Impossible

Impossible

Laurel Ulen Curtis

Published by Laurel Ulen Curtis

© 2013, Laurel Ulen Curtis

Cover Design by Stephanie White of Steph’s Cover Design

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Other works by Laurel Ulen Curtis:

The One Series:

The One Place

The One Girl

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Dedication

To my husband. For always telling me how much you love me. Every day.

Prologue

Looking over at Josh as he drove, his long-fingered hand firmly gripping the steering wheel and a smile making the lines of his face curve upward, I knew I was the luckiest girl in the world.

I was sitting in the car on my way to our last doctor’s appointment with the man I loved beside me, our child in my womb, and a blinding smile on my face.

After a few years of working hard for it, I was next in line for the On Air Broadcast Meteorologist position at WNIR8, and I knew it would be mine as soon as I had the baby.

Things were coming together nicely. My family was almost complete, and my career was on the precipice of taking off. I had been reaching for my dream, and it was finally so close I could almost taste it.

Josh and I had been together since high school, and he was a better man than I could have ever asked for- kind and loving, gentle and generous.

Our relationship had always been easy, natural even. He was my best friend and neither of us had ever given any thought to being with someone else. We fought, everyone fights, but it was always minor and we always looked out for each other’s feelings, checking everything we said so that we didn’t say anything too cutting out of anger. I had a temper, but he was mellow and kept me that way.

We had waited and gotten married when we were twenty-three and then waited another three years to get pregnant. I had just turned twenty-seven a couple of months ago, and I was ‘about to pop’, as people say.

Josh was great on his own, but he had more to offer than that. His family was great, too, a lifesaver for someone who was lacking in that department on her own.

My parents and I had never gotten along. Truth be told, our rift was so vast that I couldn’t even tell you all the details of our differences. Our relationship had pretty much been strained since the moment I could talk...and consequently, express my difference in opinion. Putting it simply, I had just never seen my life going the same direction they did, and they took it personally. I’d like to be able to say there was a more concrete reason than that, that we had had some major falling out over something significant. But that wasn’t the case.

I had never understood a parent’s ability to turn their back on their child just because of their life choices. Even though we didn’t agree, I had always tried to make the right choices, even if they weren’t the ones they were hoping for. Regardless, it had never been enough. Maybe they regretted my existence or something similar, but I knew I would never really have the answer to the big question mark that was our relationship.

Their cold nature irked me and made me question how the combination of their DNA could in any way create me. It wasn’t like I was out murdering people or torturing kittens. I was a Meteorologist for pete’s sake.

Fortunately, Josh’s family had been there for me, adopting me right away and bringing me into their fold full force. All they needed was the vicarious judgement they got of my character through their son. The fact that he liked me was good enough for them. Throughout the years, though, I chose to believe that they got to know me as an individual and liked what they saw.

They
were the kind of parents you grew up wanting to emulate. They loved without conditions, and they had an ability to forgive someone’s weaknesses that I envied.

A small smile playing at my lips, I reached over and laced my fingers with Josh’s, brought the back of his hand to my lips, and kissed it. He glanced over at me for a fraction of a second, just long enough for his gray eyes to meet mine, his love for me shining clearly from them.

Despite my happy thoughts, I knew there were clouds in my eyes. Having Josh and his parents behind me, I knew I didn’t need my parents, but that didn’t mean the fight I’d had with them that morning didn’t bother me. It did. And just like always, Josh knew.

“Don’t worry, Vee. I know they upset you, but I’m behind you, my parents are behind you, and pretty soon, our baby is gonna be behind you. Pretty soon, we’re gonna have
every
thing.”

My eyes and hands drifted to my stomach, and a small, completely cloud-free smile started to lift one corner of my mouth. Josh’s hand came into my vision, joining my own, further expressing his point.

I lifted my head to tell him he was right, to tell him I loved him...to tell him I couldn’t wait to have everything with him.

But I didn’t get the chance.

The next thing I knew there was screeching and screaming, the sound of metal crunching and snapping, and then everything went black.

