November 11th
Sarah turned up the sound on her playlist and tapped her slipper-clad foot against the leg of the desk. In another hour or so everyone would gather for a meeting of the clinic board, to figure out what was done and what needed to be finished. Greg's practice was close to ready at long last; the lab equipment needed to be installed and the back kitchen area needed a good clean, but everything else was ready to go, or very nearly so.
"So smile for a while and let's be jolly/Love shouldn't be so melancholy/Come along and share the good times while we can,'" she sang with Lynn Anderson, just as a message came in from Laynie. Sarah opened it. Her smile faded as she read the brief note. Immediately she activated the webcam and clicked on Laynie's link. Her friend was there. Sarah took one look and sat straight up as her heart slammed into her throat. "What the hell happened?" she gasped.
"Before you freak out completely, I'm all right," Laynie said quickly. "Sarah, calm down. It looks worse than it really is."
"And what does that mean?" Sarah snapped.
"Uh—sore wrist, a couple of cuts and a bruise or two," Laynie said.
"A broken wrist, a black eye and ten stitches on your shoulder that I can see, that's not worse?" Sarah heard her voice rise and couldn't stop it.
"Sare, it's okay. I just got a little too close to the action—"
"Too close? What do you mean, too close? Who was keeping an eye on things? Who was driving? Why wasn't someone there to tell you to back off?" Sarah leaned forward. "You were out there by yourself and you rolled the truck, didn't you? Dammit Laynie!"
"Yeah, I rolled it," Laynie said. She sounded defensive now. After a moment one corner of her mouth quirked up. "'I beg your pardon/I never promised you a rose garden,'" she sang along with the music. Sarah stared at her as she fought with fear, exasperation and reluctant amusement.
"Damn smartass," she said finally. "You'd better tell me everything that happened to get you half-killed, you idiot." Her fear won out for a moment.
"I'm okay, really," Laynie said quickly. "Sare, I got it on video. The biggest November outbreak in Okie in god knows how many years, and I got it! Take a look, I sent you a clip with the best stuff." She grinned and winced, but excitement shone from her bruised face. "Seriously, this is epic!"
Sarah checked her inbox and found the attachment. "It better be," she muttered. "You could have been killed—"
"Oh, just shut up and watch the vid!"
Sarah opened the file and began to watch. Ten seconds in her eyes widened. "Oh my god," she whispered. A cold chill of fear and excitement crawled up her spine. In front of her was an enormous wall cloud extended almost to the ground, with rapid rotation and a nearly invisible vortex that pulled up huge amounts of dirt from the plowed field below it. "This is crazy! This is something you'd see in springtime, not—not—" She groped for words. "You got the readings?"
"Of course." Laynie sounded insulted.
"Where the hell was this?"
"Just outside Tipton. Turn up the volume. That thing was growlin' like a damn wild hog."
Sarah shivered as a powerful bass rumble issued from the speakers. Instinctively she pulled in on herself a bit and folded her arms. "How—how big was the hail?"
"Most were golf balls, but there were some close to tennis ball. I packed a bunch of them, they're at the lab in the freezer. I labeled 'em so the Prick wouldn't think they were ice cubes." Laynie leaned forward. "Check out that rotation! It's freakin' nuts!"
"What the hell are you looking at?" Greg said from the doorway. Sarah motioned him to come in but didn't her eyes off the monitor.
"How much did you shoot?"
"Twelve hours, Sare! I shot right up till it got too dark to go on, and all of it's incredible footage."
"Look at that damn meso rotate like it's on speed," Sarah said in wonderment. "Multiple vortices, oh my god, Laynie!"
"It wasn't all that well organized at first but by the time it crossed the highway, holy cow." Laynie managed a slight smile, though it was clear she tried not to pull on her bruises. "I got great footage of it from one hundred yards. I'm betting EF3, maybe even EF4."
Greg yanked the chair from his old desk and pulled it up close. "You were in those storms yesterday?" Sarah heard the rough concern under the casual question and smiled to herself.
