A Port in a Storm

By Morgan Maddocks

The car’s broken windshield wipers did little to clear the windshield of the sheets of rain coming down. Shanna hadn’t checked to make sure they worked before hurrying into the beat-up sedan and driving out of town. She was also sure her sister lacked the foresight to check. The road was still hard to see despite the car’s high beams being on. The cabin of the car was silent, save for the radio which was transmitting static. Every few seconds the signal would clear and the words “dangerous driving conditions” and “heavy wind” could be heard from the warped-sounding voice of the DJ. Every few minutes, Shanna’s eyes darted to the rear view mirror to see if any cars were behind them. The road was always empty.

Shanna looked over at her sister, Frances. “You should really pull over.”

“It’s fine. I’m sure it will start to lighten up any second now. Summer storms never last that long,” responded Frances. There was annoyance in her tone. Shanna huffed and shuffled in her seat the best she could so her back faced her sister. Silence filled the car once more. Along with the windshield wipers, Shanna chastised herself for not checking the forecast before leaving that evening.

The rain never let up. It continued to beat against the car so that the radio static couldn’t be heard over it. Then Shanna noticed a bright, fluorescent light in the distance. She perked up in her seat and pointed.

“Please,” she begged. “If you don’t pull over because of the weather, at least stop so we can eat.” Frances turned on the indicator and maneuvered the car into the parking lot. Shanna didn’t miss how her sister was cursing under her breath—something about wanting to get out of town quickly. Before Frances could fully stop the car, Shanna opened the door and ran into the restaurant.

Shanna squinted, eyes trying to adjust to the harsh white light of the diner. A TV was playing on low volume in the background, and the scent of stale coffee and grease hung heavy in the air. Despite the warm temperature of the restaurant, Shanna’s skin broke out in goosebumps after running through the rain. Eventually, Frances slid in the door and stood next to her little sister. A middle-aged woman dressed in all black with an apron tied around her waist mumbled something about picking a seat and that she would be over to help them in a few minutes. The sisters slid into the closest booth. Frances reached over to the aluminum dispenser perched at the end of the table and took out a stack of napkins. She split the stack and handed half to Shanna. The sisters tried in vain to dry their skin while looking over the laminated menus in front of them.

Shanna noticed that, despite how late it was, there were more people than she expected. Her eyes anxiously darted around the run-down diner. She saw a group of men at the counter engaged in a lively conversation, so engrossed in their conversation that Shanna was sure they hadn’t seen either her or Frances. Alone at an adjacent booth sat a man in scrubs reading a newspaper and drinking a cup of coffee. The only other customers were a mother and her young daughter. Once Shanna was sure no one was paying them any mind, she let herself slump into the plastic cushion of the booth.

“Would you stop scoping the place out like that?

You look crazy,” Frances blurted out. Before Shanna could respond, the waitress came back up to them, asking what they wanted to eat. She disappeared after pouring their coffee.

Shanna watched as Frances poured a heavy amount of creamer into her coffee. “We need to make it to Atlantic City by tomorrow morning,” she declared after taking a large sip, leaving Shanna no room to argue.

She nodded and fiddled with her napkin. Frances raised her brow at the growing pile of paper napkin pieces in front of her sister.

“Quit it. You’re like an anxious puppy shaking in your seat like that.” Frances sank down in her seat and continued to drink her coffee. “Just calm down.”

Shanna listened as Frances discussed what she planned to do once they reached their destination. She was rambling about “winning big” and “starting a whole new life.” Shanna just nodded along and continued to shred her pile of paper napkins. Do I want to start a whole new life? she thought to herself. This whole plan had been Frances’ idea originally. Shanna hadn’t wanted any part of it. She wasn’t sure what she would do if they made it to Atlantic City the next morning. The conversation then moved from their future plans to laughing at the corny signs hanging around the diner. Shanna continued to let herself relax a little more as the conversation continued, laughing at a yellowed sign that read “I wish more people were fluent in silence” and the collection of photographs taken of celebrity lookalikes who had come into the diner.

The waitress ambled back over to the booth, dropped the sisters’ food on the table wordlessly, then disappeared again.

Shanna savored each bite in an attempt to soothe her nervous stomach and enjoy the respite the diner provided her a little longer. She noticed that even Frances was taking her time eating her meal. Silence fell over the two sisters as they continued to eat. Their reverie was interrupted by the TV being turned up. A greasy-haired news anchor appeared on the TV with a banner saying “BREAKING NEWS” running across the bottom of the screen.

“Police are looking for two suspects involved in a robbery in Coopersburg, Pennsylvania. An ATM was broken into at the QNB Bank on South 3rd street around nine p.m. Security camera footage shows two women breaking into the ATM and leaving the scene in what appears to be a dark-colored sedan. If anyone has any information, we encourage you to contact the Coopersburg Police Department.” The air went dead before returning to whatever had been playing previously.

Shanna’s eyes shot up to her older sister. “Do you think anyone heard that?” Paralyzed by fear, Shanna watched as Frances turned slightly to survey the other patrons of the restaurant.

