by Jan Hudson
“Fair enough. And you’ll forget about moving?”
“For the moment.”
“Good,” he said, visibly pleased. “Now, will you have dinner with me tonight?”
“Estella and I were going to a movie.”
“I’ll take you both to dinner, then we can go to the movie together.” He checked his watch. “If you’ll excuse me, Foster and I have a tee time at the country club in about an hour. We’re courting a couple of potential advertisers.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
He wrinkled his brow. “Why not?”
“Scattered thunderstorms in the early afternoon. Being on a golf course when there’s lightning is dangerous.”
“The paper didn’t mention thunderstorms.”
She sighed. “The paper is wrong. Trust me.”
He looked skeptical. “Your ear again?”
“My ear and a funny little squiggle up my back. After twenty-two years, I’ve learned to interpret all the signals.”
“Twenty-two? I thought you were twenty-six.”
“I am. I didn’t get struck by lightning until I was four.”
He frowned. “Struck by lightning? You want to run that by me again?”
“When I was four years old, my older brother, my cousin, and I were playing outside one summer afternoon. A sudden thunderstorm hit, and we took shelter under a huge oak tree near our barn. A bolt of lightning struck the tree and split it in half. My brother Neil was only dazed, but I was unconscious for five days, and Lib was catatonic for two.”
“Are you sure the lightning hit you? Maybe a falling limb knocked you out.”
“Nope. The soles on all our sneakers were melted and the metal snaps on Neil’s shirt were fused shut. He still has faint scars on his chest from the burn. They’re about the size of a pencil eraser, here, here, and here,” she said, pointing a row along her own chest. “My grandmother was the first one to notice that after the incident I could predict the weather. She said it was a gift.”
She could tell from his expression that he wasn’t buying her story, which was why she usually kept it to herself. She wished that she hadn’t told him.
“And I suppose,” he said cynically, “that your brother can predict the weather as well?”
“No,” she said, clamping her mouth shut and refusing to say more.
He smiled indulgently. “Sweetheart, don’t ever tell the hard cases at the network about your signals and being struck by lightning. They’ll think you’re nuts.” He tossed his napkin on the table and stood.
“You don’t believe me, do you? You’re still planning to play golf.”
He leaned over, kissed her nose, and smiled. “I’ll take my chances.”
Chapter Six
Kale, Foster, and their prospective advertisers sat in the clubhouse and watched it rain. The first roll of thunder had boomed when they were on the green of the fourth hole, and they’d had to run for it.
“She predicted scattered thunderstorms,” Kale said to no one in particular.
“Who? Sunny?” Foster asked. When Kale nodded, he said, “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“You don’t believe that hogwash Sunny spouts, do you?”
“Are you talking about Sunny Larkin, the KRIP weather forecaster?” asked George Withers, one of the foursome. “Fine job she does. Missed her last night. I always watch her on the ten o’clock news. Was she sick?”
“No,” Kale said. “She was . . . on another assignment.”
“Damned shame,” George said. “If she’d been on, we’d have been warned and could have picked another tee time to miss this frog strangler.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Kale said. “She must have made a lucky guess. Afternoon thunderstorms are common here this time of year.”
“I don’t think Sunny has ever been wrong,” said Harvey Levine, the other member of their group. “My son got interested in weather forecasting and did a term paper on it last year. As part of his research, he checked Sunny’s predictions against the Weather Service’s for the whole semester. The majority of the time, Sunny and the service agreed, but when they didn’t, she was always right. She’s a bright little lady.”
“She’s taking over Monday night as news anchor,” Kale said. Foster’s brows rose in surprise but he didn’t comment.
“That so? Getting rid of that Eubanks fellow who acts like a goosed rabbit?” George asked.
“He’s focusing on other duties behind the camera,” Kale told him, trying to keep a straight face.
“Glad to hear that. Glad to hear about Sunny Larkin too. She did a fine job with that story about the bank robbery. Gutsy gal. Think you might have you a winner there. That being the case, I expect I can swing some of my company’s advertising budget your way. How about you, Harv?”
