Calamity

by Gail McCormick

  “Don Lowell and his cameraman have been attacked by an unknown assailant,” Camellia reported. “Others have been injured, we don’t know how seriously, but everyone is really shaken.”

  Owen showed the few left standing nearby. Most had moved off presumably afraid that something else might happen. The mourners were already inside the church.

  “We’ll let you know how the injured are doing as soon as we can and what the police find out about the attacker.”

  “Whew, that was close!” Owen said as they packed up. “But he’d had threats before, so I guess it wasn’t surprising.”

  “Too close,” Camellia observed. “Could easily have been us. Poor Don. I gather you know him.”

  “Yes. Met him at a party. He’s a great reporter, but I’m sure you know that.”

  “Right. And I know CNN has been blasted a lot lately for putting out so-called ‘fake news’ all the time. Where will it end with politicians making matters worse by criticizing the media daily now or even calling us enemies of the people on a regular basis?” With that she put her hat back on, and she and Owen headed for the subway. “How’s the puppy doing?” Camellia asked.

  “It’s the cutest thing. Dong Woo and Braver have bonded. The puppy curls up and sleeps with his head on Braver’s stomach. I think he’s helping Trotford’s dog recover. Speaking of sleeping, for some reason that makes me think of Kyle Hardin. How’s that going?”

  “Very funny. You know it wouldn’t come to that with him.”

  “I’ve met some of your previous boyfriends who you dropped on their poor heads, but this definitely seems different. I don’t think you ever really cared about any of them.”

  “I’ll get a crate for the puppy,” she said.

  Owen laughed. “Nice change of subject.”

  They stopped at the subway entrance, and Owen headed down the steps. Camellia walked to the corner to look for a cab. She stepped out into the street to hail the one she saw headed her way. As she did so, a dark SUV sped along the lane she was standing in. She jumped back just in time to avoid being hit. “Jerk!” she yelled after it. Ok, maybe I shouldn’t have been standing in the street, she thought, but that kind of speed is unacceptable in Manhattan. And anyhow, I really wasn’t out all that far. She picked up the bag she’d dropped and went over and got in the taxi that had pulled over to wait for her.

  “I saw that,” the driver said. “Looked to me like he was headed right for you. You’re lucky to be alive, lady.”

  She leaned back in the seat and thought about it. Surely it couldn’t have been the same SUV that attacked Don Lowell. Could it? Was it really headed for her?

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  LATER SAME AFTERNOON

  HOSPITAL ROOM

  MT SINAI BROOKLYN HOSPITAL

  THE SMALL TEDDY BEAR UNDER CAMELLIA’S ARM HAD A SMILING BUTTON FACE. She dashed into the hospital room with a bunch of yellow tulips, a glossy package and the stuffed animal. She put the flowers and package on the bedside table and looked around. It was a small room, so she made sure to leave the door partially open. That made it feel bigger.

  Sujin was propped up in bed, holding a tiny baby girl. Bobby stood next to her peering up at his infant sister.

  “The baby pajamas are unisex since you didn’t know what it would be. I’ll get more things later. And this is for you,” Camellia said as she leaned down to Bobby and handed him the teddy bear.

  He took it but didn’t respond.

  “I had one like it when I was your age. It was like a good friend. Maybe that will be true for you too.”

  Bobby looked at the teddy bear and stroked its soft fake fur.

  Camellia moved closer to Sujin. “You promised to call me when you went into labor.”

  Sujin smiled. “There wasn’t time. My water broke, and I called 911.”

  “How did it go? I know you were worried.”

  “It could have been worse. At least they didn’t have to do a C-section, and I wasn’t in labor as long as last time.”

  “Can I hold her?” Camellia asked.

  “Of course.”

  Camellia reached for the baby. “What are you going to name her?”

  “Hope. That’s all we humans have now.”

  Camellia held Hope and looked down at her. “Yes, sadly I know. Well, little missy, I’m going to do whatever I can to make the world hopeful for you and Bobby. No time to piddle. Can’t continue to be as useless as a steering wheel on a mule.”