"Hey Greg! Yeah. All the major networks want this," Laynie said. "I've had six solid offers to pick up the license so far and it's all good money."
"Son of a bitch," Sarah said as she noticed the road for the first time. "Son of a goddamn bitch, Laynie! You know those access roads are a damn deathtrap, especially after it rains!"
"It was the only way to get close. I just wasn't fast enough when the downdraft hit," Laynie said. "Beat the hell out of the truck with hail."
"From the looks of you the truck wasn't the only thing that got beat," Greg said. "What happened to you?"
"I'm fine," Laynie said. "Just a little run-in with the RFD, that's all. The gust front was incredible."
Greg rolled his eyes. "Translation for non-weather geeks?"
Sarah took him up on his request, though she knew he understood more than he let on. "Rear flank downdraft," she said as she studied inflow patterns. "Caused by negative buoyancy—um, due to vertical pressure perturbations and changing vorticity gradients, the incoming air can push the subsiding air down or out. It tends to happen when dryer and cooler air is injected into the cloud, it's partially due to a hydrostatic effect. The air in RFDs is usually warm and dry, but not always. It also creates what's called a clear slot, you can often see it wrap around the funnel or move away from it in the shape of a horseshoe. We still don't understand all the mechanics, but everyone's tryin' to figure it out because RFDs seem to be essential in tornadogenesis." She caught Greg's amused glance and realized she'd gone into lecture mode. "Well, they do."
"Yeah, Fujita's recycling hypothesis," Laynie chimed in. Sarah nodded.
"Exactly."
Greg spared both of them a sardonic look. "So you two really went to school for this stuff and not just for the free sex," he said. "I thought it was all bullshit."
"Nope, we're bona fide geeks," Laynie said. "Proud of it too. Sooner Tornado Research is the result of all that nerdy obsession in school, and it's starting to pay off big time."
"You got chased, didn't you?" Sarah said suddenly. "Dammit, you had a funnel chase you down an access road with potholes the size of swimming pools and you tried to outrun it in the truck!" She smacked the desk as her fear returned, along with a burst of anger. "LAYNIE!"
"It didn't chase me!" Laynie said, clearly hurt. "Come on, I'm not a rookie! I just—um—" She looked sheepish. "I just wasn't fast enough when the funnel changed course slightly."
"You were outside the vehicle filming and you didn't have anyone with you. It doesn't get more rookie than that." Sarah sat up straight. "I wanna talk to Rick right now."
"The Prick isn't here," Laynie said.
"Of course not. Fine, then I'm comin' out there," Sarah said. "Gene can drive me down to Newark and someone can pick me up in Dallas or Tulsa, I'll call and let you know."
"Sare, no! Everything's all right, I promise!"
"Everything is very not all right," Sarah snapped. "Rick's been pushin' you around and not doing his job and you didn't want to say anything. I knew he was an idiot and still kept him on even after you told me you didn't like chasing with him, which makes a bad situation even worse. Enough is enough. You could have been killed. Time for some changes."
"So what, you're gonna fire me?" Laynie said.
"Of course not, you doof! We're gonna fire HIM." Sarah took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. "Let me talk to Gene and we'll get it figured out."
"Talk to Gene about what?" Her husband stood in the doorway. As she turned to him he got a clear look at the computer monitor. His smile disappeared. "Holy shit, Laynie! What happened?"
He sat through the explanation and the video in silence, his lean face impassive. At the end he said quietly, "We have a board meeting for the next hour or so but after that we'll get back to you, darlin'."
"Okay. I'm not going anywhere," Laynie said in a feeble attempt at humor. "Talk some sense into your wife, would you?"
"No promises," Gene said, but he smiled a little when he said it.
"Yeah, that'll work," Greg said. Sarah gave him a light thump on the leg with thumb and forefinger.
"No comments from the peanut gallery," she said. "Let's get the meeting started."
[H]
Greg takes quick stock of the situation. The group that sits around the dining room table is a subdued one.
"What's going on?" Will wants to know from the speakerphone. "Nobody's talking."