* * *
“Rats!” Sunny slammed down the receiver. “The phone’s on the fritz again. What good is the darned thing if it works only half the time?”
“I reported it for the third time yesterday,” Estella said. “They promised to send someone out Monday to check it, but I think they’re laying new cable or something. Anyway, that was their excuse for intermittent service.”
“I wanted to find out the screening times for the movie, and I can’t find the newspaper.”
“I think Kale took it with him.”
Sunny laughed. “Good. He can read it while he watches the rain at the golf course. Is your cell phone handy? Mine’s upstairs charging.”
“I think I left it in the bathroom. Didn’t you warn Kale it was going to rain?”
“Sure I warned him. But Mr. Smarty Pants didn’t believe me. Sometimes he can be so hard-nosed. I wonder if I’ve made a mistake accepting the anchor position and agreeing to stay here under the same roof with him.” She plopped down on the den sofa next to where Estella sat stretched out in a burgundy leather recliner. “Sometimes I want to pinch his head off, and other times I’m very drawn to him. He’s a powerfully sexy man. Being around him is scary.”
“Having the anchor spot is a big break for you. And as for the other, why don’t you let nature take its course?” Estella grinned. “From what I saw last night, your natures are moving right along.”
Sunny felt her face grow pink. She kept her eyes down, picking at a thread in the welting of the flame-stitched couch. “He’d had too much to drink.”
“Maybe so, but it seems to me that having a snootful only let down his inhibitions. The man has the hots for you in a bad way, sweetie.”
“Oh, I know he has the hots for me. But that’s the problem. I don’t want to be simply a handy access for his temporary urges. I’m not into recreational sex.”
Estella looked at her sharply. “Sunny, are you falling in love with him?”
“I don’t know. That would be the pits, wouldn’t it? I don’t think I’ve ever really been in love. What does it feel like?”
Estella smiled. “Different ways at different times. But in the beginning, he’s on your mind constantly, like an obsession. And there’s a sweet ache here.” She patted her chest, then grinned. “And another fevered one . . . lower down.”
“Sounds like a virus.”
“May be.” She rubbed her hand across the mound of her pregnancy. “It sure made my belly swell.”
Sunny laughed. “I don’t think I’m ready for that yet, but I’m afraid I have all the other symptoms. Maybe I need to take a tonic or something, have a good purge, as my grandmother used to say, because falling in love with Kale Hoaglin would be the worst thing I’ve ever done. Nothing could come of a relationship with him except a bushel of heartache. In another couple of months our paths will be going in different directions, and I’ll probably never see him again except on television.”
“Oh, honey, love is such a special thing, and it comes along so seldom that you can’t toss it aside without giving it a chance. If it’s real and grows strong, people have a way of working out logistics. Look at Ed and me. I don’t see him for long
periods of time, but when I think of the alternative, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Just listen to us,” Sunny said, jumping up. “We sound like something out of’Dear Abby.’ How about a lemonade?”
* * *
That evening Sunny and Kale ended up alone again for dinner. Sunny pushed most of her fish around on her plate instead of eating it, which was unusual for her, since she ordinarily had a voracious appetite. Odd, too, since the informal restaurant, a floating barge permanently docked at the T-Head, was one of her favorite places to eat. She squirmed in her chair.
She wished Estella hadn’t begged off. Her friend had used her pregnancy as an excuse again, saying that her stomach preferred a simple cup of yogurt to catfish and that her feet swelled just thinking about sitting for two hours at a movie. Sunny sighed.
“Something wrong?” Kale asked. “You’ve been very quiet tonight.”
“I don’t know exactly. I feel restless. Peculiar.”
“Weather signals? Should we have brought an umbrella?”
She glanced up at him sharply, searching for some sign of ridicule in his expression but finding instead that his mien was pleasant and open. “No, the only thing unusual in the weather is a tropical depression in the Gulf, but it will go inland near New Orleans without forming into a hurricane.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. During hurricane season, people around here get very antsy when storms start heading into the Gulf. This one will hit land Tuesday night.”
