Vortex

by Kimberly Packard

“Maybe we should get you to a doctor,” Elaina said, walking back into the lab while clinging to the stumbling man.

  Tuck jogged over to the other side and took over leading his friend.

  “I’m so sorry, let me come with you guys,” Elaina said, her stomach gnawing on a ball of dread.

  “No, no, we’ve taken enough of your time. I’ll take care of him,” Tuck said, not meeting her eyes, but pulling his friend toward the door. “Thanks for the tour.”

  She followed close behind. “Are you sure? I can come with you guys to the campus medical clinic, explain that it was all my fault.”

  “Nah, he just needs a burger and a beer, and it’ll be all better.” Tuck led them to the elevator, hitting the up button with his elbow.

  “I don’t think a beer is such a good idea.”

  The elevator dinged and the door opened. Tuck pulled Biscuit in and hit the button for the ground floor.

  “Do me a favor, Moo-Moo,” he said as the door was closing. “Don’t tell Pierce I came by. I’d hate for him to feel bad for missing me. See you in the field.” His hand traveled back to the pocket of his shorts. This time, the jingling had a different tone.

  21

  The warm Gulf air welcomed Seth the moment he stepped off the plane. His sunglasses fogged over, but rather than curse and wipe away the moisture, he closed his eyes and let the salt penetrate his pores. Gulf Shores was as comforting as a gentle mother wiping away tears.

  His duffel was light. Armando hadn’t fought him when he wanted to take a couple of days off during the storm season, but a missed storm was missed coverage. Missed airtime. People were talking about him, albeit because of Elaina’s punch, but he’d take it.

  The small airport terminal was quiet. No one to stop him, to ask if it was really him. Again. He didn’t have to wear a ball cap pulled down low with dark sunglasses fortifying against the glares, the sideways whispers and the head shakes of pity.

  The old rust-red Chevy was parked at the curb, the silhouette of his grandfather’s head visible. Seth couldn’t tell if it was a trick of his imagination or if the great bear of a man sat lower in his seat. Years on the Gulf oil rigs aged a man, and although his grandfather was in his late sixties, he carried himself with the weight of a much older man with a life full of sacrifice. Forced retirement had gotten him back to the shore a few years ago, but not before giving him forearms that would rival Popeye’s, deep crevices in his face and a permanent hunch.

  “Hey, Gramps,” he said into the open window, while plopping his bag into the truck bed. “Thanks for picking me up.”

  “Good to see you, son,” his grandfather said, his face breaking into a wide grin. “Your grandmother’s been worried sick. It’ll do her some good to see you in one piece.”

  Seth hung his arm out the window as they drove home. His fingers flexed and grabbed as if trying to capture the salty wind to bring back on the road with him. Coming home to Gulf Shores always felt like traveling back in time. He saw past the new buildings into what had stood there before; into the glory of the old under the veneer of age. Here he was no longer a thirty-year-old man with more of a past than a future. Here he was forever a teenager with barely a past, an anxious present and the wide-open ocean of a future.

  The truck roared once more before Gramps shut if off in front of Seth’s childhood home. As a boy, the stilted home loomed over the adjacent canal like a giant, but now it just felt like a home with too many stairs for his aging grandparents.

  “Fresh coat of paint?” he asked, admiring the teal green clapboards. “I could’ve come down to do this for you.”

  His grandfather waved off his concern. “Paid someone to do it. Marnie won’t let me change a light bulb these days.”

  As if on cue, Seth’s grandmother jogged down the steps, her long white braid bouncing down her back. Even though she seemed thin under her clothes, the woman possessed a strength he dared not to challenge.

  She tugged him into a tight hug and for the twentieth time that day his thoughts rushed to Elaina. That was what drew him to the petite storm chaser; she reminded him of his grandmother. Fearless strength and unrivaled beauty.

  “You’re choking me, Gram.” He managed to get out on the last breath of air in his lungs.