"Sorry," Sarah says. "Had a slight difficulty that's unrelated to the clinic. Where's Roz?" She directs this question at Greg.
"My lovely wife is working at the clinic as we speak," he says. "Getting things ready for the lab equipment, apparently."
"It's coming in tomorrow," Will affirms. "What's left on the renovation?"
Greg looks over at Sarah. She tugs on a curl, lost in thought. He gives her a thump on the leg, the same kind she delivered to him. "Hey."
"Hmm? Oh . . . sorry," she says. "Um . . . painting's done, I finished the kitchen yesterday. We need a few things like a coffeemaker and a microwave, some shelves and a couple of chairs, but that's . . . that's easily taken care of."
The talk moves to personnel but Greg ignores it and watches Sarah. She's worried, and he thinks if she was by herself she'd be up to pace and yank on her hair.
"Doctor House," Gene says with exaggerated politeness, "we were discussing your team."
"Discuss away," he says, his eyes still on Sarah.
"Your input would be welcome," Gene says dryly.
"I have one on the team. Singh said he'd do it," Greg says. "Still shopping for a couple more."
"How about your executive secretary?" Will says. "Any news there?"
"According to the grand poobah she's on the hook but hasn't been reeled in yet."
"Time's a wastin'," Will reminds everyone with unnecessary emphasis. "How many patient applicants do you have so far?"
"Several hundred," Sarah says, surprising Greg. "Clients won't be a problem. We're on the map with the health insurance companies as well, so that shouldn't be a difficulty." She pauses. "I'll talk to Colleen tonight, see if I can get an answer out of her."
"You're nowhere near capable of haggling with anyone," he says sharply. "Let someone else deal with her."
"Okay," she says, "the job's all yours," and gives him a look. You asked for it, that look says, and indeed he has.
"So will we be ready to open on Black Monday?" Will says, and that is the question of the hour. Suddenly that date is a hell of a lot closer than it really ought to be, and with the prospect of Sarah possibly headed off to the hinterlands it doesn't seem like a good idea at all. But that's his nerves talking. They'll have to take the plunge sooner or later if this isn't going to be a pile of wasted money and time laid at his door. He has enough failures to his name, he doesn't want this endeavor added to the list.
"Yeah," Greg says, and the room falls silent. Now Sarah looks at him. Her fingers are free of curls, and her attention is his completely. Her hand rests on his for a moment, warm and steady.
"Good," she says.
"Yeah, all right," Will says, and his enthusiasm is palpable. Gene nods and smiles a little.
The next thing Greg knows, he's got a cold beer in hand. So do Sarah and Gene, and Will says "Damn, I miss out on all the good stuff!"
It's later on, after Sarah's talked to Laynie, that Greg asks her "How long will you be out west?" They're congregated around the fireplace, with Sarah seated at Gene's feet, her back against his long legs.
"A few days," Sarah says. "Gene's takin' me to Newark early tomorrow." She sips her ginger beer and stares at the fire. "Haven't been back there since just after we got married."
Greg notes she didn't say 'back home'. "What if you have to stay longer?"
"I won't." The note of finality in Sarah's voice does not bode well for the Prick. "We need to find someone who's gonna help Laynie and not take advantage of her good nature."
"You mean she's too nice to stand up to jerks," Greg says.
"No, she's strong and knows how to deal with idiots in general. It's the ones who give her a good line that she has trouble with." Sarah sighs. "It's a pain in the ass being a nice person in this world. You're outnumbered ten to one by creeps who are cleverly disguised as divine children of God."
Gene chuckles and puts his hand to her cheek, strokes her with his thumb. Sarah sighs again. "Goin' back to good old Harper Valley. Nothin' but a bunch a goddamn hypocrites," she says under her breath. It's then Greg understands the last thing she wants to do is return to Oklahoma and face the ghosts of her past. But since she's who she is, she'll do what she has to and deal with the fallout.
As he gets ready to go home a bit later, Sarah comes to him. "Say happy birthday to your wife for me," she says with a slight smile. Greg pauses in the act of putting on his coat.