He signed the check and took a last sip of coffee. “How far ahead can you accurately predict the weather?”
“I can be fairly certain about a week before and positive for three days. Does this mean that you’re beginning to believe me?”
He smiled. “Let’s say I’ve decided to keep an open mind. Especially since you’re the one responsible for Foster and my signing up two big advertising accounts. Until George Withers and Harvey Levine started raving about you this afternoon, I didn’t realize that you’re such a local celebrity. You’re well respected in Corpus.”
“Does that surprise you?” she asked, mildly affronted.
“Everything about you surprises me, Sunny. Particularly the way I feel about you.”
“Oh?” She widened her eyes, waiting for him to elaborate.
“We’ll discuss it later. In detail.” He smiled. “Ready?”
They walked outside into the deepening shadows of the balmy evening. The restless feeling Sunny had felt earlier had escalated to an uneasiness that was at variance with the quiet, winding-down mood of their surroundings. Palm trees rustled in the bay breeze; boats were being moored in their slips; thin traffic moved at a lazy pace. A few sea gulls, crying overhead, were making their last passes of the day before settling for the night.
“I’m looking forward to the movie,” Kale said, his hand at her back steering her toward the parking lot. “I can’t remember when I’ve seen a film without having to read English subtitles.”
He stopped and looked around, a puzzled look on his face. “I could have sworn that this is where we parked the car.”
“Me too. Do you suppose it’s one row over?”
They searched the entire lot. The white Cadillac was gone.
“Damn!” Kale said, scowling and raking his fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe we’ve been ripped off. “ He pulled out his phone. “I’m calling the cops.”
Sunny was as angry and dismayed as Kale was. He’d loved Ravinia’s sporty Cadillac, and it infuriated her to think that some lowlife had swiped it while they ate.
A few minutes later a patrol car arrived. The officer, a no-nonsense veteran, took down the information on the car. “A vehicle like this,” he said, tapping his notebook with his pencil, “is a big temptation for thieves, but it’s also very recognizable. I’ll put out a report right away. Maybe we can locate it before any serious damage is done.”
While the officer radioed in the description of the car, Kale said, “I suppose we’ll have to take a taxi to the movie.”
Sunny bit her lip and rubbed her arms. Her uneasiness had blossomed into anxiety. “Something is wrong. Very wrong.”
“Hell, yes, something is wrong. Some sleaze just hot-wired the car and helped himself to it.”
“No, something else. I’m going to call Estella.”
The phone rang. And rang. And rang. She tried the land line at the house. It rang and rang. And rang.
“Estella didn’t answer,” Sunny told Kale, kneading her fingers together. “Kale, I need to check on her. Now.” She felt as if a bucket of agitated bees had been loosed inside her.
Kale hugged her against him. “Honey, calm down. We’ll go check on her, but I’m sure she’s okay. Maybe she went out to get some pickles and ice cream, or maybe she’s in the bathroom.”
Sunny shook her head, feeling a sense of urgency. “We have to go home.” She tugged on the lapels of his jacket. “Immediately.”
* * *
When the patrol car let them out at the big house on Ocean Drive, Sunny ran up the walk, then waited impatiently as Kale unlocked the door.
She burst inside, calling Estella. When there was no answer on the lower floor, she took the stairs up to her friend’s room two at a time. “Estella!”
When she heard a muffled moan, Sunny threw open the door. Estella lay atop the coverlet, knees drawn up, drenched in sweat. Several sheets and towels were in a heap on the carpet.
“Ohmygod! Kale, call an ambulance!”
Panicked, Sunny ran to the bed, knelt beside her friend, and took her hand. “Hang on, Estella. Kale is calling an ambulance.”
She clutched Sunny’s hand. “No time for . . . ambulance,” she gasped. “This baby is . . . coming.”
“Oh, no! No! Pant and blow. Blow, blow, blow. Don’t push. For God’s sake, don’t push!”
