Tony Partly Cloudy (36 page)

Tony shook his head. “Nah, nothing like that. I was just thinking, what with the wind, and the waves, and all the mushy things we’re saying to each other, this could be like one of those classic makeout scenes in the movies, know what I mean?”

Sarah said, “And you realize, of course, that by pointing that out, you totally killed any magic the moment had, and ruined any chance of that classic makeout moment actually happening?”

Tony grimaced at his own blunder. “So, what you’re saying is—”

“Next time,” Sarah cut in, “just shut up and kiss me.”

“OKAY FOLKS,” Sue Kirkland said. “It’s go time.”

It was 5:00 A.M. Hurricane Garrett had picked up speed during the night, and was now bearing down on the Florida Keys at fourteen miles an hour. Already the island was being pounded intermittently by thunderstorms and gusting winds, as the outer bands of the massive storm passed overhead.

Sue continued to address the small, sleepy group of meteorologists assembled around her. “We’re predicting landfall to be somewhere between 8 and 10 A.M. And right now, Key West is looking at a direct hit.”

Tony was glad Sarah was still asleep, and hadn’t heard that last remark. He sipped his coffee and stifled a yawn. Between the Gift and the fact that folding cots seemed to be designed for a race of creatures much smaller than him, he had barely slept.

“Thank heaven that Garrett is still just a Category 3,” Sue continued. “Of course, we all know that could change. The good news is that apparently the fine people of Key West took the evacuation order seriously for a change. From what the Police Department tells me, we had a much higher rate of compliance than usual, so at least the majority of our neighbors are out of danger. I guess the only people left are the ones who were too crazy to leave.”

“Like us,” one of the staff said, prompting a quick laugh from the group.

Sue smiled. “Hey, if the shoe fits...”

It was another hour before Tony noticed the change. He almost missed it, distracted by a sleepy Sarah stumbling past him, looking for coffee. Their good-morning kiss almost caused him to miss it. Almost.

But there it was. Another change. He still felt the tingling caused by the impending storm, but it felt different. And now he knew how.

It had decreased.

Tony raced away from a puzzled Sarah, trying to find a screen with the latest radar. But what he saw didn’t make sense. Garrett was drawing even closer. So why was the intensity of what he was feeling dropping? If anything, it should be rising as the storm closed in.

Half an hour later, he thought he had the answer.

♠ ♥ ♣ ♦

“Well, since you asked, yes, I
do
think you’re crazy.”

Tony respected Sue too much to be hurt by what she had just said. Undaunted, he pressed on.

“I know it sounds crazy. But check it out. If you check the readings, they clearly show that Garrett veered south in the last 30 or 40 minutes. It was just by a little, but it definitely happened.”

Sue shook her head. “Tony, you and I both know the way these storms can wobble around. No storm follows a perfectly straight line. They wobble. And that’s what you just notated: a wobble. There’s nothing to say it won’t wobble back in the other direction, nor is there anything to indicate that there’s any change in the storm’s overall direction – i.e., straight toward
us
.”

“I know, I know,” Tony said. “But I got a feeling about this.”

Sue sighed. “Tony, you know I think you have great instincts. And you know I don’t discount things like instincts and hunches – God knows that science hasn’t figured everything out yet.” She gestured around the room. “But I’ve got people counting on me. Here in this building, and throughout the Southeast. I’m not going to tell all those people I’m changing my forecast because of some...
feeling
one of my staff has.”

“I understand,” Tony said. “And if I’m right about Garrett turning south, it’s not like there’s some highly populated area nearby that’s going to get caught by surprise. I just wanted to let you know what I was feeling. It’s your show – you’re the boss.”

Sue smiled. “Tony, frankly I hope you are right. But for now, I’m sticking with my current forecast. But I’d love for you to prove me wrong. We haven’t had such a direct hit in years, and I’m not looking forward to cleaning up the mess this could cause. Tony? Tony, are you listening?”

Tony was listening, but not to her. He was listening to the Gift; to the latest change. The tingling had just decreased even more.

“Sorry,” Tony said when he returned his attention to his boss. “I’ll get back to work now.”

Sue watched him walk back to the station he’d been manning, an odd smile on his face. “God, I hope you’re not crazy,” she said, too softly for anybody to hear.