  Bobby held his new teddy bear with one hand and reached up to touch his baby sister with the other.

  “You’ve been working hard, and I know you will keep right on,” Sujin said.

  “Has Frank’s funeral been scheduled?” Camellia asked.

  “Yes. In three days. You’ll be there, won’t you?”

  “Of course. I’ll be returning to Siberia with Kyle, but we’ll be back in time for the funeral.”

  She started to head out, then stopped. “It’s such an enormous relief that the vaccine worked for you and Bobby. I was so worried.”

  Sujin smiled again. “Of course you were. That’s just the way you are, best friend always. Let me know how it goes. I have my eye on that professor you know. About time you found someone worthy of your attention.”

  Camellia shook her head. “I don’t need a matchmaker.”

  “We’ll see. But I suspect you might.”

  Camellia disagreed. “No point in your arguing with a fence post.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  SAME DAY

  EVENING

  LIVING ROOM

  CAMELLIA’S TOWNHOUSE

  “NOT AGAIN!” Camellia protested as Kyle entered the living room.

  He was holding a bottle of red wine and a thin, rectangular package wrapped in newspaper. “The wine’s not a gift. It’s replacement for what I’ve consumed here. Not quite as pricey, but hopefully a reasonably decent brand.”

  Camellia checked the label. “Perfectly fine. Thanks. And what about the other package?”

  “It just something you need. Here, open it up.”

  She unwrapped the package reluctantly and found a large photo of Perky. “How on earth did you come up with this?” He’d done it again. Given her something she couldn’t refuse.

  “When the police were checking out the break-in and you were in the kitchen with them, I took Perky out of her cage, put her on the window sill and took her picture with my cell phone. I had it enlarged to replace the print that was damaged when it fell off the wall. I’m pretty sure it will fit the frame, but if not, I’ll have it matted. Where’s the frame?”

  “In the closet.” She went over and took it out.

  He checked to see whether it would fit right.

  “But that’s a present,” she said.

  “Give the insurance company a bill for reimbursement, and you can pay me back with however much they cover if that’s the only thing that will make you happy.” He put the photo in the frame and found it fit perfectly. So he took it over and hung it where the print had been, then remained standing with his arms crossed over his chest. “Or you could invite me to dinner and call it even.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re impossible? Pig headed!” Camellia complained. “You could make a bishop mad enough to kick in stained glass windows.”

  “Other men must have given you gifts.”

  “Oh sure, they’ve wanted to, diamonds and such. I refused those too.”

  “Glad to hear it. I have a grudge against diamonds since in northern Canada diamond mine waste is stored in frozen dams. As the permafrost thaws, acid rock drainage might result in massive leaching of heavy metals into the soil and water sources.”

  “And there you go again. One-track mind.” She went over to him, reached up and patted him on the head. “Down boy, down.” With the difference in their height it was a stretch.

  He laughed and brought her into his arms. “Not all th
e time. Sometimes a very different track. You do know that by now.”

  She pushed her hands against his chest and backed up. Hers was a stupid comment if she really wanted to fend him off. I’m nuts, she thought.

  “Here’s one more thing.” He took a spool of brown thread out of his pocket. “I got it from my mother. Not sure if it’s quite the right color.”

  “Dang, you’re as impossible as all get out! I give up. But teddy bear thanks you. This should just about match his fur. Maybe you know how to sew too?”

  “Sorry. Nope. Don’t even know how to thread a needle.”

  “Well, I’ll take your deal anyhow. The wine you brought will be perfect for dinner. Let’s head for the kitchen. I’ve just made some good ol’ fried chicken with pepper gravy. Not the healthiest thing but can’t hurt once in a while. Comfort food. What we need right now even if a cold chicken salad would make more sense in this damn heat. My poor bees are having a hard time.”

