Sunny Says

by Jan Hudson

  “The center of the hurricane is going to hit about fifteen miles south of here, maybe twenty, just north of Port Mansfield.”

  “What hurricane?”

  “Chloe. The tropical storm we’ve been watching. It’s going to intensify into a hurricane and hit the coast a week from today. Thank God she’ll come ashore in a sparsely populated area. Corpus Christi and Brownsville will be spared a direct hit, but the wind and water damage will be severe.”

  He tried to hide his skepticism, but she knew him well enough by now to recognize the subtle signs. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Ninety-nine and forty-four-one-hundredths percent sure. I can be more accurate as the time draws closer.” She tried to explain how she knew, but the whole thing sounded sort of nebulous, even to her. She was painfully aware that he was having a hard time buying the swirling in her solar plexus.

  “Maybe you’re just hungry. Why don’t we have lunch?”

  She sighed and agreed.

  Kale took in the kites while she fixed their food. They sat on a beach blanket spread over the sand.

  While she picked at her lunch, Sunny considered her alternatives. Knowing that she had no choice, she said, “I suppose we’d better get back to the city as soon as possible. I’ll have to call the mayor so he can begin preparations. The festival will have to be postponed. Evacuation plans must be considered. The utility companies will have to be alerted.”

  He was quiet for a moment, his elbows propped on his knees and his fingers laced together, staring at an empty place between his feet. She could see internal struggle etched on his face. Finally, he said, “Sweetheart, don’t you think it’s too early to make that sort of commitment? Hundreds of thousands of dollars are at stake here.”

  “And you’re afraid I’ll be making a fool of myself?”

  He only ran his fingers through his hair.

  “Don’t you think that I realize the position I’m putting myself in? If I go public with my prediction, I know that I’m risking making a laughingstock of myself. Don’t you think I’m agonizing about that? But if you’re concerned about hundreds of thousands of dollars if I’m wrong, I’m more worried about the millions of dollars of damage that will be done if I’m right. I’m concerned about injuries and the loss of human life. Both people and property can be saved if preparations are made. Do you know the devastation that a hurricane can bring?”

  A pained expression contorted his face. “More than you can imagine. I’ve seen Bangladesh after a typhoon. It was hell.”

  “Will you support me in this? Further, will KRIP support me? If not, I’ll resign. I don’t want to embarrass you or the station, but I have to follow my conscience.” She waited for what seemed like an eternity for his answer.

  More than anything, Kale wished he could take her in his arms, smooth away the worry lines in her forehead, and tell her without a qualm that he was one hundred percent behind her. He wanted to believe that she was right. The problem was that he had reservations. This new twist was infinitely more critical than a rain shower.

  He’d worked his tail off trying to get KRIP back on track. Now that things were turning around, could he risk the station’s credibility by supporting Sunny’s outrageous prediction? KRIP might go down the tubes if she was wrong. He shuddered when he thought of the livelihoods at stake, the lawsuits sure to be filed. Foster would have a fit.

  Hell, not even the leading meteorologists and hurricane specialists would venture to predict a hurricane’s path with assurances of accuracy more than twenty-four to forty-eight hours in advance. Even then, they hemmed and hawed and spoke in probabilities. And this storm wasn’t a hurricane yet.

  He’d never put much stock in anything he couldn’t see with his own eyes or hear with his own ears. He was a pragmatist, pure and simple. But when he looked into the beautiful blue eyes of the woman he loved, he saw something in their depths that made him want to take the risks involved. He had to have faith in her or lose her.

  He reached over and cupped her sweet face in his callused hand and smiled. “Let’s go talk to the mayor.”

  Laughing, Sunny threw her arms around him and toppled him in the sand. “Oh, Kale, I love you.”

  He laughed as she rained kisses over his face. “You picked a hell of a time to tell me.”

  * * *

  “Do you think he believed me?” Sunny asked as they walked to the car from Mayor Garza’s house.