♠ ♥ ♣ ♦

“I don’t get it,” Sarah said, pulling up a chair next to where Tony sat. “The hurricane’s getting closer, but you’re feeling safer?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Tony said, his eyes darting from one screen to another. “The main thing is, I’ve been through a hurricane here before. I know what it feels like – you know, as far as what this Gift thing feels like when a hurricane is coming.”

Tony turned to face her. “And the bottom line is that this feels different. It doesn’t feel as bad, And it keeps feeling, I don’t know,
less
bad, if that makes any sense.”

Tony turned back to his screens. “Anyways, that kinda makes me think that this time is not going to be as dangerous as before. Like it might not even be a big deal at all. Look here.”

Tony pointed to a screen that was tracing Garrett’s progress.

“See how the storm is moving? Yes, it’s coming west, but it’s also veering just a little bit south. It’s been doing that for a couple hours. That veering could make all the difference.”

Sarah leaned forward for a closer look. “I don’t know, Tony. I mean, this thing is huge. Isn’t it still going to engulf every one of the Keys?”

“Yeah, well, all of the Keys are going to get some wind and rain, that’s for sure. But these islands make awfully small targets – that’s something that really works to our advantage. Unless the eyewall – that’s this thing right here – unless that comes really close to where you are, you’re just looking at some rough weather, maybe some minor flooding. But you’re not looking at the kind of catastrophic damage that blows down buildings and throws boats around.”

Tony leaned back in his chair. “The upshot is that between what I’m seeing on these screens, and what I’m, you know,
feeling
, well, I kinda think we’re gonna be okay. I think we’re looking at a near miss. And believe me, a near miss is a hell of a lot better than a direct hit.”

“I’m starting to think your boyfriend might be right,” Sue said, surprising the couple from behind. “Now it’s looking like Garrett may pass just south of the Keys, and then spin out into the Gulf. In which case, we may get off pretty easy. We’re going to watch his path very closely over the next hour, then if all goes well, I’m going to revise the official forecast. At that point, Garrett may eventually pose some risk to Cancun, or parts of Texas, but we’ll officially be out of the woods. And Cancun and Texas will have days to prepare.”

Sue looked appraisingly at Tony, then at Sarah. “This is a pretty special guy you have here.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Sarah said, smiling.

Looking at Tony, Sue said, “I’m glad I didn’t put any money on this. Hell, a couple hours ago, I’d have bet you fifty bucks that you were dead wrong.”

Sarah laughed. “He wouldn’t have taken the bet anyway. Tony’s not a gambling man.”

Sue saw a look pass between the couple that she didn’t understand. Smiling, she walked away, to make her rounds among her staff.

♠ ♥ ♣ ♦

“You expect me to ride on
that
? With
you
?”

Sarah looked skeptically at the tiny pink motor scooter, then at Tony.

“I mean, do you even know how to drive one of those things? Hell, do you even
fit
on one of those things?”

“Of course I do,” Tony said. “Travis used to let me ride his all the time, back when he worked here.”

Throughout the day, Hurricane Garrett had moved further south, and Key West was no longer at risk. By the end of the day, the skies were actually clearing up, and the sun was breaking through.

With the island nearly deserted and the airport closed, there were no taxis running. And Tony hadn’t thought to rent a car. So he eagerly agreed when one of the other meteorologists offered to let him use his scooter.

“Come on, Sarah – we’ve been cooped up in this building since we got here yesterday,” Tony whined. “You haven’t seen any of the island or anything.”

Sarah said, “Well, what’s there to see? Isn’t the whole town pretty much boarded up and deserted?”

“You don’t know the natives,” Tony said with a laugh. “I guarantee you there’s a half dozen bars open downtown right now. If nothing else, you can always get a drink in this town. And I do mean always.”

“I’ll admit, a glass of wine sounds good right now.”

“Hey, they may even have some of that Austrian stuff you like. Shazam, or whatever it’s called.”

“It’s Shiraz,” Sarah laughed. “And it’s Australian.”

“Whatever.”

Sarah cast another dubious glance at the scooter. “You’re sure you can drive one of these?”

“Forget about it. There’s nothin’ to it.” Tony straddled the bike, then started it up, its tiny engine sputtering to life.

