TWENTY-SIX Quincy
The hours before a hurricane are, ironically, some of the most beautiful you’ll ever find weather-wise. The air is still. The wind is calm. The atmosphere is dry, all the moisture pulled in by the approaching storm before it’s released back into the atmosphere with tremendous force.
“You’re thinking hard.” Sebastian nudges my shoulder on our walk around the area surrounding the hotel we found last minute in Punta Gorda.
It’s at a higher elevation, away from the water, and we managed to snag a room with a single twin bed after a three-hour drive.
The owner said they were evacuating, but they left a key for us, letting us know emergency services wouldn’t be available if we needed to be rescued. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’m taking it all in.” I lean into his touch, happy when he puts an arm around me and pulls me to his side. “Enjoying being dry before we get soaked later. Hoping our friends are doing okay back home.”
“They have supplies and a weather radio. Coop is trained in natural disaster recovery, thank god, so if things get bad, I know he’ll be the first one to jump into action.”
“I’m so glad we have selfless friends.”
“So do I. What’s our plan?”
“I want to attach my camera to that tree.” I point to the tall palm that faces the road and the harbor on the other side of the street.
It sways slightly, fronds moving with the gentle breeze, and I wonder all the things it’s seen.
“I was also going to see if I could convince you to hang out in the alcove between our hotel and the next one over for the first part of the storm.”
“Is it covered?”
“Yes. And I brought my helmet.”
He laughs. “Of course you did. I’ll agree to your terms under one condition.”
“Let’s hear it, Dunn.”
“When the debris turns into projectiles, we’re going inside. No arguing. No trying to justify staying out longer. If you are in danger, we’re finished. Understand?”
“A little overbearing, but, fine. I’ll play by your rules.”
“You know I’m not some alpha dickhead dude who thinks he has control over you, right? I just … do you remember what I said about your well-being? With a storm like this, I don’t want to take any chances. You are very important to me, Quincy, and keeping you safe is a priority.”
“I understand.” My heart skips a beat, and I hold his words tight to my chest. “I want you to be safe too.”
“We’re in this together. You—”
My phone rings, cutting him off. I pull it out of my pocket, an unknown number scrolling across my screen.
“I don’t know who this is,” I say. “What’s the area code?”
“Miami. That’s weird. Should I answer?”
“I would. What if you won the lottery?”
“When the majority of the state is under a hurricane warning?
Please.” I slide my thumb over the screen. “Hello?”
“Is this Quincy Monroe?”
“Yes, it is. Who am I speaking with?”
“This is Dr. Feldman, director of the National Hurricane Center.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and hit mute. My mouth drops open in surprise. “Shit,” I squeak.
“Who is it?” Sebastian asks.
“Dr. Feldman. Director—”
“From the NHC? Why the hell is he calling you?”
“I don’t know! I’ve read some of his graduate research, but I’ve never met him. Oh, fuck. He’s probably going to ream me for denouncing their track on national television. My career is over.”
“Speakerphone.” Sebastian taps the screen, taking the call off mute. He lifts his chin my way, and I swallow.
“Sorry about that, Dr. Feldman. The reception is spotty where I am,” I say, proud of the lie I pull out of thin air. “How are you doing this afternoon?”
“Besides being in a packed media room with local and national news outlets and having my ass chewed out by the Secretary of Commerce? Peachy,” he deadpans, and I wince.
“That … that can’t be good.”
“No, Dr. Monroe. It’s not.”
“Is there a reason for—”
“You saw something people in my department missed today, and your observation saved lives,” he says, and Sebastian wraps his arm around me. “Choosing to publicly break from our projected track was a gutsy move, and even though it turned my day into a shit show, I’m glad you did it.”
“I’m not the only meteorologist who went against the track. I just … Dr. Feldman. How did y’all miss that? Isn’t your job to get this data right? We have so many resources available to us. Hurricane hunters, planes, ocean buoys. How did a mistake like this happen?”
“We’re understaffed. Is it an excuse? No.
But when my team is working twenty-hour days, they miss things.
There’s media responsibilities and emergency management on top of forecasting.
Unfortunately for us, missing this was a huge misstep.
It happened back in 2004 with Charley, too, and my predecessor didn’t hear the end of it for years.
The general public doesn’t focus on the cone of uncertainty.
They see the centerline that shows where the eye is going to travel and assume that’s the only part of the storm they need to worry about.