Kale rushed in. “They’re on the way!
Estella cried out as a contraction heaved her body. Kale blanched.
“There’s no time,” Sunny said, a calmness flowing over her. She picked up the clean linen from where Estella had obviously dropped it. “Help me get this under her. Blow, Estella, blow!”
“But we can’t—”
“The hell we can’t!”
“Wait a second.” Kale rushed into the adjoining bath, and there was a loud crash before he dashed out, dragging a shower curtain, just as Estella screamed with another contraction. He thrust the plastic at Sunny. “I’ll lift her and you fix the bed.”
He smiled at Estella and said gently, “Don’t worry about a thing, sweetheart. We’ve got it under control.”
Estella tried to laugh, but her sweat-soaked face turned into a grimace as her body bucked.
When the contraction had passed, he said, “Put your arms around my neck. I’m going to lift you just a little bit. That’s good. That’s good.”
Sunny quickly shoved the curtain and a pair of folded sheets under her. “We’ve got to wash our hands.” She sprinted to the bathroom, scrubbed up to her elbows, and doused her hands and a large section of the floor with half a bottle of alcohol.
Kale met her on her way back. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth, “because I sure as hell don’t.”
“We watched a movie in childbirth class.”
“Oh, you have a world of experience,” he said sarcastically. “Don’t we need to boil some water?”
Sunny rolled her eyes. “For what? A cup of tea?”
Estella yelled, “It’s coming! It’s coming!”
“Wait!” Sunny screamed. “Blow! Don’t push yet. I’m not ready!” She hurriedly arranged Estella’s clothing and was about to drape a sheet over her knees, as she’d seen done in the film, when Estella cried out again.
Sunny’s eyes grew large. “It’s crowned!” Kale ran back in, his hands dripping. “Crowned?”
“I can see its head. Kale, when the next contraction comes, hold Estella’s shoulde
rs up and help her push.”
“It’s coming!”
Sunny climbed on the foot of the bed and yelled, “Okay, okay! Here it comes!” A tiny head appeared, and she eased her hand under it. “Oh, it’s wonderful, Estella, it’s wonderful. Here comes the shoulder. Take a couple of cleansing breaths. Good, good. Now! One more, one more. Push! Oh, here it is, here it is. Oh, Estella, it’s wonderful. It’s a boy! He’s perfect. He’s beautiful.”
The wrinkled little face squinched , his lungs filled, and he let out a wail. Estella laughed and fell back to the pillows in exhaustion. Sunny started laughing, tears running down her face.
Kale stared at the tiny, mewling infant, awestruck. A slow smile slid over his face. “That’s incredible. You did great, Estella. Just great.” He kissed Estella’s forehead, then winked at Sunny. “Good job, Dr. Larkin. Excellent, in fact.”
High on adrenaline and the magic of the miracle she’d just participated in, Sunny gave a saucy bobble of her head and grinned smugly. “Not half bad, if I do say so myself.” She wiped the baby with a soft towel and laid him across Estella’s tummy. “Do you have a shoelace handy?” she asked Kale.
“I’m wearing loafers. Why do you need a shoelace?”
“I think we have to tie the cord. I read in a novel once where they used a shoelace.”
Estella, breathing raggedly as she stroked her newborn’s back, said, “Forget it. You’re not . . . using a nasty shoelace . . . on my baby.”
* * *
A few minutes before midnight, Sunny and Kale, arms around each other’s waists, stood at the hospital nursery window and watched Ed Jones, Jr., sleep.
“Isn’t he wonderful?” she asked, resting her head against Kale. “Seven pounds and three ounces of perfect, beautiful baby. Won’t Ed be thrilled when he gets the message?”
Kale pulled her closer against him and kissed the top of her head. “It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever witnessed.”
“It terrifies me to think what might have happened if we hadn’t come home when we did.”
“But we did, and everything turned out fine. You heard her obstetrician say that it’s rare for a first baby to come so quickly. And the doctor said that you did all the right things. I’m very proud of you.”
