Vortex

by Kimberly Packard

  He looked up, the black dome of the camera stared down at him. “I want to see the tapes. I’m pretty sure you cheated there.” His voice rose as he pointed up at the ceiling.

  “Is there a problem here?” A man younger than all the other employees by a few decades sidled up to the table. It would be too much to ask that the casino’s security be as old as everyone else.

  Tuck knocked his knuckles on the table. “Nope, just saying my goodbyes.” He downed the last of his complimentary shitty drink and pushed off the stool.

  “Have a good day, sir,” the old dealer called after him.

  “Fuck you very much,” he shouted.

  Day had turned into night. The air was still, dry. He pulled out his phone and checked weather radars from around the country. Looked like there was at least a chance of something brewing up in west-central Texas in the coming week.

  If he could avoid Jimbo until then he might make it through storm season with his kneecaps unbroken and all ten fingers.

  7

  Corporate housing was really a euphemism. When Armando first told Seth he’d be set up in corporate housing during the storm season, he’d imagined a decked out condo with a top-of-the-line surround-sound home entertainment system, a fully-stocked kitchen and a bed so comfortable it was like sleeping on a pillowy, cumulus cloud.

  The apartment the Forecast Channel had rented for him and his cameraman, Rick, was the farthest thing from ‘corporate housing.’ It was more suitable for college kids. The kind who turned their clothes inside out to get another wear out of them before doing laundry, and used empty pizza boxes as furniture.

  Seth shuffled through the furnished apartment. The couch was covered in a velour flower print worn down on one side and pristine on the other. A faux leather recliner near a large window provided a beautiful view of the parking lot.

  The linoleum in the kitchen had seen better days, most likely back in the eighties. A quick perusal of the cabinets revealed enough dishes for two meals, after that Seth and Rick would need to wash the dishes by hand, as the kitchen didn’t have room for a dishwasher. He pulled open a door at the end of the kitchen, hoping and praying that a washer and dryer resided inside, but only a water heater stared back at him.

  The bedroom off the kitchen was small and smelled like a wet dog. Lucky for him, the bed only held a mattress and box-springs. He’d happily spend his own money buying sheets, pillows and the thickest mattress cover he could find.

  “Temporary housing, sweet temporary housing.” He dropped his bag on the floor and a plume of dust exploded into the air. “It’ll be a wonder if I don’t get asthma.”

  His phone vibrated in his back pocket.

  “Hey, Armando,” he said, pulling open the beige refrigerator. His eyes watered at the tangy smell of pickle juice. The culprit sat on the bottom shelf in a wide, yellow-green, dried-on puddle.

  “How’re doing, Seth? Getting settled in?”

  “Yeah, just, uh, checking the place out.” He pulled open the oven. A charred cookie sheet sat on the bottom rack. “It’s…” There wasn’t an adjective alive Seth could use to be honest and not piss off his boss.

  “Not the Ritz, I know, but the executives are being a bit conservative until the first season’s ratings come in. Hope you understand.”

  He felt guilty at his internal pouting. “Sure, and with an active season I won’t be spending much time here.” He pulled open another door only to find it filled with shallow shelves. “Hey, by any chance do you know if this place has washer and dryer hook ups?”

  His boss paused so long Seth looked to see if he dropped the call.

  “Yeah, about that…Sarah in HR said there’s a great laundromat just around the corner and you’re welcome to expense your laundry charges.”

  Seth stared at the flaking ceiling, inhaling deeply and releasing it in a long, slow exhale.

  He was still getting his career back.

  Did he really expect them to roll out the red carpet for him? They weren’t going to immediately give him keys to a shiny new apartment?

  No, he was going to have to prove his worth one storm outbreak at a time.

  He put on his best TV smile, the kind that reached his vocal cords. “Oh yeah, sure, no worries. Like I said, I’ll be on the road most of the time. This is simply a place to crash between outbreaks.”