  Kyle followed her into the kitchen and put the wine on the table. “That’s not surprising. All-time records for heat wave duration have just been broken here and in D.C., not to mention Europe and other parts of the world, India in particular. The sole good thing about it is that people are beginning to connect it with climate change.” An improvisational piano piece by Thelonious Monk was on the radio. “Jazz to go with dinner. Good choice.” He could smell the chicken. “You cook too? How have you managed to stay single?” He reached into the cabinet that held glasses, having remembered where they were.

  “Easy. As you can tell, I’m anything but a pushover. Half the men I’ve dated had personalities and values that fell outta the ugly tree and smacked every branch on the way down as far as I’m concerned. They had tons of money, and their only goal seemed to be to make tons more. Oh, and there were the ones after a trophy wife too. Not my type.”

  “Your type is?” he said as he put the glasses on the table and looked around. “I don’t remember where the corkscrew is.”

  Rather than tell him, Camellia reached around him to pull it out of a jar that was on the table behind him. They were very close. He gripped her shoulders with his hands and held her there. “Your type is?”

  She looked up at him for a few seconds, but only said, “That lapse doesn’t quite put you in the ugly tree category. As far as you’re concerned, you’d be a royal pain in the neck.” It wasn’t exactly an answer, and he wasn’t about to accept it.

  “Not entirely true, and you know it. Your type is?” he repeated again. He raised his eyebrows and waited.

  When she didn’t move and wouldn’t add anything else, he wrapped her in is arms, brushed her hair aside and kissed her neck which caused her to quiver. He realized that and said, “It would be totally unacceptable to cause pain to such a lovely neck, and you would appear to appreciate that.” When she still didn’t say anything, he let her go and took the corkscrew out of her hand. “So, what about the other half?” he persisted.

  “Oh, they just wanted to get me in bed.” She shrugged as she tried to collect herself. “And what’s your story with girlfriends? I seriously doubt you’ve had any who fell out of the ugly tree.”

  He popped the cork before answering. “I was engaged once.”

  Camellia handed him some plates. “Here, set the table.”

  “Yes, ma’am. This the silverware drawer?” He pointed to the narrow drawer under the counter.

  “Yes.” She wasn’t about to tell him what his mother had said. “What happened?” She turned back to the stove where she used tongs to take pieces of chicken from the frying pan.

  “She thought I was too devoted to my work. Chose a hedge fund manager instead. Where are the plates?”

  “In the cabinet behind you, second shelf. Too devoted? That’s crazy!” She came over and put the chicken on the table along with French green beans mixed with sliced almonds that she’d cooked in another pot.

  “Possibly. But you’re always accusing me of having a one-track mind, the way you did a few minutes ago, so maybe she had a point.” He spread the silverware out and set plates with it. “Napkins?”

  “Here.” She took some out of a drawer in the table. “But I’m just kidding you. It’s so much fun, I can’t possibly resist, and I’m pretty sure you get that. You certainly should unless you don’t know dip shit from apple butter.” She spooned chicken onto a plate and handed it to him. “And your fiancée was so dumb she could have thrown herself on the ground and missed.”

  He laughed. “Thanks. I do love your way with words. My mother said the same thing in Northern speak. It was pretty painful for a while.” He clearly wanted to change the subject. “I haven’t told you this because I knew it would make you think of Frank, but I don’t want it to come from someone else which is likely to happen. Apparently for most who didn’t make it, the last few hours were excruciatingly painful, hideous in fact. I checked with Frank’s doctor and found that fortunately he didn’t suffer.

  “Thank God for that!”

  “The very few who have survived so far are winding up horribly scarred except for their faces. Much worse than smallpox or any of the others like it. I suspect that’s true of Trotford, but you don’t see it with his jacket on. It’s a very strange disease.”

  Camellia sat down and picked up a chicken leg. “I’m so glad to know that Frank didn’t suffer. It was good of you to check. You didn’t have to.”

  “Of course I had to.”

