The Storm

“Sure. You go rest, Mom.” He stands. Going over to the sink, he starts to fill it with water, adding dish washing liquid.

“I’ll wash,” I tell him, rolling up my sleeves. I have no clue where the dishes need to go, so it’ll be easier this way.

Storm brings the rest of the dishes over, and I start washing.

After I place the washed plate on the dish drainer, he picks it up and starts to dry it with a dish towel.

“Not very rock and roll,” he says. “Never thought I’d see the day when Jake Wethers was standing in my kitchen, washing the dishes. I almost feel like I should take a picture.” He chuckles.

“Yeah, don’t.” I laugh. “Tom and Den would never let me live it down.”

He chuckles again, and then silence descends between us as we wash the dishes.

“What was he like?” His softly spoken words blindside me. There’s an ache to them, and it’s like a blade piercing my chest.

I turn my eyes to him, to find him already watching me.

“Jonny?” I’m careful not to call Jonny his dad. I don’t want to pour fuel on Storm’s kindling flame.

“Yeah,” he utters, his eyes sweeping the floor.

I stare down into the soapy water my hands are in. “He was wild, impulsive, and stubborn. But he was loyal, talented and smart as hell.” A smile plays on my lips. “He could play a guitar like you’d never seen before. And…he was my best friend.” A lump chokes my throat. I turn, pressing my back against the counter. “You look exactly like he did at your age.”

“You knew him when he was young?”

“Yeah.” I give him a sad smile.

Storm turns away. Walking over to a cupboard, he puts a plate away and closes the cupboard door. Still facing away, he says, “I read some stuff on the Internet…about Jonny. It said…well, it said that…he killed himself.”

My body tenses up.

Storm turns to face me, leaning back against the counter.

I look him in the eyes. “Jonny didn’t kill himself.” I try to keep my voice even. “He had too much to live for. He just…he made a really bad decision that night when he climbed into his car. It was an accident. A tragic accident.”

I want to tell Storm that Jonny would never have even been in that situation if he’d known about Storm, but it’d sound like I was blaming Tiffany for the choices she’d made, and I don’t want to do that.

Shifting on his feet, he glances down at them. “Look…I know there was a chance that you could have been my dad.” His eyes flick back up to mine.

I can’t hide the surprise on my face.

“I overheard Mom talking to Marie one day.”

“Oh.”

“I know Mom was wild back in the day.”

I don’t know what to say. What does he want me to say?

Fuck. I’m not prepared for this.

He wraps his arms around his stomach. “I bet you were relieved when you found out that I wasn’t your kid,” he utters. “I know you have this perfect family. You wouldn’t want someone like me coming along and screwing it up.”

I blow out a breath, gripping the edge of the counter with my hands. “Look, Storm, I can’t deny that if you’d been mine, it would have made things difficult for me for a while. But if you’d been my blood, there wouldn’t have been a second when I wouldn’t have wanted you.”

I want to make him feel better. I know he’s hurting, and I want to take that away.

And it’s not a lie. If he had been my son, no matter how much it would have hurt Tru, hurt us all, I would never have turned him away.

“And I know, without a doubt, that Jonny would have been the same, if he were here,” I say, impassioned.

“But he’s not here.”

“No, he’s not. But I am, and so is Bob. And we want…” Taking a pause, I pull in a breath, making sure I word this just right. “We want to be your family, too.”

His expression shuts down, and he turns his face away from me, tossing the dish towel on the counter. “You all right to finish up here? I have homework to do,” he says without looking at me.

“Yeah,” I say, holding the disappointment from my voice. “I’m good. You go.”

Then, Storm walks out of the kitchen without another word, leaving me standing there, knowing I still have a hell of a ways to go with this kid.

I finish up the dishes and head into the living room. Tiffany and Bob are sitting on the sofa, and she’s showing him baby pictures of Storm.

“Everything okay?” Bob asks, a touch of concern in his voice.

Maybe the expression on my face has him worried. Or maybe it’s because Storm isn’t with me.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Storm’s gone to do his homework.”

“Voluntarily?” Tiffany smiles. “That’s a first.”

“He asked about Jonny.”

“Oh,” she says. “He hasn’t…he hasn’t asked me a thing about him. What did…what did he want to know?”

“What Jonny was like. And…” I glance at the doorway and then lower my voice as I say, “He knows there was a chance he could have been mine.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widen.

“He said he overheard you talking to Marie.”

“Shit,” she says. “Should I go talk to him?”

I shake my head. “He didn’t seem overly upset about it.”

She glances at the door and then says, “Still, I’ll talk to him about it. Tomorrow though. Probably not best to do it today.”