I hope today is a learning opportunity for everyone. ”
“I hope so too. I’m not sure how much assistance I can offer, but is there anything I can help with?”
“No. You’ve got a hell of a head on your shoulders, Monroe. You’re an independent meteorologist?”
“I am. I run a … well, a blog? I guess? And social media channels. Academia was never for me. I prefer educating people on our field outside the classroom.”
“This is my personal number. If you ever need anything, you give me a call and I’ll make it happen. You should be proud of yourself. Not many people I know would’ve been comfortable making the decision you made today, and I’ll make sure they put your name in all the postcyclone documentation.”
“I don’t … I don’t need any of that.” I hide my face in Sebastian’s shirt, smiling when he rubs his hand up and down my arm. “I just want to help spread awareness and save lives.”
“And you do it well. Stay safe. Are you in Oak Valley riding Georgianna out?”
“No. I’m in Punta Gorda.” A pause. “With a friend.”
“Jesus. Godspeed, then. You’re going to need it. Stay safe.”
We throw out a couple more pleasantries. When I hang up, Sebastian scoops me in his arms and spins me around.
“What did I tell you?” he says when he finally puts me down. “You’re so fucking brilliant.”
“I can’t believe I just talked to the head of the National Hurricane Center. Younger me would be freaking out. Hell …” I grin. I shake my head, the last six hours feeling like a dream. There’s renewed adrenaline in my blood. A fresh sense of purpose. “I’m freaking out.”
We do another lap of the area, finding evacuation routes we might need. Sebastian gets recognized several times, and when we meet a young couple chasing their first hurricane, they stop for a conversation.
“You all inspired us,” the woman says, looking between us.
“When I was a sophomore in college, I didn’t know what to study.
Your videos came up on my social media, Quincy, and I went down a rabbit hole.
I scrolled for hours, feeling like I was part of the storm with you.
I saw what you were doing for women in the field, and it was the encouragement I needed to declare a major in meteorology.
I graduated last year, and I’m working on my master’s now. ”
“Wow. That’s wonderful to hear. Thank you for sharing that with me. If you ever need anything, shoot me an email. I’ll do what I can to help,” I say. “Please be careful out here. This system isn’t like what you see on television.”
With a smile and a wave, she and her partner disappear down the road, their rain boots kicking up the small puddles forming on the concrete.
“Someone is a superstar,” Sebastian says.
“I’m not. I’m just me, and I’m trying to share my love with everyone else.”
“You’re doing a good job, sweetheart.” A kiss to the top of my head. A hand at the small of my back. “You’re so worthy,” he says, and my heart skips a beat.
The sun goes down, and conditions deteriorate rapidly.
A heavy line of squally storms works its way off the ocean, leaving me drenched while I set up my equipment so I can capture as much footage as I can.
It takes a set of bungee cords to attach my camera to a tree, with Sebastian adding his GoPro on top, and I’m hoping everything will be intact come morning.
Room prepared and with nothing left to do, we head out into the storm with headlamps and flashlights.
Sebastian takes off in a sprint to make it to the alcove we’re using as a shelter-in-place location for the first part of the night and I follow behind him.
It’s drier under the tin awning, but we’ve positioned ourselves in the middle of a wind tunnel.
Each gust howls like the gods are at war with each other.
“Good call on doing a time-lapse video,” he yells over the noise. It sounds as if rocks are landing on the roof above us, and I keep waiting for it to bend in two. “That’s going to make for some great footage.”
The tree to our left sways, buckling under the weight of saturated limbs. The base wobbles. The trunk starts to tip sideways before snapping in half, crashing to the ground.
“How long until the eye reaches land?” I ask.
“A couple hours.” A small shack a hundred yards away loses its windows. The glass splinters, flying in the air. “It’s already getting bad out here.”
In poetic timing, a street sign lands on the wall just inches away from where we are standing. I jump at the crash of metal on concrete. Sebastian’s arms instinctively wrap around me, protecting my head.
“You can really see the difference between a Category 5 and a Category 1,” I yell, not sure he can hear me. I can’t even hear myself think. “This is nothing like when we chased Claudia.”
“I’m not sure I want to go through this twice.” He cups my cheeks, stopping to kiss me. His tongue swipes over my bottom lip, wet and warm and reassuring. “Sorry,” he says, sheepish. “Kissing you in the rain has been on my bucket list for a while.”
“Is that the only reason you wanted to tag along? So we could make out?”