  “I think he believed you, all right. Remember his daughter’s wedding fiasco? And his wife thinks you’re a saint since you were the only forecaster along the coast who predicted that freeze last winter and she saved her precious potted plants. The question is, will the other city officials go along with him? And can he convince the mayors of Brownsville and other towns along the coast to prepare as well?”

  During the drive home, Sunny felt as tightly wound as an old-fashioned alarm clock. “Do you think we should go by the station and prepare an announcement for the news tonight?”

  “Let’s wait until tomorrow evening. That will give Mayor Garza some time to garner support. And by that time, the storm will have turned into a hurricane as you predicted and you’ll have more credibility. At this point, will one day matter?”

  Anger flashed through her, and she said sharply, “Sounds to me like you’re trying to cover your—”

  “Dammit, Sunny, be reasonable. I’ve told you that I’m sticking with you on this. Give me time to talk to Foster as well. He owns half the station.”

  “Sorry. I’m edgy.”

  He squeezed her thigh and patted it. “I know, honey. We both are. And I suspect that it’s going to get worse. What you need now is a nice bubble bath in that tub of Ravinia’s and a glass of wine. I’ll wash your back.” He grinned.

  “I seem to remember hearing those words before.” She smiled. “It sounds heavenly.”

  It was.

  * * *

  By Sunday evening, Sunny was a wreck. Kale had done everything he could to alleviate her stress, including taking her sailing on Laguna Madre that day. He had been a dear, tried to keep her spirits up, but nothing had helped. She was about to put it all on the line, and she knew it.

  She had written her script carefully, but still her knees knocked and her palms sweated. She wiped her hands on her thighs and took a seat behind the news desk during the commercial break.

  When the floor director cued her, she smiled faintly into the camera. “Good evening. This is Sunny Larkin with a special announcement that concerns the safety and welfare of our community.

  “As you heard earlier in the program from our weekend weather reporter, Tom Crockett, tropical storm Chloe has passed over the Lesser Antilles and is now south of Puerto Rico. Only moments ago, the National Hurricane Center in Miami upgraded the storm to a hurricane, as I forecast on Friday. Although I have no desire to alarm you, I believe that the storm will intensify and enter the Gulf of Mexico.” She took a deep breath.

  “Neither the National Hurricane Center nor the National Weather Service will be likely to issue hurricane watches or warnings for several days, but I predict that Hurricane Chloe will make landfall on the Texas coast early Saturday morning, a few miles north of Port Mansfield. I urge everyone in our coastal viewing area, from Brownsville and Port Isabel up to Rockport and the lower end of Matagorda Island, to be on the alert and to begin all necessary precautions. This includes Corpus Christi and the surrounding area. Stay tuned to KRIP for updates on the storm’s progress.”

  The moment the floor director signaled that the broadcast had ended, she laid her head on the desk and took deep breaths to quell the nausea.

  “Sweetheart, you did fine. Just fine.” Kale rubbed her back and spoke soothing words to her.

  She sat up and tried her best to smile. “Well, the fat’s in the fire now.”

  * * *

  The fat sure as hell is in the fire, Kale thought as he read the Monday morning Caller-Times. The headline read: “PROPHECY OR PUBLICITY STUNT?”
In fairness, he had to admit that the article about Sunny’s hurricane forecast was handled reasonably objectively. But it looked bad. He hated for her to read it.

  The phone rang and Kale snatched it up quickly, hoping that it hadn’t disturbed Sunny, who needed another hour or two of sleep. It was Foster, and his voice was an octave higher than normal.

  “You’ve got to get to the station right away,” Foster said. “All hell’s breaking loose down here.”

  Chapter Ten

  When the phone rang for the dozenth time on Wednesday morning, Sunny considered not answering it, but she couldn’t abide ringing phones. She picked it up and said, “Hello.”

  “Well, roomie, it looks like you’re famous,” Estella said. “I heard your name on Good Morning USA a couple of hours ago—a promo for an interview tomorrow morning.”

  “You and most of America. My parents called from Louisiana first, then three of my brothers and sisters, and everybody else who has this supposedly unlisted number. I didn’t realize that program was so popular, or that I’d become so infamous. I’m right up there with the tabloid stars like the three-headed pig sired by the man in Arkansas and the woman who murdered her husband with laxatives. I’m expecting a call from Nancy or David any moment.”