“It sounds like my dad’s weed-whacker,” Sarah yelled over the noise.

“Nah, a weed-whacker’s about twice as powerful. Still, these things are a lot of fun.”

Tony made a show of revving the scooter’s tiny motor, producing a sound like flock of angry mosquitoes on steroids.

Sarah gazed at the hulking man sitting astride the dainty pink machine, then shrugged. “How can I resist such an awesome display of masculine power?” She climbed aboard the sliver of seat that was still available behind Tony, and wrapped her arms around him.

“That’s it,” he said. “Just hang on to me.”

“Oh, I plan to,” Sarah said. “For a long, long time.”

The two rode off, Tony’s size dwarfing the little two-wheeler as it puttered gamely toward town. Tony pointed out local landmarks along the way, shouting over his shoulder to Sarah.

The town was nearly deserted, although they began to see some signs of life as they started up Duval Street.

“You weren’t kidding about the bars,” Sarah said while they were paused at a stop sign. They had passed maybe ten that were open. “Is there one in particular you’re looking for?”

“I had a couple places I used to hang out. I don’t even know if they’re still around, much less open.” Tony looked up at the sky, then at his watch.

“What is it?”

“I just thought of something,” he said. “Hang on.” He gunned the scooter, which sped up almost imperceptibly, its minuscule engine straining to propel its heavy cargo

Tony drove them past several more open bars, guiding the scooter to a place where the street – and the island itself – came to an end, fanning out into a large open plaza that stretched along the waterfront. While the plaza was obviously set up to accommodate thousands of people, only a dozen or so stragglers roamed the expanse of pavement, most of them looking out to sea. The lowering sun pierced through the clouds of the receding storm with beams of orange, pink, and red, casting reflections that danced on the still turbulent sea.

Tony stopped the bike, killed its engine, and climbed off, prompting Sarah to do the same. He held out his hand to her, smiling so broadly that she couldn’t help but smile back.

“What is it?” she asked, taking his hand. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see. Come on – we’ve got the place almost all to ourselves.” Leading the way, Tony turned to walk toward the edge of the pier.

“This is perfect,” he said. “We’re just in time for sunset.”

♠ ♥ ♣ ♦

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Read the first chapter of
ME AGAIN
– the debut novel from Keith Cronin, also available from
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.

“A beautifully wrought tale of courage, hope, and awakenings of all kinds.”

~
Sara Gruen
, author of
Water for Elephants

Chapter 1

I WAS BORN ON A TUESDAY MORNING. It was a difficult birth, because I was thirty-four years old.

I opened my eyes, and saw a long bar of blue-white light. It hung directly over me, making me realize I was lying on my back. Looking into the light made my eyes hurt, so I closed them, welcoming the darkness. But then it seemed particularly important to see that light again, so I reopened my eyes, blinking repeatedly to adjust to the glare.

I became aware of movement. A blurry female figure clad in white entered my view on one side. I lay staring at her, instinctively trying to blink her into focus, but with no success. Suddenly she drew closer, leaning down over me. For a brief moment our eyes met. Then I blinked.

“Jesus,” she said. The name sounded familiar.

She disappeared from view, and I realized that I couldn’t raise or turn my head to try to locate her. In fact, the only thing I could feel – or move – was my eyes. I had a vague sense that this was not good.

Although she was out of my sight, I could hear her. She was speaking, a rapid stream of words I wasn’t quite able to follow. Other voices joined in, overlapping each other in conversation, and the name Jesus came up repeatedly.

I formed my first conscious thought:
I must be Jesus
.

The voices grew louder, and several faces entered my field of vision, looming over me.

“He’s awake.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Jesus.”

“He heard you – look, he’s looking at you!”

“Get a flashlight.”

I felt fingers touch my face – I suddenly became aware of
having
a face. A moment before, all I had was eyes. Now I had a forehead, a cheek. I took a breath, discovering a nose, a mouth. My world was growing.

Then a beam of light drilled into one of my eyes, hurting me. I made a sound.

It wasn’t a word. For some reason, I couldn’t speak. I wanted to – I understood what the faces surrounding me were saying – but I couldn’t manage to form any words in response.