  She took the chicken wing off his plate and handed it to him. “It’s messy this way and no doubt ill-mannered, but I don’t care. Have at it.” She took a bite of her chicken and returned to the previous subject. “You’re lucky to have a supportive mother.” She passed the dish of green beans over to him. “Can’t say as I’ve ever let myself care enough to be hurt. Go ahead, try the chicken. It’ll cure whatever ails you.”

  Kyle tried a bite of the chicken wing. “Delicious, healthy or not. Marry me?”

  She ignored that. “Actually, my mother’s recipe.”

  “The same as her recipe for men? They’ll use you and ditch you, use you and ditch you. Don’t trust any of them.”

  “You remembered that?” She was surprised.

  “Impossible to forget especially because as I’ve said, it simply doesn’t apply to all men.”

  “Maybe.” She tilted her head to one side and thought about it. “Not Owen anyhow. He and Karen have been together for over ten years, and I’m pretty sure he’s going to propose. He asked me about rings the other day. It’s fortunate that I didn’t suggest diamonds now that he’s decided he likes you. Can you believe he knows how long they’ve lived together down to the month and day,” she marveled. “And of course Frank was wonderful.” Camellia sighed. “Speaking of men, what was the story with your father?

  “Not that different from yours in some ways. My parents divorced when my sister Laura was seven and I was nine. A big difference though is that it was amicable and certainly not a case of desertion. Dad is a partner in a big law firm. My mother wound up with the condo and five million. She’s spent most of her time since then on non-profit boards and has worked closely with Audubon.” He took another bite of chicken. “You should definitely marry me.” Camellia shook her head at him. He let it go and said, “Mom pushed to make her building’s condo association come up with a composting program, got her favorite restaurant to copy it and is working on expanding it to other restaurants. She tries to educate people with a different background than those watching NIP, but important, nonetheless.”

  “And more influential,” Camellia said, attacking her own chicken again.

  “So, you might have more in common than you think.”

  “What was your parents’ problem?”

  “The usual story. He decided he preferred his secretary who was ten years younger than my mother.”

  “That’s a pretty terrible example he set for you.” She put the chicken leg down. “Well, I declare, I’ll bet that�
�s why you’re such a renegade with the outlandish t-shirts and long hair! You don’t want to be like him.”

  “Maybe so. I didn’t see much of him after that, and we’d never been close anyhow. Mom’s brother became my role model. He was devoted to his wife and children, couldn’t do enough for them. For a while I envied them. But Mark included me and my sister in all kinds of activities. He made a big deal of our birthdays. He even took us with his kids and my mother to Bucharest, Lima and Mumbai among other exotic places. My favorite was the Amazon.”

  “That must have really helped.”

  “The most amazing thing he did was to take me to Patagonia, just the two of us, when I was a senior in college and couldn’t decide what I wanted to do next. We saw the magnificent blue glaciers. And we learned that even then those incredible monuments were shrinking away. Somehow that was life altering. I decided then and there that I wanted to get an advanced degree in earth sciences. The glaciers in the area we visited are some of the fastest melting in the world today.”

  “I’ve seen melting glaciers in the Himalayas, so I know what you mean. What a great role model your uncle was.” She was silent momentarily, thinking back. “Birthdays. Yes, I remember the last time I saw my dad. It was on my seventh birthday. Mom made a chocolate cake with chocolate icing. You know how I love chocolate.”

  “I do indeed.”

  “My father brought home chocolate ice cream and birthday candles. Those days we could afford ice cream on special occasions. The candles were a big deal. We all stayed up late that night. Anyhow when I got up the next morning, he was gone. He’d left thirty dollars on their bedside table. No note, no explanation. His clothes were gone, and that was it. I adored him, and it broke my heart. Mom used the money to feed us until she found work.”

  “$30?” he was shocked.

  “Well, it meant a lot of rice and beans for weeks. I’ve hated both ever since. I did keep the candles, and we used them for birthdays every year after that until they were too short to light. I still have them.” She went over to the silverware drawer and pulled out a small, crumpled box of multi-colored candles. “See what I mean?”