  Estella laughed. “What in the world is going on?”

  Sunny explained about the hurricane prediction. “City government is in an uproar, but thank goodness they decided to postpone the festival— though not without a fight. Since the wire services got hold of the story, the station has become a madhouse. Kooks are coining out of the woodwork, and reporters from all over the country have been calling. People think I’m Kreskin. The switchboard is suffering meltdown. I finally decided to do an interview with Good Morning USA. They’re sending down a crew from New York this afternoon to do the live feed-in tomorrow morning. They’ll be staying until the storm hits—hoping, I’m sure, that I’ll make a jackass of myself.”

  “You won’t, sweetie.”

  “Thanks, friend,” Sunny said. “That means a lot.”

  “How’s Kale talking this?”

  “Better than I expected. He scowls and growls almost continuously, and lately his language could blister the paint off the Harbor Bridge, but he’s been very supportive and protective of me. Everybody at KRIP has rallied around. That helps. One of the radio stations in town is taking a poll of whether people believe me or not.”

  “How’s it going?”

  “The last I heard, about sixty-forty, pro Sunny. I’m not sure how scientific it is. Kale and Hulon called in about five times each.”

  “How’d they vote?”

  Sunny laughed. “Pro, I hope. I voted twice myself.” She paused, then said, “I wish you were here. You have a way of keeping things in perspective. I miss you.”

  “I can be there in a shot if you need me,” Estella said.

  “Thanks, but you need to be tending Eddie. How is my godson, by the way?”

  “Growing like a weed. And his daddy will be home in two weeks. I bought a sexy new nightgown for the occasion.”

  “Better watch out or Eddie will have a new little brother or sister before his first birthday.”

  “Bite your tongue, girl,” Estella said. “How did your special on gangs go? Have you finished it?”

  “Yes. It aired Monday evening to good reviews, but with all the hoopla about the hurricane, it was sort of anticlimactic. I was sorry about the timing. I worked hard on that piece, and I’m very proud of it.”

  Sunny and Estella chatted for a few minutes longer, then said their good-byes. It had felt great to discuss normal things for a change.

  * * *

  Late Wednesday night Sunny sat in Ravinia’s tub, sipping a glass of wine. Kale sat behind her, kneading the tension from her neck and shoulders. She closed her eyes and moaned.

  “Feel good?” he asked, working his thumbs down her spine.

  “Delicious. Absolutely delicious. I may keep you, just for your hands. This has been a horrendous day, but I have the feeling that it’s going to get much worse before this thing is over.”

  “Umm-hmm.” He trailed a line of kisses along the back of her neck. “I had the yard man put up the storm shutters today and store the patio furniture and hanging baskets in the garage. Did you notice?”

  “No, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her back against him, and rubbed the roughness of his cheek against the softness of hers. “Chloe has done everything you’ve said she would. Anybody would be a fool to doubt you.”

  “I only hope we can convince everyone. When the skies are clear and the sun is shining, it’s hard to persuade folks to leave their homes. But if the ones living in low-lying areas haven’t evacuated by Friday, they’ll be stranded. The people on Padre and some of the other islands will be cut off by high tides.”

  “The mayor is doing what he can. And the president of the Chamber of Commerce is firmly in your corner. The schools will be closed Friday. That’s good.”

  “I know,” she said. “Could we talk about something else? I’d like to forget about Chloe for a little while.”

  “Did I ever tell you how beautiful your eyes are? They remind me of a very special taw I had as a kid.”

  She laughed as she climbed out of the tub and reached for a towel. “My eyes remind you of a marble?”

  “Let me do that,” he said, taking the towel from her and rubbing her dry with long, sensuous strokes. “Mind you, this wasn’t just any marble. It was a honey of a shooter. As clear and blue as the Mediterranean—though I’d never seen the Mediterranean at the time. I could knock anything out of the ring with that taw. I was convinced that it was magic. I was the marble terror of Tenaha, Texas, and I always ended up with a pocketful of agates.”