I made another sound.

“Jesus.”

No, that wasn’t the sound I made – that was the response my sound elicited from the blurry woman in white. With her were several other blurry women, some in white, some in pale colors.

“He’s tracking the light. See?”

Again the light stabbed at my eyes, making me blink and look away.

“It’s too bright for him. Use your finger.”

The caustic beam was extinguished, and now a woman in green held a finger in front of my eyes, moving it back and forth over my face. I tried to look past her finger, wanting to establish eye contact, to find some way of communicating with her. But the wagging finger kept distracting me.

I began to feel annoyed.

I’ve come to believe that annoyance is probably one of the first emotions each of us experiences. Think about it: the medical profession has adopted some pretty abrasive ways to greet the newborn, whether it’s spanking their bottoms, clipping their umbilical cords, or wagging fingers in front of their faces. To me it’s no wonder babies cry so much – look at the indignities to which they are subjected the moment they emerge. You’d think they could come up with more pleasant ways to welcome a new arrival.

At any rate, it eventually occurred to me that if I made an effort to watch the woman’s finger, perhaps she would stop waving the damn thing in my face and simply talk to me. That was what I wanted most of all, for people to stop talking
about
me and start talking
to
me.

With some effort, I forced my eyes to follow the motion of her finger.

“Whoa,” the woman said succinctly. I tried to answer, but again only succeeded in emitting a sound – something guttural and raw.

The woman looked at me for a long moment. Then she turned and spoke. “Beth, get Doctor Spence on the phone. Tell him to get his ass up here, stat.”

It’s hard to explain the effect this woman’s last remark had on me. The word “doctor”... well, it triggered something. It made me for the first time stop to wonder where I was. With that word came the realization that I was in some sort of medical facility. A hospital, perhaps. This meant I was sick, or that something had happened to me. Something bad.

Dr. Spence would confirm my suspicions.

“Well, look who’s awake,” a male voice bellowed. A man came into view, holding up one fist over my face. Just as I realized what that fist held, a shaft of light shot into my head. I closed my eyes and groaned, the sound foreign and ugly.

A woman spoke. “The penlight bothers him. But he followed Karen’s finger. We all saw it.”

This prompted the man to repeat the finger-in-my-face routine. Eager to see this game end, I did my best to track the movement of his finger with my eyes.

“Well, I’ll be,” the man said. “He’s responsive.” He began to scribble something on a clipboard.

I decided the time had come to assert myself. Okay, maybe that’s stating the case a bit grandiosely. But I wanted somebody to talk to me.

I made my sound – the only sound I seemed capable of making – as loud as I could.

This got their attention.

The man put his clipboard down and stared at me. Leaning in close, the man said, “Mr. Hooper, I’m Doctor Spence. Can you hear me?”

I wanted to say yes. I formed the word in my mind. Then I tried to send that order to my mouth. But I couldn’t seem to remember how to make my mouth do what I wanted. So I made my sound again. I kept it short this time, truncating the groan to a brief grunt.

“Jesus,” the now familiar female voice said.

Apparently my name was Jesus Hooper. But somehow that didn’t seem right.

The man – Dr. Spence – spoke to me again. “Mr. Hooper, I want to make sure I understand you. So I need to make sure you understand me. I know you can’t talk right now – there’s a reason for that, and I’ll explain it to you in a moment. But can you... well, can you grunt for me again?”

Now we were getting somewhere. I quickly issued a grunt, drawing gasps and nervous laughter from my audience.

Dr. Spence hastily jotted something on his clipboard. “That’s excellent, Mr. Hooper – really excellent! Now, let’s see if we can take it a step further. Let’s see if you can answer yes or no. How about if we say one grunt means yes, and two means no? Do you understand?”

But I didn’t. Those words he had used –
one
and
two
– plunged me into confusion. The words were familiar, but I couldn’t remember what they meant. I
almost
knew, but couldn’t quite summon the information. Silent and confused, I stared at the doctor.

He nodded, then said, “Do you understand what one and two are? If you do, then try to grunt for me. If you don’t, well, just remain silent.”

I did as I was told. The only sound in the room was some softly beeping medical machine.