“No, I think we’re good. Plus, lots of people drive dark-colored sedans,” responded Frances, eyes shifting around the diner. Shanna could see through Frances’ mask of confidence as the table shook from Frances bouncing her leg. The girls went back to picking at their food and sipping their coffee in silence.

Shanna’s heart rate fell back into a normal rhythm. She had convinced herself that everything was fine. The bell over the diner door chimed as it opened, and in walked two policemen. The sisters bristled. Shanna kept her head down and shredded another paper napkin. She lifted her eye to Frances and watched as she stared down at the laminated menu still sitting on their table. The two policemen sat at the booth behind Frances, and Shanna accidentally made eye contact with one of them. She averted her eyes quickly and watched as Frances stood up slowly.

“I’m going to settle the bill,” she said a little louder than she should have. “Why don’t you start the car?” Shanna stood and took the keys from her sister. As she walked past her sister to leave the restaurant, one of the policemen nodded at Shanna.

“You all be safe out there,” one of the officers said in a thick voice. “Weather seems to be getting worse.” Shanna forced a smile and shuffled out of the restaurant. Once in the car, she watched as Frances paid the bill and ran to the driver’s side. As Frances pulled the car out of the parking lot, Shanna watched as the two officers stood up from their booth and headed out of the restaurant and towards their car.

The car accelerated. As they sped down the highway, Shanna’s mind was no longer preoccupied with the driving conditions or the broken windshield wipers, but with what awaited them in the morning.

By Constance Wesley

“Don’t eat that!”

Before I could ask why, or even process what Cassie had said, she’d reached out and snatched my tuna wrap. For a moment, my hand hovered between my crumpled brown lunch bag and my open mouth.

“There’s an outbreak. Of salmonella. I saw it on the news,” Cassie muttered sheepishly, her fingers digging into condensation-soaked cling film. I let my hand fall to the patio table.

“Salmonella,” I echoed.

“Salmonella,” she agreed.

“In cooked tuna?”

Cassie clutched the wrap tighter. Thunder rumbled ominously overhead, warning us that our lunch was about to get cut short.

“What else should I eat, then? That’s all I packed.”

Cassie looked back down at my pilfered lunch, then slowly began to push her Tupperware container full of Caesar salad in my direction.

“I’m not going to eat your food, Cassie.”

“There’s a vending machine in the lounge—”

“Oh, come on. I’m not going to spend money on shitty chips when I’ve got a perfectly good, homemade lunch right here.”

“Please.” Cassie reached out and grabbed my hand, squeezing it tight. She was still holding that tuna wrap. “No one likes food poisoning, and I just don’t want to see you get sick, that’s all.”

I looked from the hand on my arm to the hand clutching my tuna wrap. I hadn’t had a chance to swing breakfast before the morning commute, already an hour behind after my alarm refused to go off. My only saving grace was the wrap my roommate had saved from dinner the night before. Another meal I had missed under the weight of deadlines.

There Cassie went, blinking those big, sad eyes at me.

I sighed.

“Fine. I’ll have some of your salad, and we can pick something while we’re downtown.”

She perked right up after that, not minding at all as she portioned out her meager lunch onto my plate.

The soft pattering of rain heralded the arrival of the promised thunderstorm. It was a shame to watch Cassie toss my wrap into the trash as we dashed inside. But as she slid her hand in mine, that bright grin of hers lighting up her face, I told myself I’d get over it.

“After a week of sunshine, we’re getting a taste of some much more seasonal rain this afternoon…”

Really. I scoffed as the radio struggled to compete with the torrential downpour we’d found ourselves in. I was white-knuckling the steering wheel, trying to keep us in our lane.

Cassie had her head pressed against the closed window. It would have looked like she was watching the rain-blurred forest passing by if it wasn’t for the occasional glimpse of her gaze reflected in the fogged glass.

“In other news, hospitals have been reporting an increase in food poisoning cases associated with frozen fish—”

I turned off the radio. No need to encourage her.

“We should take the next exit.”

Without thinking, I turned to look at her. Cassie had ceased her furtive glances and was staring directly at me.

The angry blare of a man in a red truck laying on his horn jolted my eyes back to the barely visible highway lines.

“Right up here. There, Exit 14. Take this turnoff.”

“Why? That’ll add, like, another ten minutes to the drive.” continued on page 72

“There’s going to be an accident,” Cassie insisted.

Despite the weather, I found myself exasperated. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her clutching at her seatbelt.

“This is the Beltline—there’s always an accident.”

“Look at this weather!”

A mother in a van loaded with stickers boasting her children’s extracurriculars swerved a bit too close. My heart leapt into my throat. Cassie’s nerves must have been catching.

I gritted my teeth. “We’re on a schedule.”

“With this weather we’re going to be late anyway. At least the back roads will have fewer people to hit.”

A motorcycle skidded two lanes over, forcing the car behind it to swerve wildly.

“It’s two minutes if we take the normal exit.”

“Two minutes mean nothing if we’re dead.”

“I’m starting to think you just don’t like my driving.”

“Please!” Cassie pleaded. The rain briefly but visibly shifted in a sudden gust of wind like a scarf torn from someone’s neck, beating the driver’s side window before settling back into its steady rhythm against the roof of the car.

