FOURTEEN Sebastian
Johnathan Producer
The footage you emailed me last night of that tornado was unreal. I’ve watched it ten times. Can’t wait to edit it. I smell another Emmy heading your way, Sebastian.
Glad you liked it. Make sure you give Quincy Monroe credit when you get it uploaded. Her social media handle is @TheRainyDayShow. Wouldn’t have been possible without her.
Got it.
“You’re having a wild summer. Hurricanes. Rescuing people from floodwaters. The tornado you and Quincy went through last night.” Cooper checks his rearview mirror before merging lanes. “That’s serious shit, man.”
“I’ve experienced plenty of tornadoes.” I yawn and drop my head against the seat, achingly exhausted.
I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night when I got home.
I heard Cooper making coffee at half past six and dragged myself out of his guest room, joining him at the kitchen table.
It took a full cup of caffeine before I could open my eyes. “I’m sure I’ll be in plenty more.”
“I know you have, but have you been in one dangerous enough to fear for your life?”
Forget my life. I was more afraid of something happening to her.
Cooper met me at Quincy’s last night, reassuring her—and me—that a strong painkiller would help the swelling in her ankle. A quick diagnostic test showed it’s sprained, not broken, and he tucked her into bed with a glass of water and a pillow propped under her leg.
I watched him take care of her, standing awkwardly in the doorway until she mumbled something about haboobs and advection before drifting off to sleep.
Coop asked why I was grinning when we got back to his place, and I chalked it up to surviving the elements, not because Quincy remembered my favorite weather phenomenon.
I tried to decompress in the shower, but I was still on edge after her injury.
By the time I climbed into bed, my mind kept going back to the moment she hit the ground.
The world closing in around us. Her telling me to go and the terror that gripped me when I wasn’t sure we were going to make it.
“No. That was a first. And hopefully a last,” I answer. “Thanks for driving me out here to get her car. Quincy could use the rest, and I’ll send Mia over to her place later to make sure she’s doing okay.”
“How’s the wedding planning going?” Cooper’s grip tightens on the steering wheel. The edge in his voice is a tone I haven’t heard from him before. “I know Mia’s been busy.”
“From what Mia has told me, it sounds like everything is fine. She wanted Nate to make her cake, but she’s going with someone else instead.”
“You’ve been busy too. Feels like you’re never home.”
“That’s how the Dunn siblings operate. Unless I have a full plate, I’m restless.”
“I’ll say. The docuseries is going well? Do you miss being on the news every night?”
“I’m having so much fun, man. I haven’t had a front row seat to weather events in years, and getting close to the action again has been eye-opening.
I’ve always known this, but the duality of weather never ceases to amaze me.
There’s something so … profoundly beautiful in an unstoppable force that’s existed longer than mankind.
That will continue to exist long after we’re gone.
No human has found a solution to preventing natural disasters, and no human will.
For as smart as we are, we’ll never outsmart Mother Nature. ”
“Dude.” Cooper chuckles. “It’s way too early to be so introspective. And you sound so giddy about all of it.”
“Sorry. You know how I get when I talk about the love of my life.” I grin. “Are you headed to the station after this?”
“Yeah. I won’t be back until tomorrow night. There’s fried chicken in the fridge for dinner if you want it and a bowl of mashed potatoes on the second shelf.”
“Living with you is killing my physique. I’m going to get my ass handed to me when I head back to New York and start rowing again.”
“When’s that going to be?”
“Not sure. I’d like to stay as long as they’ll let me,” I say, but I know this project has an end date.
Everyone is on board with the series. They see the potential, but the problems start when I go days without sending any footage to the team in the studio because I don’t have any footage to share.
It’s not a case of laziness. I can’t make a tornado appear out of thin air just to shoot some content, and my boss is starting to think I’m enjoying an extended vacation while my replacement fumbles his lines on national television.
Gary, the poor bastard, is just an intern. He mentioned rearend inflow the other night and giggled for three minutes straight. ABC had to cut to commercial, and I’ll be shocked if he makes it through the summer.
There’s a message in my inbox every few days asking when I’m planning to get back to the studio.
Johnathan does his best to stick up for me, outlining that the likelihood for a hurricane to hit Florida is high, but the executives don’t want likelihood.