  “That’s the spirit, kid,” Armando said. “Rick should be there in an hour or so. In the meantime, get acclimated, get some rest. We’re seeing some disturbances on the models that could kick up some action. Oh, and Seth, thank you for taking a chance on this.”

  He ended the call with his boss and fell into the faux leather recliner. The brilliant Oklahoma sun glinted off a car in the parking lot, making the dim apartment unnaturally bright.

  Armando’s words rumbled around his head. Sure, Seth had taken a chance on a new show and moved halfway across the country, but what choice did he have? Could he really have backed down from this? To say, ‘thanks, but I’m good watching radars overnight.’

  It was more than spending a few months in a dingy old apartment. He’d never been this far from his grandparents before. He’d gotten lucky when his college of choice in Florida had not only offered him a golf scholarship and a strong meteorological sciences program, but was also just a few hours from Gulf Shores. Same with Atlanta.

  Oklahoma City was more than twelve hours away. Luckily, Grandma and Gramps were in good health, but it was that what-if that churned his stomach like a stormy sea. What if Grandma fell? What if Gramps had a heart attack? What if Seth’s career collapsed even more?

  A man sucking on a cigarette paced in front of his window. With a long exhale, the smell of tobacco flooded his apartment.

  This new show is about as air tight as that window.

  The man tossed the cigarette on the ground. Ascending footsteps clanged against the opposite wall. The door above him opened and closed, and what sounded like an elephant entered the apartment above his. Funny, because Seth had guessed he couldn’t have weighed more than one-fifty.

  He could still back out. They could get someone else to fly out, take his place and be the face of the show.

  Seth flew through his demotion like a defiant teen running a stop sign. This crappy apartment in the middle-of-nowhere was a flashing road ends, you’re-about-to-drive-off-a-cliff sign.

  That same alarm was flashing when Julia had come on to him that night of the company holiday party. He should’ve known relationships that started after a boozy evening of eggnog and mistletoe make-out sessions—and would make Sarah in HR cringe—were destined to take a nosedive off the edge of the Grand Canyon.

  He ignored that sign then and look where it’d gotten him.

  Not this time.

  Nothing was holding him in Oklahoma. The show hadn’t started, storm season was barely cranking up. He could go back home. Not home to Atlanta, home to Alabama.

  Gulf Shores was a small media market, but Seth didn’t need to be on a national network. Being the local weatherman would suit him just fine. Aside from hurricane season, the weather was pretty calm. He’d have plenty of time to get back to his college golf scores, spend time with high school friends who told the same stories over and over, and he could even strike up a relationship with an old girlfriend.

  Sure, he could do all that. He'd be bored off his ass, but he could do it.

  He sighed and pulled his laptop out of his backpack.

  Why should he decide? If the weather gods wanted him to take up residence in tornado alley, then they’d produce a storm system he couldn’t say no to.

  The computer program took a moment to wake up. At first, the southern part of the country looked like a sleepy summer day. After the second pass, a front dropping down from Canada like a falling star was on a collision course with rising gulf air from the south. The point of impact looked to be two days away, somewhere over central Texas.

  He closed his laptop and drummed his fingers on the lid. Sure, h
e could return home and talk his way into a boring job, get a solid tan and find a nice girl to settle down with. Seth would then spend the rest of his life wondering, what if.

  What if this was a bigger opportunity than sitting behind a desk? What if ‘Riders in the Storm’ really made an impact in people’s lives?

  What if the sign ahead was a green light, telling him the road would likely be bumpy and curvy, but it was the route he was supposed to take?

  What if saying yes changed everything?

  8

  Waking up in her childhood bedroom always made Elaina feel like the last several years of her life were a dream. The faded red curtains, tarnished medals and trophies and curled edges of various weather posters tacked on the wall reminded her it’d been eight years since she slept in this room on a regular basis.

  In her first moments of consciousness, she felt like someone else. It was an odd feeling of being unmoored.