  She looped a towel around his neck, pulled his face down to hers, and gave him a quick kiss. “I had you pegged as a hustler. You started young.”

  “A hustler? Me? Woman, you wound me. Take that back.”

  “Nope,” she said saucily. “I calls ‘em like I sees ‘em, Mr. Network Stud.”

  “That’s worse. If you don’t take it back, I’ll have to resort to drastic measures.” He grinned.

  Her eyes widened and she batted her .lashes. “Drastic measures? I’m quaking in my boots.”

  “You ticklish?” He reached for her rib cage, and she scooted backward, protecting her sides with her elbows.

  “Kale Hoaglin! Don’t you dare. You know I am.”

  “Take it back?”

  “Nooooo,” she shrieked, wiggling away from his tickling. She bolted from Ravinia’s room, laughing as she slammed the door behind her. She sprinted to her bedroom, turned the lock, and leaned against the door.

  “I’ve got you now, Miss Smart Mouth,” Kale said, grinning as he came through the connecting bath.

  Sunny dashed across the room, putting the bed between them. She snatched up a pillow as he advanced on her. “Don’t you dare tickle me, Kale Hoaglin. That’s cruel and unusual punishment.”

  He only grinned wider, wiggled his eyebrows, and kept coming. Shrieking with laughter, she leaped on the bed and whopped him with the pillow. He grabbed another pillow, jumped on the bed, and whopped her in retaliation. They beat on each other like two kids at a slumber party, laughing too hard to do any harm.

  Suddenly the bed gave way with a crash, and they fell in a tumble of arms and legs on the mattress, which tilted at an odd angle.

  “Ooops!” she said between giggles.

  Before she could move, Kale captured her wrists and straddled her body. “You going to retract that crack?”

  A bubble of laughter exploded in her throat.

  “Mr. Network Stud, you’re not only a hustler, but a bad poet.”

  “That tears it.” His lips took hers in an open-mouthed kiss so potent that her whole body went on standby alert and her toes curled. She tried to move her arms to put them around him, but he held her fast. “Uh-uh,�
� he murmured as he moved down her body to lave and suckle her breasts. “I’m going to torture you, make love to you until you say ‘uncle.’”

  He nudged her knees apart and moved between them, then circled her navel with the tip of his tongue. He moved lower and lower until her eyes widened. “Kale!”

  He looked up at her and chuckled. “Row four.” Then he lifted her hips to lave and nip her most sensitive of spots. Soon she was writhing under his ministrations. She hadn’t realized her hands were free until she grabbed handfuls of his hair when the pleasure grew too much to bear. His attentions continued until she sucked in a deep breath and contracted her back as wave after wave of delicious sensation engulfed her.

  She went limp as a dishrag. “Uncle,” she whispered listlessly.

  “Too late,” he said, starting again.

  * * *

  Much later, they lay in Kale’s bed, bodies damp from lovemaking. Sunny yawned as she stroked his chest. “Whatever happened to your blue marble?”

  “I think Billy Wanamaker stole it. I could never prove it, but I’m sure he did. He’s a state senator now.”

  “Figures.” Totally relaxed, she smiled and nested in the peaceful comfort of his arms, wishing she could stay there forever.

  * * *

  Sunny was anything but relaxed. Jessica Martin of Good Morning USA, for all her surface charm, was a tough interviewer. But Sunny expected no less; she was tough herself. She was determined to appear cool and professional.

  “I understand,” Jessica said, “that on Tuesday night you made certain predictions about the approaching hurricane. What were those predictions?”

  “I stated that Chloe would pass over the western tip of Cuba, stall, intensify to a category three hurricane, and then move in a westerly direction.”

  “And what happened?”

  “It acted exactly as I predicted. Yesterday at six o’clock, the National Hurricane Center declared Chloe a category three hurricane with a tightly defined eye and winds of one hundred and twenty-five miles per hour. After having stalled for several hours, it is now moving slowly in a westerly direction, approximately seven hundred and fifty miles southeast of Corpus Christi, Texas.”