Page 52 of Out of the Storm

“Uh-huh. You and every other family in Ohio.”

“Noteveryfamily.”

“Jeff. Come on.”

Even though it wasn’treallysomething uncomfortable to talk about, Jeff wasn’t sure if he wanted to revealthatmuch to Gary so soon. He had fessed up to the truth regarding his name. What if Gary kept pitying him?

“Pleeeeaaase,” Gary said, pressing his palms together.

Shaking his head, Jeff could barely contain a smile. It was kind of fun to watch Gary try to pull the information out of him like this. It was fun to see him practicallybeg.

Several rounds of Gary saying “tell me, tell me, tell me”followed. Finally, Gary shout-whined “Jeffrey!” in this stupidly cute way that made Jeff’s heart melt, breaking his resolve.

“Fiiine,” Jeff relented. “I like them because when I was a kid, the only time things were peaceful in the evenings was probably when we, as a family, listened to these records. And so that’s what they are to me. Peace. Serenity. Bullshit like that.”

It was kind of nice to say that out loud.

Gary sighed. “Ah, now I feel bad for making you listen to Bon Jovi.” Pouting, he said, “Geez, I’ll never feel right playing my music again.”

Chuckling evilly, Jeff looked over at Gary and said, “Good.”

Gary let out a scoff. “You can be a real heel,” he said, though his cheery smile let Jeff know he wasn’treallyupset.

Loving the tease, Jeff threw Gary a wink, and then Gary started to pout again in this very fake, very adorable manner. Yeah, this trip was fucking great.

After a few more hours, the two of them stopped at a diner near Indianapolis. Jeff knew the place. It was nice—black-and-white checkered floors, rows of pink-and-green booths, an old jukebox filled with the type of music Jeff enjoyed—and so, even before they parked the car, Jeff was practically buzzing with excitement. He couldn’t wait to show Gary the place. Drake’s Diner had become one of his favorite pit stops on his trips out west. Every May for the last three years, Jeff had returned for what he thought was probably the best mediocre meal in the whole Goddamn country.

Once they were seated, Jeff ordered a chocolate malt milkshake for them to share and then opened the menu to pick his meal, exhilaration still making his heart flutter.

“Wow, we’re sharing a milkshake, huh?” Gary said. “Romantic.”

Smirking, Jeff replied, “More romantic than potato salad.”

“Hey, that potato salad was made with red potatoes,” Gary retorted. “Red is the color of love. Everyone knows that.”

“You peeled them.”

“That is . . . a very valid point.”

“So, you removed the love completely.”

“Yes, Jeffrey, I know,” Gary said with a sigh. “Don’t rub it in.”

Chuckling to himself, Jeff perused the menu, and when the waitress came back with the milkshake, both he and Gary ordered their meals. For Jeff, a burger with mayo, and for Gary, a spinach and cheese omelet with a side of toast.

While they waited for their food, they shared the milkshake. And itwasromantic in a cheesy kind of way. Jeff’s stomach fluttered intermittently as they passed the straw back and forth, chatting in between sips and generally continuing to enjoy each other’s company.

It wasn’t long before they had their food.

After a couple of bites, Jeff pulled out a few of his maps and went over the plan for the next few days with Gary. They’d stay overnight in St. Louis and then finish the trek to Oklahoma, spending one night in Tulsa before waking up early and heading to Norman. In Norman, they’d meet up with a couple of storm chasers Jeff had kept in touch with over the last three years. While Jeff wasn’t the only one from out of state, hewasthe only one who came just for two or so weeks a year. Most other storm chasers, they’d stay the entire month. Some of them were meteorologists. Others were hobbyists like him. Jeff warned Gary that they’d bespending a ton of time in the car over the coming weeks and that despite the name, storm chasing was almost the exact opposite of what Gary was used to with his radio station. While radio broadcasting was fast-paced and lively and filled with constant stimulation, storm chasing was... not.

After they paid for their meal (well, Gary paid, but not without plenty of protesting on Jeff’s part), they were on the road again. Thankfully, Gary still seemed excited—exuding this enthusiastic energy—even though the fields of wheat and corn weren’t much to look at. Maybe they’d be cool to see for a couple of minutes, but not for hours and hours and hours like the trip necessitated.

Close to four o’clock, worry started to prickle at Jeff’s insides, making him shift in his seat. Hopefully Gary wasn’t secretly thinking that this trip was a bore. Clutching the wheel tighter, Jeff fought not to show how nervous he suddenly was.

Gary must have caught on because he said, completely unprompted, “No matter where we are or what we’re up to, spending time with you is plenty exciting, Jeffrey.”

Over the next hour, Jeff kept repeating those words to himself like a mantra.

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