  Ever since that tornado, her grip on her identity felt loosened, like holding onto a weather balloon only to have it pulled out of her fingers and float away.

  Elaina stretched and flipped the covers off her.

  Nimbus grumbled beside her and stretched his long legs, smacking his lips before resuming snoring.

  “Lazy butt,” she mumbled. He answered her with a heavy sigh.

  With her laptop tucked under her arm, she crept down to the kitchen. A note waited for her under the coffeepot.

  Checking on the cows, then running into town. Back around lunchtime.

  Love,

  Momma

  “Of course,” she said before crumpling the paper.

  Connie had avoided her since she’d questioned her about being in a tornado.

  Her mother had always worked hard on the small farm, but seemed to work even harder in the two days since—waking up well before the sun and getting home after dark.

  Her mom felt like a ghost. She’d catch a glimpse of her white hair out of the corner of her eye, or hear the creak of the hardwood floors outside her bedroom, only to disappear by the time Elaina got to the door.

  Imagine if I’d asked about the little girl.

  Her seat at the kitchen table waited for her. The smooth, cool wood welcomed her bare legs. It was strange feeling such a connection with a chair, but this seat had held her for as long as she could remember, supporting her through bumps and bruises and broken hearts, during homework and meals, and late night talks with her mom. The seat of the chair was practically velvet from all the years of Elaina sliding in and out.

  She flipped open her laptop and launched her weather models software. A low pressure system was building over the Gulf. A high pressure was about to drop down from the north.

  Elaina smiled into her cup. The perfect ingredients for super cell thunderstorms, with a possible tornado as dessert.

  Her cell rang, dancing across the table as it buzzed.

  “You seeing this?” She skipped the greeting when she answered Heath’s call.

  “Yeah, looks big. Could break out around north central Texas by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  Connie was still not home by the time Elaina was packed and ready to go. Her mom would’ve been just as happy with a text goodbye, given her recent behavior, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave with whatever was growing between them.

  She sat on the big porch swing, one foot tucked underneath her, the other gently rocking the swing.

  Nim stretched out in the sun, first on his side before rolling over to his back, his blonde belly reflecting the bright, late morning sun.

  Elaina studied the flat landscape, watching for her mom’s SUV. The tension worried her. No matter what she’d done during her rebellious teenage years, Connie had never given her the silent treatment. Then again, the worst thing that’d happened was Elaina getting caught driving around with beer and several friends. Even then, the police had told Connie to go easy on her. She’d been the designated driver.

  How could a simple question be worse than a minor in possession charge? What was so bad about trying to remember something from her childhood?

  A cloud of dust billowed on the horizon.

  Her dog bounced up and immediately began his someone-is-coming-to-see-me dance.

  Elaina met her mother at her parking spot, pulling the door open before Connie could escape. She wasn’t going to leave until they talked and everything was back to normal.

  “Hey, baby,” her mom said, pulling herself out of the car. “Is everything okay?”

  “Oh yeah, really great, actually. A low is coming up from the Gulf, so Heath and I are hoping to catch some action tomorrow in Texas.” Elaina caught Connie’s gaze.

  For the first time in the past two days, mother and daughter studied each other. Despite the unrelated DNA, their connection ran deep.

  She remembered being little, and crawling into Connie’s lap, resting her head against her chest, listening to the relaxing rhythm of her mother’s heart, trying to make her own heart beat in sync. She’d never heard that heartbeat from inside her mother’s body, but it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t have remembered it, anyway.

  “I’m sorry,” they said at the same time.

  Connie’s face mirrored Elaina’s look of surprise and they giggled.

  Her mother threw her arm around Elaina’s shoulders and started walking toward the house. “Let’s have a quick lunch before you leave.”

  This time, the silence between them was one of comfort.

  She pulled Pimento cheese out of the fridge, and Connie heated up the skillet. Her mom’s grilled Pimento cheese sandwiches could actually be the secret to world peace.

