. Weak. I'm not used to being such a wimp."
"You're hardly a wimp, Tara. You've been through a lot."
She didn't answer. He risked a quick glance over at her and then focused his attention back on driving.
It was a true Michigan thunderstorm, sudden and violent. And powerful. Ethan felt the force of the wind blasting against the Expedition and gripped the wheel more firmly as a near-blinding flash of lightning streaked across the sky.
"Do-do you think people are okay at the fairground?" she asked softly.
"I'm sure they all went inside the barns and buildings," he assured her. He didn't tell her that the people at the fairgrounds were quite possibly safer than the two of them were at the moment. The windshield wipers were barely keeping up with the pounding rain; he turned on the headlights and tried to peer through the darkness to make sure he was still on the road.
Should have left earlier, Davis , he told himself. He'd grown up right here on the Lakeshore, and he should have known just how quickly these storms blew up. This one was bad . It was not supposed to be pitch-dark at seven o'clock at night in August. The streetlights should have come on, triggered by the sudden darkness, but their absence made him wonder if the power had been knocked out along this road.
Tara made a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a whimper.
"You okay?" he asked, through clenched teeth.
"Fine." Her voice was too high, too breathless.
She was terrified.
Lightning flashed again.
He heard her shriek just as he saw the tree limb falling in front of him. Cursing, he slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel to the left. The Expedition skidded on the wet pavement, and Tara cried out again as they finally came to a stop, mere inches from the huge chunk of maple tree that now blocked the road.
Ethan took a deep breath and forced himself to release his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. They were okay. Not a scratch or a dent, nothing to worry about. They were—
"Get me out !"
Tara was not okay. She was frantically grasping at her seatbelt, sobbing and muttering incoherently. He tried to pull her close and comfort her, but she was beyond hearing him. She batted his hands away and found the seatbelt release. Free of it at last, she wrenched open her door and leaped from the vehicle.
What the hell?
"Get back in the car!" he bellowed. It was no use. She was running down the road, rapidly
The breeze had picked up by then, and he remembered the storm that was coming in over the lake. "We should go," he told her.
She nodded, and he realized for the first time that she looked utterly exhausted.
"Can you make it back to the car?" he asked.
"I'm not that fragile. I'm fine."
She leaned heavily on him as they returned to the Expedition. He helped her into her seat and cursed himself mentally for not noticing her fatigue earlier. He still didn't fully understand exactly what had happed to her or why she tired so easily, but he felt like a selfish pig for allowing her to get so exhausted while he played stupid carnival games.
"You're mad," she said quietly, when he had started the vehicle. "I'm sorry." Thunder rumbled off in the distance.
"Why didn't you tell me you were getting so tired?" he demanded.
"I – I didn't want to be a bother."
He put the SUV into gear and maneuvered through the grassy field that had been turned into a parking lot for Fair Week. A few fat raindrops splashed on the windshield.
"I hate being like this." Her voice was so quiet that he almost missed her words.
"Like what?" It was raining in earnest now. He switched the windshield wipers on high and eased the vehicle out onto the road.
"This. Tired. Weak. I'm not used to being such a wimp."
"You're hardly a wimp, Tara. You've been through a lot."
She didn't answer. He risked a quick glance over at her and then focused his attention back on driving.
It was a true Michigan thunderstorm, sudden and violent. And powerful. Ethan felt the force of the wind blasting against the Expedition and gripped the wheel more firmly as a near-blinding flash of lightning streaked across the sky.
"Do-do you think people are okay at the fairground?" she asked softly.
"I'm sure they all went inside the barns and buildings," he assured her. He didn't tell her that the people at the fairgrounds were quite possibly safer than the two of them were at the moment. The windshield wipers were barely keeping up with the pounding rain; he turned on the headlights and tried to peer through the darkness to make sure he was still on the road.
Should have left earlier, Davis , he told himself. He'd grown up right here on the Lakeshore, and he should have known just how quickly these storms blew up. This one was bad . It was not supposed to be pitch-dark at seven o'clock at night in August. The streetlights should have come on, triggered by the sudden darkness, but their absence made him wonder if the power had been knocked out along this road.
Tara made a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a whimper.
"You okay?" he asked, through clenched teeth.
"Fine." Her voice was too high, too breathless.
She was terrified.
Lightning flashed again.
He heard her shriek just as he saw the tree limb falling in front of him. Cursing, he slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel to the left. The Expedition skidded on the wet pavement, and Tara cried out again as they finally came to a stop, mere inches from the huge chunk of maple tree that now blocked the road.
Ethan took a deep breath and forced himself to release his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. They were okay. Not a scratch or a dent, nothing to worry about. They were—
"Get me out !"
Tara was not okay. She was frantically grasping at her seatbelt, sobbing and muttering incoherently. He tried to pull her close and comfort her, but she was beyond hearing him. She batted his hands away and found the seatbelt release. Free of it at last, she wrenched open her door and leaped from the vehicle.
What the hell?
"Get back in the car!" he bellowed. It was no use. She was running down the road, rapidly
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