by Jenna Blum
Fern lights a cigarette. Her hands are trembling a little, but she seems calmer. “How’d you get over him?” she asks.
“Slowly,” says Karena, “then suddenly. It was like having a terrible fever. For so long he was all I could think about, last thing before I went to sleep, first thing in the morning, and then one day, poof! I woke up and it was gone.”
Fern nods. “Yeah,” she says. “Poof. That’s what I’m waiting for. Where’s my poof, I’d like to know”
“Probably on its way,” says Karena. “Any minute now.”
“I bloody hope so,” says Fern. She starts swinging again.
“Thanks for putting up with me being so pathetic,” she says.
“I don’t think you’re pathetic at all,” Karena says. “Love can be hard.”
“Too right,” Fern sighs, then bumps Karena’s swing.
“What about Kevin then?” she says.
“What?” says Karena. She laughs, taken off guard. “What about him?”
“You and him,” says Fern. “Go on, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed he’s got a thing for you. He’s utterly smitten. We’ve got a pool going in the van.”
“You do not!” Karena says.
“S’truth,” says Fern and holds up her hand. “I swear.”
Karena shakes her head, smiling. “Boy,” she says, “we’ve got to find you people some storms soon, because you’re clearly hard up for entertainment.”
“True,” Fern admits. “But still. Have you got a boyfriend?”
“No,” Karena says.
“And you’re not married.”
“Not anymore.”
“And don’t you fancy Kevin even a little?”
Karena laughs. “He’s very nice,” she says.
“He’s quite nice,” says Fern, with an entirely different intonation. She puts out her cigarette. “If I weren’t so hopelessly, desperately, pathetically in love with Dan, the bloody unavailable bastard, I might have a go at him myself. Why don’t you go for it?”
Karena pushes her swing back and forth. She doesn’t want Kevin to be her focus right now, doesn’t want to think about how much she likes him and all the reasons—one in particular—she should leave him alone.
“I do think Kevin’s great,” she says, “but I’ve got other stuff on my plate.”
“Such as,” Fern persists.
“Well, I’m on assignment, for one. And . . .”
“Go on,” Fern prompts.
Karena digs her toe in the sand, pausing her swing.
“You know that guy on the tape tonight?” she says slowly, her throat dry. “That’s my brother.”
Then she winces, waiting for the sky to fall. She can’t believe she has told Fern this. But revealing it to Kevin was such a relief, and Karena could use the extra lookout. She hasn’t been doing so well on her own.
“The tape,” Fern repeats, sounding puzzled. “Oh, the video-bomber?”
“Exactly,” says Karena. “That’s my brother, Charles. I’m looking for him.”
“Right,” says Fern. She swings a bit, then says, “I’m utterly lost.”
Karena laughs ruefully. “Sorry,” she says, “my fault. I’m not used to talking about this. . . . Charles is a chaser, and he’s—not well, so I need to find him and help him. I haven’t told anyone because it’s kind of a family thing. And I didn’t want Dan to think I was on his tour under false pretenses.”
“Riiiiiiiiight,” Fern says and lights another cigarette. “I won’t say a thing. Mum’s the word. But d’you think he’s somewhere nearby then?”
“I’d imagine so,” says Karena. “I missed him by inches today. So I’d like to keep it quiet, but I’d also love your help. If you see anyone who looks like Charles . . .”
“Definitely,” says Fern. “On both counts. Definitely.”
“Thank you, Fern,” says Karena.
“It’s nothing. No worries. We’ll find him.”
Karena feels the sudden pinch of tears behind her own eyes then, surprising her. She sniffs them back.
“Boy, it’s been an intense couple of days,” she says.
“Hasn’t it though,” says Fern.
She hands the bottle to Karena, who takes a swig and passes it back. Then they swing idly for a while, finishing the Chuck Norris and watching the sun come up. It appears first as a gray patch in the east, then shoots white rays over the buildings across the highway. Finally, when it casts a fine gold net over the Sandhills lawn, they get up to go back to their room. Karena is stiff from sitting, and chilled and damp with dew. But while they are crossing the grass their movement startles a flock of birds in the vacant lot next to the motel, and she stops to watch them rise as one and circle into the sky. It seems an omen of something. Karena just doesn’t know what.
