Magnolia by Kristi Cook Page B

Jemma! What’s the matter with you?” He drags me to my feet and presses me against the side of his truck. “Take a deep breath. Jesus!”
    I do what he says. By the third, I’ve slowed my heart rate to something nearing normal. Only, my cheeks are burning with mortification now. This is the second time I’ve broken down in front of Ryder. He must think I’ve lost my mind—that I’ve totally gone off the deep end.
    â€œJust go,” I say, my voice shaking.
    He rakes both hands through his hair. “Are you kidding me? I can’t leave you alone like this.”
    â€œGo,” I repeat, more forcefully this time. “Just get in your car and leave, okay?”
    â€œC’mon, Jemma. You know I can’t.”
    â€œI swear I’m okay.” I straighten my spine and lift my chin, trying my best to look calm, collected, and reasonably sane. “Seriously, Ryder. I just need to be alone right now.”
    â€œFine,” he says, shaking his head. “If you say so.”
    I step away from the car, feeling queasy now as he slips inside and starts the engine.
    But before he pulls out, he rolls down his window and meets my gaze. His dark eyes look intense, full of conflict. Fora split second, I wonder what’s going on inside his head—if he’s judging me. If he has any idea what I’m going through. If he even cares.
    â€œShe’s going to be okay, Jemma,” he says, then slides his sunglasses on and drives away.
    I guess he does get it, after all.

ACT I
Scene 11
    F ive days later, I sit at my desk staring at my laptop as I wait for my video-editing software to load. I’ve managed to get a lot of new footage—good stuff, too. Pretty much all the county’s historical sites, plus Magnolia Branch’s important landmarks. I’m still not exactly sure what I’m going to do with it all—how I’ll frame the film’s narrative—but the project has turned out to be an excellent source of distraction these past few days.
    Because the news from Houston hasn’t been good. Nan’s tumor has grown at an alarming rate since her last set of scans. They’ve scheduled her for surgery—a craniotomy, which means cutting open her head—early next week.
    As if that isn’t enough, there’s an enormous late-season hurricane brewing in the Gulf. They’re not quite sure of itsprojected path, but there’s a chance it’ll hit the Mississippi coast as a category one or two and then move slowly inland, right over Magnolia Branch.
    Of course, my parents are totally freaking out. There’s no way to reschedule Nan’s surgery. It has to be done now, before any more damage is done. At first, Daddy was thinking about flying home for a couple of days, but with the uncertainty of the storm’s path, it’s just too risky.
    Instead, he’s been e-mailing me page after page of storm-prep guides, just in case. I’ve already gone to Wally World and stocked up on essentials like toilet paper, bottled water, and batteries, plus nonperishables like canned soup and SpaghettiOs. But now he wants me to go back and get stuff like plastic tarps and sandbags and oil for the hurricane lamps. It’s like full-scale panic mode around here, even though the storm is still several days out. I’ll have to brave the mayhem again tomorrow after cheerleading practice to pick up everything else on Daddy’s list. Maybe I’ll drag Lucy and Morgan with me.
    Anyway, I’m trying not to obsess about the storm too much. I mean, I do have the urge to watch the Weather Channel twenty-four-seven, but that’s pretty normal for me. What can I say? I like watching the Weather Channel. And okay, maybe I have a teeny-tiny crush on Jim Cantore. Doesn’t everyone?
    My stomach grumbles, reminding me that it’s way past myusual dinnertime. Lou dropped off a pan of lasagna a couple of hours