Allie's mother and father were silent for a minute. They looked shocked. But they didn't yell at her.
Her mother said, “Are you sure?”
Allie knew what she meant. “Yeah, pretty sure, Mom. I'm way overdue.”
Allie's father ran his fingers through his thin hair. “I guess we shouldn't think of you as our little girl anymore,” he said quietly. “You've been through a lot. Are you and Jackâ”
“Dad, I'm through with him,” she cut in. “I don't even want him to know. He's not important anymore.”
He gave her a strange look. “No, I guess he isn't,” he agreed.
Allie's mother said, “Come here, Allie.”
Allie stepped closer to the bed, half expecting the shrieks to start. But her mother took her hand and held it. Her face looked serious and worried.
“You forgot to tell us a few things, didn't you, dear?”
What did she mean
, Allie thought. “Honest, Mom, I've told you everything. Honest.”
“You didn't tell us you saved that baby's life. You didn't tell us how you helped out at the school. Razz told us all about it.”
“Mom, that doesn't mean anything,” said Allie.
“Of course it means something,” her mother said. “It means a lot. We're proud of you, Allie. You're a very brave kid. And you're a very
good
kid.”
Allie looked at her father. He was smiling. He pointed to the window.
“Look,” was all he said.
Allie let go of her mother's hand and stepped over to the window beside the bed. She looked out across the sunny neighborhood. She could see the scar-like path the tornado had left as it chewed up trees and smashed houses. It changed people's lives forever. She remembered what Razz had said, that it looked as if the neighborhood had been bombed.
Then she began to pay attention to the small groups of people. Already they were cleaning up the streets, moving furniture out of houses to waiting trucks, starting over. In the distance she saw a tiny figure on a roof, swinging a hammer.
Her father's voice came from behind her. “I guess weâthe three of usâI guess we've got some things to work out. We've got some rebuilding to do.”
Allie turned to see he was looking at her mother.
Her mother nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, you're right.”
“Mom, Dad, we can do it together, can't we?”
Allie's mother and father spoke at the same time, “We can try.”
There are lots of words to describe the atmosphere on that final day of Mayâbrooding, ominous, forebodingâbut I'd choose
weird
. The day before, Thursday, had been stormy, with thunder and downpours and damaging winds. Friday dawned hot and humid and stayed that way. When I walked through Innisdale Secondary School's parking lot at 4:30 p.m., the air was heavy and clammy. The sky was dark gray, the clouds low. On the towering maples in front of the school, not a leaf stirred. The birds were strangely silent.
When I drove down the hill on Fairview Avenue it had grown so dark it was like nighttime. In the northwest, the sky was an ugly purple with a yellow tinge, like a bruise. I turned onto Highway 400 and headed north, passing through a few showers on my way home. I put a rock ân' roll tape on the deck to brighten the mood.
When I got home, I turned on the radio to hear the news. Two words struck me: Barrie Tornado. I had missed being swept up in the whirlwind by twenty-five minutes. On that afternoon, fourteen tornadoes ripped through southern Ontario, killing twelve people, injuring dozens of others and causing about $100 million in property damage. The largest tornado left a path of destruction 90 kilometers longâmuch greater than the average. The Barrie Tornado was really five separate tornadoes that slammed into the town at 5:00 p.m., May 31, 1985.
This novel is based on the tornado and its aftermath. With many other teachers, I was part of the clean-up crews that set to work immediately to bring order back to the community. Thousands of people helped.
Death Wind
is dedicated to them, and to the many who suffered from the storm.
William Bell