15
That morning when they leave the Sandhills, Karena asks Kevin to drive, since although it still makes her uneasy to have somebody else behind the wheel, Karena doesn’t trust herself. She’s used to surviving on not very much sleep, but not this little. It’s like having a hangover. Karena’s stomach rolls, her eyes are grainy and tender, her reflexes off. Everything looks too bright, is moving too fast. Karena figures she’ll nap for an hour, maybe two, then take over again. By the time they finish gassing up the vehicles, she’s out.
When she wakes she has no idea where she is, only that she’s very hot. The Jeep is stationary, and the windshield concentrates the sun into a laser beamed directly on Karena in her seat. She sits up, her body running with sweat, feeling like a bug under a magnifying glass.
The dashboard clock says six fifteen P.M. Kevin is in the driver’s seat, his door open, tapping on a laptop.
“Good morning, Laredo,” he says.
“Morning,” says Karena. She wipes her mouth and looks at her hand with disgust.
“Where are we?” she asks.
“Badlands,” says Kevin.
“The Badlands!” Karena repeats. “Goodness. I have been sleeping a long time.”
She steps out of the Jeep, and a hot wind like the blast from a hair dryer evaporates her perspiration instantly. A yard from where she is standing, the road drops off and a canyon begins, stretching to the horizon and filled with rock spires. The shapes are fantastic, turrets and spikes, and the colors amazing: red, rust, purple, gold. But at Karena’s back, there’s an entirely different ecosystem, grassland punctuated by mesas. Prairie dogs poke from invisible holes to regard Karena with their bright, somber preacher’s eyes, then vanish to pop up again somewhere else. Like a Whack-a-Mole game, Karena thinks.
She surveys the canyon, feeling a little sad. They were meant to come here once on a road trip, her family. To find the place in South Dakota where the pioneer Hallingdahls had their homestead, then drive through the Badlands to Mount Rushmore. But before they even made it over the state line Charles got wild in an A&W, pitching a fit when he didn’t get a second root beer float and running round and round the tables with Siri chasing him, and they had to turn back and go home. The twins were ten then.
On the shoulder in front of the Jeep the White Whale is empty. “Where is everyone?” Karena asks.
“Down there somewhere. Sunset photo hike.”
Karena shades her eyes. It will be a beautiful evening. The sky is a clear, ringing blue.
“So what happened to our storms?” she says, walking back to the Jeep and leaning against Kevin’s door.
“Busted,” says Kevin, without looking up from the laptop. “No soup for us. This is what we call a blue-sky bust, Laredo. The cap was too strong. It didn’t break.”
“Wait, hold on,” says Karena and takes her recorder from her pocket. “Blue-sky bust,” she says into it, “soupcap,” and then she asks Kevin, “Do you mind going on the record?”
“Not at all,” says Kevin. He bends toward the recorder and says, “Kevin Wiebke here, stormchaser and underwear model. What did you want to know?”
Karena snorts. She can’t help it. “So, Mr.
Wiebke, our storms today have not cooperated. What about tomorrow?”
“Well, funny you should ask, Laredo,” says Kevin, turning the laptop toward Karena, “because tomorrow looks very good. I’m very optimistic. See this area here, over north-central South Dakota?”
Karena leans in farther to look at the area Kevin is describing. The Storm Prediction Center is showing a fried-egg shape over the Dakotas, the white outlined in green, the yolk in red. In the center of the yolk is the abbreviation MDT.
“That means moderate risk of severe weather,” says Kevin. “Doesn’t sound like much, does it? But it’s unusual for them to issue a moderate the day before. It means they’re pretty sure something’s going to go up. And look at this,” he continues, clicking on the tornado link. “Fortyfive percent probability is impressive, usually means significant, long-lived tornadoes. I wouldn’t be surprised if we got upgraded to a high risk by morning.”
“That’s good, right?” Karena says. “I mean, depending who you ask.”
“Indeed, Laredo. It means we could have an outbreak on our hands. But remember Dennis’s story,” Kevin says, “the one about the tire. That happened on a high-risk day. Things can get ugly fast. We’ll have to watch our timing.”
“Wow,” says Karena. “That’s scary.” But a high risk also means a higher possibility of finding Charles, she thinks. He won’t be able to resist that setup.
“Not scary,” says Kevin. “A learning experience. Remember what I said about fear too. You just need to know what you’re doing.”
He lifts his arm and curls his bicep into a muscle, then points to himself. “Like me,” he says in a meathead voice. “I’ll learn ya.”