They want sure things, and I know I’m running out of time.
Grasping for any sort of way I can spin the series so I can stay in town a little while longer.
Dread takes up space in my stomach when I think about New York for too long, and I’m stalling.
Without any news about the NWS position, I’m pulling excuses out of my ass.
I tell my boss patience is a big component of this job.
I mention that the hurricane season goes until the end of November, and the peak time to expect a tropical cyclone is mid-September.
I’ve boasted about the up-close-and-personal viewpoint people will be able to watch firsthand because I was in the action. It’s Jurassic Park, but with weather!
The last one didn’t garner a reply, and the email I read at some point last night, caught between sleep and awake, told me I have until October 15 in Florida if I want to keep my job.
Two and a half months doesn’t feel like enough time to figure my shit out.
I’m hoping for some sort of epiphany. A revelation that will magically make all of this tolerable again, and I’ve been catching it in bits and pieces.
I’ve found sparks of inspiration when I sit on Cooper’s porch with a beer and watch a thunderstorm roll in.
It was there in South Florida when I took shelter in a parking garage. Again in a booth at Waffle House.
The more time I spend in Oak Valley, the more my heart tethers itself to the town like it did when I was younger.
It’s the easy way of life. Unhurried, but still important.
I have a routine, things I look forward to.
It’s always the same: a morning run that ends in the center of town.
Popping by Nate’s bakery, Whisk and Rise, for a croissant and an iced coffee where we shoot the shit.
Heading back to Cooper’s an hour later with enough time to lock myself in my room and watch Quincy’s show.
I haven’t missed a day in seven years.
“Here’s fine.” I point to the parked car up ahead. “That’s her.”
“Her back right tire is low on air.” Cooper frowns. “I have a pump at my house. I’ll bring it by the day after tomorrow and take care of that for her.”
“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that.” I clamp down on the jealousy that flickers in my chest. “Thanks for the ride, Coop.”
“Text me if you need anything else. I have my phone on.”
“Will do.” I open the passenger door, greeted by sticky humidity. Still-damp dirt and the smell of flowers. “Be safe.”
“Anything for you, Sebby.”
The drive to her house stretches long with traffic and construction work.
I keep checking the clock, frustration mounting when I get stuck behind a Subaru doing forty-five down I4.
At nine on the dot, the time when Quincy always starts her show, I take the exit for Oak Valley.
I find a parking lot and snag a spot under a tree, waiting for her live video.
I’m sure she’ll talk through our experience from last night.
She probably uploaded the footage to a split screen so she can dissect every detail.
The things that went right: We escaped. The tornado dissipated.
No one was hurt. The things that went wrong: Her injury.
The tumble she took and how I can’t get the thought of losing her out of my head.
I squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them, I check Instagram. I tap her profile, confused when the last thing she posted was more than twelve hours ago.
Maybe it’s a glitch.
Switching over to YouTube, I search for her account. She streams her show simultaneously there to half a million followers, but there’s no notification of a live video under her handle.
By the time the clock reaches 9:15, I’m confused.
And fucking concerned.
She never misses a show. Four years ago, she was stuck in Heathrow Airport after a canceled flight and managed to snag enough Wi-Fi to go live from a cramped bathroom stall.
Last July she was ten minutes late thanks to a flat tire on her way home from Whisk and Rise, and her comment section was full of people worried about her.
They might be thinking the worst this morning after yesterday’s events.
Shit.
I get back on the road, trying to remember the route to her place.
I’ve only been there a handful of times—mostly to pick Mia up during the holidays when I’m back in town for a few days—and my shitty memory leads to a wrong turn and a dead-end street.
There’s still no live video, and I’m vibrating with nerves when I finally pull into her driveway.
The living room curtains are pulled open, but there’s no movement inside. I put my ear against the front door and knock, straining to hear any signs of life and coming up empty-handed.
“Think, Dunn,” I mumble, running a hand through my hair.
Busting down her door is extreme. It’s a quick way to get exiled from ever seeing her again, but if she’s in serious trouble, I’ll hate myself for not being more proactive.
She’s probably sleeping after last night, the rational part of my brain surmises in an argument with itself.