  “You deserve it,” she said. “What’re you thinking, going out there in all these dangerous storms live on TV so your poor grandmother has no choice but to watch and worry?” She took a step back and studied Seth’s face. With lightning fast reflexes, she pulled off his sunglasses and narrowed her eyes at the shiner. “That little girl did a number on you.” His grandmother grabbed his jaw and pulled his face down to her eye level. “I like her.”

  He sighed. Knew better than to roll his eyes or argue, and admitting he liked her too would only result in Gram spending the entirety of their time together hassling him about making things right. No, he had to hold steady. Seth was here to get his head straight.

  “Marnie, how’s the boy going to explain that new set of bruises?” Gramp’s spoke from behind him.

  Gram let go and stroked his face. Her soft, chubby fingers smoothed away the stress and tension that the Gulf air couldn’t touch. “Go get settled and clean up. We’ll have shrimp and grits for supper.”

  The smell of simmering spices called to him from the kitchen, but she shooed him up the stairs.

  His bedroom was exactly as he’d left it. The faded patch at the foot of his blue plaid bedspread was even more obvious. Years of late afternoon sun hitting that same square had made it almost transparent. A treasure trove of golf trophies held varying shades of tarnish.

  Seth sat at his desk and stared out over the canal. On clear days, he could nearly see the oil rigs dotting the southern horizon, but the air was as thick as his head felt. His grandmother had already shown what was on the agenda for dinner conversation.

  Elaina.

  He just had enough time to prepare for the Q & A.

  Seth watched the water flow beneath him and imagined sitting between his grandparents at their modest kitchen table with the wallpaper bubbling from years of moisture. The barrage of questions would be tough, pointed. He had to have his armor firmly in place or a wild shot might pierce him.

  “Who was that girl?”

  “Elaina Adams, she’s a researcher, studying tornadoes.”

  “Why did she hit you?”

  “She’d been trying to get my attention to tell me the storm had turned. It was headed right for me.”

  “Wasn’t she putting herself in danger herself?”

  “Yes, she was, especially because she was set up where it was safe. Elaina put herself in the path of the storm for me.”

  “She must like you.”

  “I think so. I thought so. I asked her to dance and it felt like it, but then she got mad at me and left.”

  “And what did you do, Seth?”

  The sun lowered itself into the water of Oyster Bay while he considered his answer.

  What had he done? He stood there, stared at the door she ran through. The couples dancing around him twirled and spun like a rising tornado and all he could do was stand in the dizzying vortex.

  The winds of emotion tore at him.

  Elaina was different.

  She was the same as Julia.

  They were all just like his mother.

  He was afraid that if he looked down he’d see the tattered cloth of conflict covering him.

  “Seth, honey, dinner’s ready.” The conjured image of his grandmother faded away at the real one’s voice.

  “Showtime,” he said to the final burst of the sinking sun.

  As predicted, a place was set for him between his grandparents.

  His grandmother filled a tall glass of milk at his spot, and his grandfather countered it with a sweating bottle of beer.

  He’d been dancing around his grandparents’ dueling drinks for so long his eyes teared at the briefest thought; one day he’d come to the table to only one beverage.

&n
bsp; Seth dug into his bowl, letting the spices burst on his tongue and warm him from the inside out. After a few bites, he noticed a place setting across from him. An empty bowl sat between an unused fork and a full glass of water. Something else was missing from dinner. Conversation.

  Gramps was even more hunched over his food; lifting his body just enough to pull a sip of beer before diving back in.

  Gram’s loose cheeks were flooded with red and the color seeped down her neck and faded into the collar of her old denim shirt.

  Seth was just about to ask about who they were expecting, when his grandmother got right to her questions.

  “How long have you been seeing Elaina?” Gram asked.

  His fork quivered, knocking its precious cargo back into the bowl. He expected a warm up of questions, not going right into the final play. “We’re not seeing each other.”

  “Yet.” She stabbed her fork in his direction. “She cares for you or she wouldn’t have hit you.” His grandmother’s tone was tight, as if it were holding something back.