Chapter 1

Somewhat anticlimactically, I woke up in my hotel room to the sounds of my own ear-piercing screams again. The nightmares came every night without fail, but while they were a regular occurrence, they were still undeniably traumatic. My breathing was ragged and frantic as I searched the room around me. Just like always, my eyes fought desperately to lock onto individual objects. I needed confirmation from anything and everything that I was not in a hospital room. Confirmation that I was
anywhere
but
there.

My hands clutched the blue and purple comforter, and I could feel the sweat trickling down my spine under my t-shirt.

As was typical, it took me several seconds to find the evidence I was looking for, realize it was just a dream, calm my overzealous heartbeat, and breathe with ease again. I’m sure to someone watching I would have looked like a wild animal that had just been captured, with crazy, wide eyes and jerky movements. But for me, this was just my life.

I closed my light green eyes, put my palms to my face, and took several deep breaths. I always tried to tell myself that it was just a dream, but that line of coddling couldn’t have been further from the truth.
This
time
it was a dream, but three years ago, it had most definitely been real.

When I had successfully talked myself off of the ledge, I threw back the comforter, put my feet to the floor, and hefted myself out of bed. Freaking soaked in sweat from head to toe, I padded my way to the bathroom, crossing my arms, grabbing the hem of my shirt, and pulling it over my head as I went.

One positive of my nightmares: they burned a crap-ton of calories.

Wearing only my basic, black, bikini panties (the only kind I owned these days) I reached in, turned the hot water nozzle just shy of scalding, and pulled the valve to switch it to shower mode. Hot water was better for washing away the dreams and the sweat that they created.

I was still suffering from a lack of complete lucidity, but not enough to forget the important stuff. I reached over and grabbed a towel and put it on the toilet seat so it would be in reach for when I got out, and then, realizing I had forgotten it, I jogged back out of the bathroom and grabbed my razor out of my bag. That was all I needed. I used all of the hotel provided bathroom products for any of my other showering needs because I didn’t go to much effort these days.

But one thing I
refused
to be, was hairy.

I ran back into the bathroom, pulled my panties down, and stepped out of them, flicking them off my ankle when they got stuck around one foot. Graceful I was not.

I hopped into the shower and closed the curtain. I let my body get wet and then quickly got down to the business of washing everything speedily. I needed to hurry up and get ready so that I could get on my computer and start researching. I had to figure out where I was headed and then get on the road. Based on last night’s research, I had an idea, but I had to make sure that everything was still panning out the same. As much as I tried to talk it into following my plans to a T, that little thing called the atmosphere wasn’t always reliable.

As I soaped up my body, my fingers lingered on the horizontal scar on my lower abdomen, and my thoughts tunneled instantly.

Josh’s lifeless hand hanging off the bed beside me. The sound of my cries filling the room. The staff trying to contain me.

My fingers glided over the uneven skin and my eyes closed tight, my teeth sinking so hard into my bottom lip that it should have drawn blood. I think the only reason it didn’t spill crimson was because it had finally gotten the message that I wasn’t going to stop biting it and built up enough scar tissue to compensate.

That was the only thing I let myself have. That moment of reflection. That brief glimpse into my pain.

I refused to let my mind wander and slow me down. Slowing down led to remembering, and remembering would lead to nothing but heartache. Blanking my mind, I got back to business and soaped up my legs and continued upward to wash everywhere else. I had another scar on my leg, three inches long on the outside side of my knee, another casualty of the same day, but it didn’t haunt me nearly as much.

I multitasked by rinsing the soap off of my body at the same time that I put shampoo into my long dark brown hair. When it was dry it fell in loose waves all the way down to the middle of my back and was dark brown all the way to my shoulders, transitioning to a lighter color from there down. Back when I gave a shit, I used to dye my hair, and this was the result after three years of doing nothing to it.

I put my back to the spray and tilted my head into the water, and then brought my hands up and pushed into my hairline to keep the soapy water from running onto my face and into my eyes. I worked to get all of the shampoo out quickly and moved on to the conditioner.

