Sunny Says (20 page)

“You’re not wrong, sweetheart.”
He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her close. “Get that idea out of
your head. Don’t let those cynical bastards get you down.”

She chuckled. “You’ve come a
long way in a few weeks. You were the world-champion cynic. I’m glad you
believe in me.” Turning in his arms until she faced the window again, she
added, “And I’m glad they do.”

She pointed to city crews
working along the wide earth median of
Shoreline
Drive
. Huge holes had been dug in the
divider with backhoes, and they were burying boats from the marina. The harbor
was almost empty. Those vessels too big to bury or haul easily had been moved
or triple-tied. The barge restaurant where Sunny and Kale often ate had been
towed up the ship channel to a safer port.

Windows were being boarded up,
loose material nailed down, and evacuation was proceeding as planned. Foster
had sent his family to
Austin
on Thursday. Emergency supplies were being
stockpiled, and grocery stores were running low on bread and nonperishable
items. Sterno, candles, and flashlights were gone from the shelves, and batteries
were at a premium.

The station was fully stocked;
cartons lined the walls, filled with everything that could conceivably be
needed. Kale had taken care of that. The emergency generators had been checked
so that KRIP could stay on the air unless the tower went down, which was
likely.

Roland Cantu and a camera crew
were about to leave for Port Mansfield. Tom Crockett and another crew were en
route to
Brownsville
, and two additional teams had been dispatched to
Rock-port and Port Isabel. The other KRIP employees had brought cots, sleeping
bags and clothes to the station, prepared to settle in for the duration.

“I should be going to Port
Mansfield instead of Roland,” Sunny said.

Kale’s arms tightened around
her. “I’ve told you that I absolutely forbid it.”

Sunny sighed, not wanting to
reopen that argument, and rapped on the window with her knuckles. “Think this
will hold?”

“It should. Foster assured me
that Aunt Ravinia had only the best installed. They’re special storm
windows—tempered safety glass, guaranteed.”

“It seems that you’ve thought of
everything. What do we do now?”

“Now, love,” he said, resting
his chin atop her head, “we wait.”

At six-fifteen, during a
commercial on the evening news, an assistant laid a piece of paper on Sunny’s
desk.

*    *    *

When the break was over, the
camera cut to Sunny, who said, “I have this bulletin just in from the National
Weather Service. Hurricane Chloe has stalled in the Gulf.” She read the
coordinates giving the longitude and latitude. “This puts her center approximately
two hundred miles east-southeast of
Corpus
Christi
.”

*    *    *

At eight-thirty, with the
remnants of their Chinese dinner in little boxes on Kale’s desk, Sunny sat
curled up in his lap, drawing strength from him. He held her firmly, quiet and
undemanding, as they waited.

She felt as if she were in
limbo, helpless to do anything but anticipate the approaching onslaught with
dread. It occurred to her that waiting for the storm was analogous to waiting
for the day of Kale’s leaving. Although he hadn’t mentioned it to her,
scuttlebutt had it that Kale’s bureau chief had called twice in the past week
urging him back to his post. The dreaded events were both coming closer and
closer. Inevitable. Uncontrollable. Devastating.

She snuggled into the perfect
cradle of his arms, her hand on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart
beneath her fingers, breathing his familiar spicy scent. She hadn’t intended to
fall in love with him, but she had. How would she deal with the hole he would
leave in her life?

After hurricanes passed, people
rebuilt and went on with their lives, but there were always scars gouged in the
land that took years and years to heal. Even then, things were never quite the
same again.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Kale
said.

Pain slashed through her as she
looked up at his dear face. She stroked his jaw—relaxed now rather than
perpetually clenched, as it had been only weeks ago—and felt the faint stubble
of his beard. “I love you,” she whispered. “Remember that.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”
He kissed her tenderly.

*    *    *

At a quarter of ten, Sunny
ripped a page off the printer. Her stomach churning and shivers rippling up her
back like a frightened snake, she turned to Kale with anxious eyes.

“She’s moving again. Fast. She’s
changed direction and is headed our way.”

*    *    *

At
one o’clock
, Kale insisted that
Sunny try to get an hour or two’s rest, promising that he’d take over the
half-hour updates himself.

At one-thirty, Sunny was back on
the job.

At
two a.m.
, KRIP ran an old
Humphrey Bogart movie. Only a shift worker in Refugio called to complain when
they interrupted the film frequently with the latest news of Chloe inching her
way westward on the radar screen.

By
four o’clock
Sunny and Kale were
on the air almost constantly, working as an efficient reporting team.

Shortly before dawn, the winds
picked up and the rains began as the outer bands of thunderstorms started
moving ashore.

“Hold the fort,” Sunny said to
Kale during a break for a report from one of the field teams. “I’m going outside
with Carlos to get some shots.”

“Like hell you will! You’re
staying in here. I’ll go outside with Carlos.”

“Like hell I am!” She jacked up
her chin and glared at him. “This is my story.”

He chuckled and kissed her
pursed lips. “Then we’ll both go. Hulon! Come here and take over for a few
minutes.”

Hulon, his bow tie askew and his
toupee ruffled, looked horrified, but he scurried to the desk when Kale barked
the order.

Dressing quickly in boots and
raincoats with hoods, the trio went downstairs to the seawall. Wind whipped at
their clothes and rain stung their faces. The sky had lightened only slightly.
Dark clouds obscured the rising sun, and haloed street lamps struggled to
provide illumination through the downpour. Pitching waves battered the curving,
lighted jetty, smashing against the huge rocks and sending high sprays dashing
over the sidewalk along the top.