She clearly wasn’t about to let this go. The last thing I needed in all this rain was a nervous backseat driver chatting my ear off.

What’s the harm in being careful?

I flicked my blinker on.

“Fine. I don’t trust these drivers anyway.”

Cassie heaved a sigh of relief as I began to carefully merge. As much as I hated to admit it, the pounding of my heart settled down as we pulled off the highway.

“Sorry again about the delay. Traffic was murder. Something like a five car pileup on the Beltline.”

The woman ahead of us held the door open behind her, smiling at us as she listened to whatever the other person on the phone was saying.

Cassie shot me a quiet smile as she slipped past, a twinkle in her eye wordlessly informing me that she’d told me so.

I scoffed, peeling off my rain-soaked cardigan.

Cassie was perfectly dry. She’d remembered to bring a raincoat despite our perfectly sunny start to the day. It was uncanny the way she remembered those kinds of things. No one was prepared for the squall outside—a line of professionals had gathered around the window, watching the rain with furrowed brows— but Cassie knew. Cassie always knew.

It was uncanny the way she remembered those kinds of things. No one was prepared for the squall outside—a line of professionals had gathered around the window, watching the rain with furrowed brows—but Cassie knew. Cassie always knew.

The receptionist smiled pityingly at us as we confirmed our appointment.

“Unfortunate weather, isn’t it? Don’t worry. You’re not the only ones who got here late. If you hurry, you just might make it up before they begin.”

“Thank you. Which room is it again?”

“You’re in Suite 903. That’ll be on your left as soon as you get out of the elevator.”

“Thanks! C’mon, Cassie.”

She trailed silently behind me. Her smile had faded, and she was wringing her hands nervously. The woman who’d held the door reached the elevator first and was kind enough to wait for us.

I stepped in.

Cassie grabbed my hand in a vise grip.

“Cassie?”

“Let’s take the stairs.”

I stared at her, uncomprehending. “Cassie, it’s just an elevator. You’ve never had a problem with them before.”

“Stairs! We could use the exercise.”

“Are you kidding—we’re running late for a meeting!” Her eyes flickered furiously from me, to the elevator, to the rest of the lobby. “The…the sticker, the inspection sticker looks outdated. It isn’t safe. We need to—”

“No, Cassandra!”

Cassie reared back as if struck.

“I threw away my lunch because you told me to. I took that earlier exit and got us here fifteen minutes late because you told me to. I’m drawing the line at climbing up nine flights of stairs.”

“But I was right!” Cassie tugged at my hand, her wide eyes beseeching me to listen. “The fish was bad! There was a bad accident!”

“You have no way of knowing that I would’ve gotten sick from that fish. You have no way of knowing that we would have gotten in that accident if we’d stayed on the highway.”

“Please, just listen—”

“No! I’m putting my foot down!” I gently pried my hand from her grip, ignoring the guilt that clawed at my throat from the gutted look on her face. I stepped back into the elevator. The woman looked pointedly away, still pressing her phone to her ear even though the call had long since ended. I quietly thanked her for holding the door.

I turned to look back at Cassie, half-terrified of the pained look I knew she’d have on her face, half-anticipating another pleading appeal to take the stairs.

Instead she just stood there, wringing her hands with a look of sorrow on her face as the doors slid shut between us.

By Madison Myers

Each day of the summer I had a new mouth. Sometimes my mouth had a bit of vomit on the corner, or a smear of a spit and mucus concoction going across my teeth. Sometimes fingers the size of macaroni noodles would find it funny to try and find my gums after just crawling through dirt in the backyard. I’ve never had nice teeth anyway. That’s why I smile with a closed mouth, straighter than a pencil all the way across my awkward face.

Emerson, the girl with macaroni-sized fingers, was never awkward. All summer I let her lead me on adventures that my friends would have called me weird for going on alone. Emerson led me to haunted mansions, outer space, Wimbledon, and the local swim club. My favorite adventure, one we took often, was to our dining room table.

Emerson never liked the dining room table, mostly because she couldn’t really reach the table itself without much boosting. Still, we somehow always found ourselves there, eating Mom’s grilled cheese at the end of the day and listening to Taylor Swift. I used to do these things alone before I found Emerson. As summer passed, I soon found that everything I used to enjoy on my own, Care Bears, bubbles, horror movies, Cheerios, now belonged to the two of us.

As we neared the end of August, I knew we’d only have a few adventures to the dining room table left before I had to go to college. Emerson had no idea of the fate the future held, and I didn’t have the guts to tell her. I don’t think she would have understood anyway. Our last adventure to the dining room table is captured in a picture. Nothing funny is shoved in my mouth. No vomit, no spit, no mucus smeared on my teeth. And yet I do not show them either way. Emerson smiles with a mouth of three teeth to make up for it. What I cannot do she does for me, just as I have done for her all summer.

In my first warm December, I feel my first inkling of regret ever in my life. I eat Cheerios and grilled cheese alone with the Care Bear on my bed, watch horror movies by myself, listen to Taylor Swift, and think about Emerson.