Page 18 of Forever Focused

Poppy?

Oh gosh…

Michael dragged his lips from hers – and staggered backward fearfully, only to see a flash of pain in her eyes as she took a step toward him.

“Don’t,” Poppy begged, holding out her hands. His parents were having a conversation about them in front of them, and they were just standing there looking at each other, both in different states of alarm.

“Whatever you are thinking, frightened of, whatever it is… please don’t shut me out again, Michael,” Poppy pleaded tearfully. “Let’s talk.”

“Um, yeah, I can honestly say this wasn’t on my Bingo board for today, Pumpernickel.”

“Wasn’t on mine either, Pookie – but I’m not upset about it either.”

“I got this,” his father said bluntly. “I’m tired of the whole pouting, wishy-washy thing… and it worked for us.”

“You are seriously scary and brilliant at the same time. Have I mentioned that trip was worth the broken arm all those years ago?”

“You didn’t say that at the time.”

“I wasn’t as smart as I am now.”

“Now we have each other.”

His parents shared a long look, a sly smile, and then winked at each other. His father held out his fist before him, and his mother bumped it with her own before both giggled like a couple of mischievous kids… and turned toward him. Michael took a step back but wasn’t fast enough. His father grabbed him by the upper arm, only to see his mother corralling Poppy before her, shoving the younger woman gently forward.

“Poppy, which do you think would take it better? Your mama? I’m thinking about your mother because your father can get scary-mad, although he’s been pretty sweet these last few months…”

“Have you eaten lunch, Michael? Gotta go to the bathroom, son?”

“Wh-What’s g-going on?” he stammered as his parents’ shoved him into the pantry where the tornado shelter had been installed about five years ago. It was a massive metal box that had shelves inside and there was a hatch that led under the house to a tiny root cellar. He remembered playing as a boy down there with his cars because of the brick paver floor. His parents rarely used this storage area, but it was a comfort in case of damaging storms in the area.

“There’s crackers, bottled water, cans of nuts, and well… have fun,” his mother said happily, pushing Poppy into the pantry with him – and shut the door. His parents put him in the tornado shelter with Poppy and heard an ominous click – from outside.

“Dad? Mom?” he began, releasing Poppy and banging on the door, trying the handle. “Hello? The latch is stuck again, and this isn’t funny…”

“It’s not stuck either,” his father said candidly. “You two need to figure out things and talk without an audience. We’ll call Poppy’s parents, y’all get comfy, and you are welcome.”

“Wait… what?”

“Remember, it worked for us,” his mother called out in a sing-song voice that was already fading in the distance, causing Micheal to pound on the door frantically.

“You crashed in the desert!” he hollered, banging once more… and then paused. “Mom? Dad?”

“Did your parents lock us in the pantry? Are they insane?”

“I’m starting to wonder,” Michael muttered, putting his head against the cool metal and feeling a flare of panic blossom within him. “Look,” he began, almost as if he was needing to talk himself down off the ledge so he didn’t start stuttering again. “We’re perfectly safe. We have food. It’s air-conditioned, and we can just wait them out.”

“I hate dark places,” Poppy admitted quietly. “It’s the pitch dark that gets to me. Is there a light or something…”

“Yeah. Hang on,” he said quietly, feeling in front of him for the string that would be hanging from the light fixture on the high ceiling of the pantry located under the stairwell. Grasping the string, he pulled on it and saw a flash as the lightbulb burned out. “Are you kidding me?”

“Are there bulbs in the pantry?”

“The ceilings are ten feet high – and the stepladder is in the garage.”

“Oh.”

“Yep. ‘Oh’ is right.”

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