  “Let me guess, you had Gramps in a headlock before he asked you out?” Seth turned the charm up to eleven.

  His grandfather laughed, his body draping more over his bowl before lifting up. “Nah, boy, she used that rolling pin of hers. First cooking for me, then beating me over the head when I didn’t realize that was flirting.”

  “You lyin’ fool.” Even though Marnie’s lips were tight, her eyes were teasing. “I had to use a rolling pin to fend you off. Still do.”

  Gramps straightened as much as he could and gazed down the table at his bride.

  For a moment, Seth felt as if he’d disappeared and all that remained was a lifelong love between two people.

  That was what he wanted. A love that grew stronger each day. That was what he’d wanted with Julia, but she’d crushed it.

  That same desire stirred within him when he touched Elaina, but she’d run from him.

  Maybe having that love was just as fleeting.

  “Why do you have that place set? Is someone else coming over?”

  The warmth between his grandparents iced over.

  Gramps hunched back over his food and Gram’s cheeks reddened again.

  Only the clinking of her fork and the thud of his beer answered him.

  “Lisa’s been coming around,” his grandfather growled into his bowl.

  The hold Seth had on his beer loosened and the bottle slipped right through his fingers and landed sideways on the table. Amber liquid trickled out, but no one made the move to wipe it up.

  “She’s cleaning herself up.” Gram’s voice had the pleading undertone of an argument made more than a few times. “She’s been sober for nine months now.”

  “How is that different than the other times?”

  He sat between his arguing grandparents, staring at the empty seat. Of course, it was meant for his mother.

  Seth had more memories of her empty seat than her filling it. The Christmas pageant when he was eight and played one of the Three Wise Men. His high school baseball games when he was named All-State MVP at first base. His golf tournaments. Graduation, both high school and college with honors.

  The last time he’d heard from Lisa was when she’d called to tell him how much he’d embarrassed her after his on-air meltdown. Rather than list all the times the woman had humiliated him by showing up high, he’d simply hung up and added that call to the long list of blocked numbers.

  “She’s his mother,” Gram said.

  “She’s the girl who gave birth to him.” Gramp’s voice climbed to a near-shout. “You’re more his mother than she ever could be. We’re just lucky she had the good sense to leave him with us.”

  His grandmother sniffled and stared down at her plate.

  Gramps was right, his grandmother had assumed the role of Seth’s mother without any hesitation. Lisa had tried, at least that was what Gram told him. His mother had feigned surprise when she’d gone into labor, in the middle of the night, swearing she hadn’t known she was pregnant.

  Lucky for Seth, his sixteen-year-old mother had held off on the hard drugs and alcohol until after he was born.

  Gram had taken care of Seth so she could finish high school, but it’d become obvious quickly his mother was skipping school. She’d started disappearing for days at a time around his first birthday.

  By the time he was four, she’d left for months. When he started first grade, his grandparents had completed the paperwork to be named his legal guardians.

  Because Lisa had sworn she didn’t know she was pregnant, she’d also sworn she didn’t know who Seth’s father was. He never dwelled on that much, but there was one summer in high school when he’d worked at the local hardware store and he’d studied every man who came in, hoping to see his green-blue eyes and square jaw.

  “When did you see her last?” he kept his words steady and hard.

  Gram’s gaze darted to her husband before shifting back to him. Her chest heaved as she took a deep breath. “Two weeks ago. She saw you out chasing a tornado and was worried about you. She called after that one storm. Said she wanted to call you but you keep blocking her calls.”

  Seth opened his mouth to argue, but his vibrating phone interrupted him. He pulled the phone from his pocket. Someone from the station was calling him.

  The weather was clear across the country and the models showed nothing churning. Whoever it was could wait.

  “It’s probably because the boy doesn’t want to see her.”

  Years ago the lines had been drawn; his grandparents were on Team Seth, but somewhere along the way, Gram had defected to Team Lisa.