"Sure," he says. Sarah shakes her head.
"You either forgot or you didn't know," she says wryly, but there is no condemnation in her tone. "Don't worry about it."
"Wasn't planning to," he says with elaborate casualness while he sorts through a stack of damage-repair strategies.
"You are anyway," Sarah says, still in that same dry but affectionate way. She puts a hand on his arm for a moment. "Give her what she really wants."
"And that would be . . . ?"
"Some undivided attention," Sarah says softly, and leans up to kiss his cheek. "Drive safe, son."
He thinks about that while he drives home, after he's made a quick stop at the grocery store. The whole 'a few days' thing bothers him, because he knows how easily it can stretch to more. He wants Sarah here when the clinic opens, not somewhere in the sticks. He won't think too deeply about why that's so, but it is all the same.
Roz is home, her truck pulled up in front of the house. When he comes into the kitchen she's there, to put away some leftovers while Hellboy keeps her company, his furry self curled up on one of the padded kitchen chairs. With a flourish Greg puts the bakery box on the counter. Roz hesitates.
"What's this?" she says, her surprise evident.
"Thought we'd do cake for dessert tonight," he says. She comes forward but doesn't do anything else. "Open it," he says, impatient with her hesitation. After a long look at him she does as he tells her. Her face is the picture of surprise and then embarrassment and delight when she sees the simple sheet cake with a few scrolls of colored buttercream around the edges. There's no message—it's just a blank he found at the grocery's in-store bakery extras cooler—but she seems to be as pleased as if he'd bought one of Rick's best efforts.
"There's more," he says, and struggles to hide his nervousness. Roz glances up at him but says nothing. "You can ask me to play three songs, anything you like. At least I'll try to play them if I know the—"
"Thank you," her soft voice cuts through his babble. She comes to him then, slips her arms around him and leans up to give him a kiss. It's no chaste peck either. When it ends she rests her head on his shoulder. He brings his arms up around her, rubs her back, amazed at her unequivocal acceptance of his pitiful attempt to honor her birthday. No remonstrations, lectures, recriminations, blame; just simple enjoyment.
They take enormous slices of chocolate cake into the living room and sit together at the piano. But it isn't cake Roz wants. After two big forkfuls of not-bad-for-day-old dessert she says "Song please."
Greg makes a run up and down the keys, enjoys the feel of the ivories under his fingers. "Your wish is my command, oh Cotton Temptress."
"Can you play 'I'll Be Seeing You'?"
He looks at her, surprised. "Planning on leaving me?"
"It was one of Nana's favorites. I'd hear her singing it while she was ironing or washing dishes, she loved that song." Roz sets her plate aside and folds her hands in her lap like a little girl on best behavior. "All right?"
"We aim to please," he says, and starts at the bass end. He gives it the Liberace treatment, with plenty of flourishes and arpeggios and other silliness. Then he launches into the melody. As he plays he feels Roz draw close, her delight plain. He puts plenty of feeling into the song just for her, and finds it's actually fun. No one has ever asked him to play for them as a gift; pride fills him at her happiness in this ephemeral present he can create with his hands and knowledge and talent, made of sound and air and the more costly, rare and hidden ingredient of deep emotion.
"I'll find in the morning sun/and when the night is new/I'll be looking at the moon/but I'll be seeing you,'" he sings, and hears Roz whisper the words under her breath as he ends with rolling swells and a tender little reiteration of the melody, just for her. When the song is done she kisses him, a lengthy process that leaves them both shaken but thrilled.
"Thank you, that was beautiful. Nana would have loved it. I did."
"I don't know that I've got another request in me after that," he jokes.
"That's all right," she says with a gleam in her green eyes, and takes his hand before she stands. "We'll save them for another day. I have a different sort of present in mind, amante."
"Guess it's my birthday then too," he says, and listens to the music of her laughter as they walk together to their bedroom.
'Rose Garden', Lynn Anderson
'I'll Be Seeing You,' Sammy Fain (James Booker instrumental version)