“Tell you what,” Dr. Spence said, “let’s try switching things around. I’ll ask it a different way. If you understand what one and two are, stay silent. But if you don’t understand, please grunt.”

My grunt drew more chatter from my onlookers.

“Okay, Mr. Hooper, that’s great. Just great. Now we’re making some progress. How about we skip all that one and two stuff, and try something a little easier? If I ask you something and the answer is yes, go ahead and grunt. If the answer is no, you stay silent. Do you think you can do that?”

I grunted. I was becoming an old pro at this stuff.

“Excellent. Okay, Mr. Hooper. I’m going to explain a little about what happened to you, and where you are. Would you like that?”

I felt the grunt I emitted was particularly enthusiastic.

“Okay,” the doctor said, “let me see how I can sum things up. You had a stroke, Mr. Hooper, and that stroke put you in a coma. You remained in that coma for a little more than six years. Now, because you’ve been in a coma so long, your body probably can’t move – you may not even feel your body right now. That may change, but we’ll get to that.”

Dr. Spence paused, rubbing his face with his hand. “The even more important thing is that, well, how should I put this? A stroke can do things to your brain. It can change things. It’s likely you’ll have forgotten some things. Maybe a lot of things. You know, like what one and two mean – things like that. A stroke can produce substantial changes in your brain, so I want you to understand that.”

The doctor looked at me, trying to read my expression, which made me realize I couldn’t really feel anything beyond my face. I seemed to be all eyes, nose, and mouth, emerging like an island from some murky pool, taking in air and light while the rest of my body drifted unseen below the surface.

The man’s voice brought my attention back to him. “Mr. Hooper? That was a lot of information I just dumped on you – I apologize. Let’s back up for a second, and see how well I’m getting through.” Turning to the others who surrounded my bed, he said, “The rest of you chime in, too, in case I forget anything. But go slow – we don’t want to overwhelm him.” Once again I was being talked
about
, not
to
. It was something I would learn to get used to.

“First, let’s sit him up so we’re not all hovering right on top of him.” A mechanical whirring slowly changed my view, elevating my upper body into a sitting position. I couldn’t feel my body bending, but the ceiling swept out of view, and I found myself facing Dr. Spence and several women in medical pajamas, crowded into a small room that my bed nearly filled.

A lengthy dialog of questions, grunts, and silent pauses then ensued. I’ll spare you a complete transcription – it’s an awkward read – but here’s a summary of some of the highlights:

Did I know what a stroke was, what a coma was, and what aphasia was?

Yes, yes, and no. Aphasia had to be explained to me. According to Dr. Spence it was becoming clear that I was at least partially aphasic – this meant my language abilities had been impaired. Although it appeared that I could understand the words I heard, I wasn’t able to form language to reply. It wasn’t that I was mute; I could make sounds. But I couldn’t arrange these sounds to make sense. Spence told me things could be much worse – that some stroke victims couldn’t understand anything people said to them. And he tried to reassure me, telling me that my condition was not necessarily permanent. I would have felt better if he hadn’t bothered to use the word
necessarily
to qualify that statement.

Was I in any pain? Could I move any of my limbs?

Nope and nope. The former was a relief, but the latter was deeply unsettling, particularly now that I could see the unmoving shapes of my feet under the blanket that covered them. And my hands, veiny and pale, were completely unfamiliar. I could not will them to move, which made them very hard to look at. Instead I focused on the people talking to me.

Here was a biggie: did I know WHO I was?

They asked me this first as a yes-no, and then got clever by saying several different names, and telling me to grunt if I recognized my own. Sort of an auditory police lineup, but pretty effective.

Upon hearing it, I did recognize my first name, and duly grunted. Turns out I was
Jonathan
Hooper, not Jesus. But this Jesus was familiar, and apparently the guy was a fan of mine – the phrase
Jesus loves me
kept coming to mind.

Did I understand that I had been unconscious for six years?

I remained silent, baffled by the concept of “six years,” and worried about the emphasis they seemed to be placing on the question. A quick volley of related questions led my interviewers to determine that my absence of math skills seemingly extended into a lack of understanding of other quantitative measurements, such as years, months, and so on. But I did seem to get the difference between big and small, and was beginning to grasp that I had been asleep a much bigger amount of time than was considered normal or good.