  It wasn’t that his grandmother was flying his mother’s flag; it was as if she’d assumed the role of peacekeeper, eager to draw up a treaty to end the war. Both Gramps and Seth were wary of any promises made by Lisa.

  Once again, he began to speak, but his vibrating phone cut him off. Forecast Channel again, but no voicemail was left earlier.

  Who in the world keeps calling?

  He sent it to voicemail again. He couldn’t help it if whoever was on the other line couldn’t get the message.

  “I’m not the little boy who goes to bed crying when his mom lets him down,” Seth said, setting his phone on the table. “If Lisa wants to see me, she can. I just won’t believe a word that comes out of her mouth.”

  For the third time, his phone lit up with his employer.

  “This is the third time they’ve called, I need to take it.”

  Seth escaped the rising tension of his grandparents’ kitchen and went out to the backyard.

  The screen door clattered as it bounced off the doorframe. Singing bullfrogs paused briefly, but picked up their chorus.

  “Hello?” He turned his back to the kitchen to look out over the dark canal.

  “One would think you’d answer a call from the station on the first ring.”

  The bullfrogs stopped again at the sound of Julia’s cold voice coming through his phone.

  Could they sense the predator on the other end?

  Shrimp, grits and beer churned in his stomach at the sound of his ex. Great, first my mother, now my ex. If Hitler were alive, he’d probably show up next.

  “What do you want?”

  Like boxers between rounds, the station kept them in their corners. Seth adhered to the forced separation, but Julia broke free from her keepers. He braced himself for her first punch.

  “Don’t be mean.”

  He could almost hear the pout.

  “I wanted to check on you.”

  “I’m fine, thank you. Goodbye.” Seth ended the call. He looked over his shoulder at the battle in the kitchen.

  His grandfather gripped the end of the table and his grandmother was shaking her head.

  Going back in where his grandparents fought over his head was less appealing than speaking with Julia.

  His phone rang again. “You’ve just confirmed what I’ve long suspected,” Seth said as a greetin
g. “You really are a witch.”

  “Stop being so juvenile.”

  “Guess you should start dating men your own age.” That was a punch below the belt.

  Julia was so well preserved no one would have guessed she was twelve years older than him, and she worked hard to keep that little fact from slipping out.

  He walked down to the edge of the canal.

  The houses on the opposite bank were quiet. Lapping waves slapped the boat docks. He could almost imagine his ex taking a long sip of chardonnay.

  “Seth, sweetie, I hurt you. That much is obvious.” Julia turned on Miss America voice; clear, confident, warm and endearing with a baseline of I-will-claw-your-eyes-out. “When I saw how close you came to… It’s so dangerous out there, even without obsessed fans attacking you during a stand-up.”

  A slamming door pulled his attention away from the dark canal and even darker ex-girlfriend.

  His grandfather shuffled down the steps and hopped in his red truck.

  Gram braced herself at the sink, the crown of her head staring out the window at him.

  How had their argument escalated so quickly? Unless it wasn’t a new argument, but the continuation of an old one.

  Seth started back toward the house, nearly forgetting that he still held a phone to his ear.

  “It made me realize what a good thing we had,” she continued. “I miss that. I miss you. Us.”

  He stopped and looked at the phone. Yep, the number was still the station.

  “You’re working late, Julia.”

  “You blocked all my numbers.”

  That really was his favorite feature on his phone.

  “Look, I can’t talk right now.”

  “I screwed up, Seth.” Her words were running together. The bottle must be half empty by now.

  “No, Julia, you screwed Benjamin. With your mic open. While I was on the air.”

  He could still hear the sounds.

  Julia had excused herself from the control room for a bathroom break. At first, he’d thought it was a joke, but then he heard that little moan in the back of her throat. Seth was the only one who could do that to her.

  Thank God someone in the control room had cat-like reflexes or he would’ve had the FCC on his back once he’d entered forbidden words territory.