They filmed for a few minutes,
yelling into their mikes to be heard. When the wind intensified so that Sunny
had to hold on to Kale to stand up, he dragged her back inside.

After drying off quickly, they
were back behind the desk. The roaring of wind and water grew louder, and the
lights flickered, then died. The generator immediately took over, providing
emergency power. Their broadcast continued as walls creaked and windows
rattled.

“The tower is down!” Foster
yelled. “We’re off the air.”

Repair crews had been
dispatched, but until Chloe’s fury abated as she moved over land, nothing much
could be done.

Kale rose, took Sunny’s hand,
and said, “That’s it for a while. You’re exhausted. Let’s go down to my office
and get some rest.”

Jessica Martin, looking
considerably worse than she did when she’d bustled into the station around
midnight
, trailed
behind them, gushing. “Oh, what a story! This is fantastic. Sunny, could I have
just a few words with you?”

His jaw clenched and his eyes as
cold as an Arctic winter, Kale looked the reporter up and down. “Miss Martin .
. . go to hell.”

*    *    *

On Sunday, cleanup began. With
Chloe’s main fury spent and her ragged remnants drifting through central
Texas
, the
encroaching waters slipped back into the Gulf, uncovering the T-Heads and
L-Heads and receding from the roadways. The KRIP tower was repaired, and
utility crews worked feverishly trying to restore power and services to the
area. Storm windows came down and plywood sheets were stored or trashed.
Insurance agents went to work, and pots of red geraniums went back to sitting
on porches.

At the breakfast table, Kale
proudly held up the front page of the Caller-Times. The banner headline read
simply: THANKS, SUNNY!

She laughed.

“About damned time they learned
to appreciate you,” Kale said, dropping a kiss on her nose. “There was some
serious property damage, but not a single life was lost.”

By Monday, although some repairs
would take weeks to complete, most things were back to normal. Cleanup
continued, but Mother Nature, as penance for birthing Chloe, had bestowed
sunshine and a cool breeze to dry out the city.

Sunny was sitting at her desk
working when the phone rang. She hesitated to answer it. The blasted thing had
been ringing like mad since she’d come in, and she had a stack of message slips
an inch thick. Nancy and David—or, rather, their producers—had called.

She reluctantly picked up the
phone. It was an agent trying to hustle her, promising big bucks for
appearances and maybe even a book. She told him thanks, but no thanks, and hung
up.

The darned thing rang again
almost immediately. She snatched it up and said a grumpy, “Hello.”

When the caller identified
himself as William Hix, a vice president of the network, she sat up straight.
As she listened to him, her heart began to beat faster and a smile spread
across her face. “Yes, Mr. Hix, I’m very interested. May I get back to you in a
few days?”

After the conversation ended,
she sat stunned for a moment, the receiver still glued to her ear. When the
buzz of the dial tone broke through her stupor, she hung up, flung out her
arms, and yelled, “Whoopee!”

*    *    *

Startled when the door banged
open, Kale smiled when he saw Sunny. Her eyes shone like sparkling blue
crystals, and her dimples were deeply etched in her cheeks from a bubbling
smile that warmed him from across the room.

“Have I got news for you!” she
said, laughing and turning in circles. “Guess who just called me.”

He caught her hand and pulled
her into his lap. “The Queen of
England
.”

She rested her forehead against
his and rubbed his nose with hers. “Nope. Guess again.”

“Elvis.”

She laughed. “No. William Hix, a
vice president of the network, called me from
New York
.”

She looked excited enough to
explode, and so adorable that he wanted to wrap her up and put her in his
pocket. “I see,” he drawled. “And what did old Bill have to say?”

“He said that he thought I was
the greatest thing since sliced bread—or words to that effect—and that I’d done
a ‘damned fine job’ with the hurricane story. He also said that he’d seen my
special on gangs and that it was ‘an excellent piece of work.’ Aaaand,” she
added, drawing out the word for dramatic impact, “he offered me a job at the
Washington Bureau.” She squealed and laughed and kissed his face all over.

Kale joined in her laughter,
delighting in her excitement. “That’s great, love. Just great.”

Sunny cocked her head and drew
her eyebrows together. “I wonder how Mr. Hix knew about the gang special?”

“Maybe a little bird sent him a
copy of the tape.”

Her eyes narrowed and a smile
played at the corner of her delectable mouth. “Are you the little bird?” She
poked him in the ribs.

“Naw. It must have been Hulon.”
He was about to kiss away her questions when the phone rang. He punched the
button to activate the speaker-phone, and barked, “Hoaglin.”

“Hoaglin,” a gruff voice
bellowed, “you’ve pussyfooted around with that two-bit station in
Texas
long
enough. All hell is breaking loose in Tel Aviv. Kiss that little piece you’re
shacked up with goodbye and get your tail on a plane—”

Kale disconnected the speaker,
but he could see that the damage had been done. The happy animation had drained
from Sunny’s face, and she looked stricken. She flew from his lap and tore out
of the room with him calling after her.

“Goddamn it, Stan Verick,” Kale
roared, “if I could get my hands on you, I’d ring your scrawny neck!” Still
cursing, he slammed the receiver down so hard that the plastic cracked. He
grabbed something from his desk drawer and ran from his office, looking for
Sunny.

She had disappeared.

He looked everywhere he could
think of, twice. He’d checked outside first, but she wasn’t in sight. Her
little red car was in the lot, so she had to be in the building. But, dammit,
where?

He went back upstairs and stuck
his nose in every office. He even looked in the ladies’ room and the broom
closet. Where had she gone? He tried to think. When an idea hit him, he strode
to the end of the newsroom and stuck his head out the window.

There she sat. On the ledge. Scrunched
up in a little ball in the far corner.