I let the conditioner sit and transitioned to shaving. Moving systematically, I made short work of the task, shaving my legs, underarms, and bikini area, and then rinsed the conditioner out.

Finally, I was freaking done. It took so long to shower as a girl.

Actually, it was tough to be a girl in general. Especially in my life.

Don’t worry, I’m not going to start some tirade about women’s lib and all that shit (not that I’m opposed or anything). In fact, the point I was trying to make was altogether different.

The keynote I was trying to hit, quite poorly I might add, is that being a girl wasn’t all that great
for me
.

I just didn’t need it; I hadn’t used my lady parts for anything in a solid three years, and the bountiful nature of some of those parts brought me nothing but problems from guys that I worked around.

Concentrating back on the task at hand, I shut off the shower, pulled the curtain open, jumped out, and toweled off as fast as I could. After I finished drying my body, I took the towel and wrapped my hair in it, twisting it on top of my head, a stylish mix of Marge Simpson and a turban. I jogged out into the bedroom and grabbed new panties, a plain black bra to match, olive green cargo pants, and a black t-shirt out of my bag and threw them on. I realized after I had everything on that I had forgotten the deodorant so I grabbed it, pulled off the cap, stretched out my shirt so that it was away from my armpit, reached in, and made a few swipes.

Tossing the deodorant back in my bag, I reached for the table and grabbed my laptop. I jumped on the bed, crossed my legs, and put the computer in my lap as I opened it and hit the power button.

Fortunately, I had an air card so that I could access the internet and get data that I needed all the time. Graceful I was not, but I was a quick learner. It had become apparent pretty early on in my adventure that if I was going to chase storms all the time, I was going to need a good system for internet. Not only was it a super big pain in the ass to get internet separately at each and every hotel, but I also needed it on the road. This was an era of internet hotspots, but they didn’t tend to put them on gravel roads along the sides of cotton fields. Some bullshit about there not being enough demand.

I pulled up the National Weather Service and started my perusal of the forecasted areas of severe weather to see what my best plan of attack would be for the day. After a speedy look through all of the data, I could tell the major action was going to be in eastern Kansas and western Missouri. Since I was currently in Enid, Oklahoma, a little larger distance away than my teleportation skills had mastered, it was time to get on the road.

Time was closing in on me, and I needed to get up to the area and scout. I had found that being a solo chaser came with a few obstacles. I had to navigate and drive on my own, jobs normally relegated to two separate people, so after three years of chasing I had developed a system for myself. I always liked to get to the area early and drive around so that in a pinch during a storm, if I needed an escape route, my knowledge of the roads I was on was at least a little better.

I unwrapped the towel from my hair, combed it out, and then brushed my teeth. That was all I did to get ready, so I threw on my socks and worn, brown cowboy boots, gathered all of my stuff, threw my bag over my shoulder, tucked my laptop under my other arm, and headed for my white 2011 Tahoe.

My baby. My home away from home. Or, since I didn’t really have a home that I was away from, just my home. On wheels.

The Tahoe was a good vehicle for chasing because it was fast, big and sturdy, held a lot of equipment, and had navigation built in. And I had plenty of money to buy it (and live on) because I sold everything when I decided this was what I wanted to do.

Decided might be the wrong word. I had made a decision to chase storms, selling everything I owned to fund myself, but only after I was already gone. The primary goal had been to get away from my old life and escape the memories that came with it. Not to mention, the knowing looks or thin words of comfort I knew people would try to offer were a reality I hadn’t been able to face.

My Tahoe may be my pride and joy, but she sure as shit wasn’t going to win any beauty contests. She was beat to hell from all the hail and debris damage that’s consistent with storm chasing for three years straight. She was like the ugly friend of the group. You know the one. You love her, couldn’t imagine life without her, and rely on her daily. At the same time, you secretly steeple your fingers and laugh maniacally because you know her looks are just off-putting enough that no one will try to steal her from you.