  “I’m really am sorry I upset you,” Elaina said, swallowing a bite of gooey melted cheese. “It was just some stupid dream, and it felt so real that I couldn’t help but wonder …”

  Her mom put her sandwich down and wiped her hands on her napkin. She broke one of her favorite table manner rules and put her elbows on either side of her plate. “Baby, I should be the one to apologize. I worry about you out there. You have no clue the kind of injuries I’ve seen of tornado victims.” Her eyes filled and she dabbed the edges with her napkin. “You’re all I have, and the thought of seeing you like that—” Connie’s chin trembled and her normally strong voice was reduced to a whisper.

  She grabbed her hand and squeezed. For the first time, Elaina felt the stiffness of the joints and flesh that felt as thin as onionskin.

  This woman—her mother—was also all she had.

  “I’m careful. We always stay on the back end of the storm and we have computers and radars on our side. I do this so fewer people have injuries, and fewer mothers have to worry.”

  Connie pulled out of her grasp and stroked the side of Elaina’s face. “I know, baby. You take care of everyone, but I just worry about who’s taking care of you.” They held each other’s gaze moments longer before her mom broke the connection. “Well, you need to finish up and get on the road. I’ll pack some food for your drive down.”

  The drive was long, but it was the perfect amount of time for her brain to chew on her mom’s words. They were all each other had. Was it selfish of her to put herself in constant danger?

  There were safer fields of study. Why did she have to choose the one that could kill her?

  If she’d chosen botany, the worse that could happen was a rash from mishandling poison ivy.

  The weather ran deep in Elaina’s blood, as if part of her DNA matrix would include ozone from lightning strikes, water vapor and positively charged ions. The weather spoke to her in ways that people didn’t.

  After five hours in her truck, her muscles were as stiff as concrete pillars. Her feet pushed on the sides of her boots, swollen from the constant pressure on the gas pedal. Normally, she loved driving; the freedom to go anywhere, the rhythm of the road, the control over her big mechanical beast at the wiggle of a toe.

  Elaina shifted, hoping to reestablish blood
flow to her butt. Today she could see the benefits of cruise control.

  It took all of her strength to not kiss the ground when they arrived at the roadside motel Heath had booked outside of Stephenville. According to all of the models, the area outside of this town held the greatest potential for outbreak. Of course, they had to stay mobile; just because an outbreak started near them doesn’t mean it would stay.

  The cracked parking lot was full. Judging by radio antennas waving in the wind and the number of vans sporting magnetic cling signs promoting various storm chasing groups, they weren’t the only ones eager for some action.

  Elaina wrinkled her nose at a Hummer and live truck duo wrapped in bright blue Forecast Channel propaganda. The circus is officially in town.

  “Looks like the cold front’s slowed a bit.” Heath pulled his duffel bag out of the van. “Models still showing tomorrow afternoon, but we may be in more of a hurry up and wait pattern. I need a shower and a nap.” An oversized yawn punctuated his statement and he slipped inside his room.

  Her beloved yellow Lab raised one eyebrow at Elaina, as if agreeing with her research partner.

  She let Nim into her room and walked over to the forgotten pool, half filled with emerald green water. A rippling under the surface made lazy, looping circles, but never betrayed the secret of what lay beneath.

  The wind blew from the southwest and the familiar scent of her mom’s cow pasture wafted off the water.

  She faced the west. The sun slipped through high cirrus clouds, easing toward the cumulonimbus already building on the horizon. The clouds seemed to ignite as the sun touched them, setting off a firestorm of oranges and pinks.

  Elaina closed her eyes and raised her arms overhead, reaching for the wispy strands of moisture licking the sky. Her back groaned and popped as it let go of the driving tension. Hinging at the waist, she dove down, gripping the toe of her boots.

  After years of practicing yoga, the motion of sun salutations was automatic, almost prayer-like. While her body flowed with her breath, her mind played with that image of the man silhouetted against a blinding light.