“Oh boy,” says Karena. “Now you’re just showing off.”
“True,” says Kevin. “But any more lip from you, young lady, and I’ll make you stay after school.”
He clicks the laptop shut. “Want to walk, Laredo?”
“Sure,” says Karena and pockets her recorder.
They lock up the Jeep and set off into the canyon. Karena feels more overheated than ever, picturing being in Kevin’s classroom after hours. She fans herself with the neck of her T-shirt, another recent purchase that says “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.” The road winds down in hairpin curves, the scenery changing every hundred yards. The spires tower over them, growing ever more improbable. A boulder balanced on a bottleneck. Two spines fused together, forming a keyhole. As they near the canyon floor the road curves into shadow, although the walls above them, still in sun, are lurid red as if aflame.
“Check out those striations, Laredo,” says Kevin. “Pretty neat, huh?”
He comes up beside Karena and puts his hand on her shoulder, turning her.
“Like those,” he says, pointing. “Know what they are? Sediment. This whole area used to be underwater, and what we’re walking through now was the ocean floor. Amazing, isn’t it?”
Karena nods, trying not to look sideways at his hand. Her stomach is melting.
“Oh God,” says Kevin and takes his hand away. “I’m geeking out again, aren’t I. Sorry, Laredo. I think I have lecture Tourette’s. Occupational hazard.”
Karena grins. “That’s all right, Mr. Wizard,” she says. “I kinda like it.”
They resume walking, their sneakers gritting on white sand.
“So anyway,” Karena says casually, and her stomach tilts as if she’s tumbling down a hill; she’s still not used to talking about this. “I saw Charles last night.”
Kevin stops.
“You saw him?” he repeats. “Where? At the motel?”
“Not exactly,” says Karena, and she tells Kevin about Charles’s guest appearance on Marla’s video. “It’s driving me crazy,” she says, “to be so close and yet so far. It’s like he’s playing some game with me. And I’m worried . . .”
Kevin nods. He is running a hand over his chin as if to check for five o’clock shadow, and he looks at her thoughtfully.
“You’re worried he’s manic,” he says.
Karena stares at him. She once fell off a makeshift trapeze in Tiff’s yard and landed square on her back. She feels much the same way now.
“You knew,” she says. “You knew and you didn’t say anything.”
She starts walking again. “This is the second time you’ve done this to me,” she says. “How did you know? Does everyone know?”
“Hold on, wait,” says Kevin, jogging up beside her. His face is flushed. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t know if you knew—Well, I know you knew, but I didn’t know how much you knew—Oh Jesus,” he says, “I sound like a fucking sit-com.”
He touches her elbow. “Please,” he says. “Can we just sit? Let’s sit and talk for a minute.”
Karena pauses, blows out a ball of air, and nods. They have been passing nature stations along the road, wooden platforms bordered by informational placards, and she lets Kevin lead her to one a few yards away.
“Oh yeah, like this is a good idea,” says Karena, looking at the signs. In addition to describing the dinosaurs that once roamed here, and giant jackrabbits and wild ponies the size of dogs, there is a large, sun-faded photo of a Western diamondback and a warning to stay on designated paths. Karena has never been fond of rattlers since coming eye to eye with a coiled ten-footer sunning itself in the New Heidelburg quarry.
“Don’t bother the snakes, Laredo,” says Kevin, “and they won’t bother you.” He sits and pats the metal bench and it makes a hollow bonging sound.
“Okay,” says Karena, sitting beside him. She puts her arms around herself and shivers. Without the sun, the wind is cool down here. “So, you knew Charles is bipolar. Why didn’t you say anything?”
When Kevin doesn’t answer right away, Karena looks at him. He is squinting at the cliff face opposite them, at a hologram of sunshine halfway up.
“Karena,” he says, “did you think I was going to make a move on you?”
Karena gives her head a brisk shake of surprise.
“Yes,” she admits.
“And did you want me to?”
Now Karena looks away, at the bleached-board path leading into the desert on their right.
“Yes,” she says.
“Good,” says Kevin. “Because I was. Am. Am considering it. Very seriously. But there’s something you need to know first. About your brother and me.”
He touches her hand on the bench, and Karena turns back. Her stomach flips. Kevin is scrutinizing her, his bright hazel eyes so intent on her face she wants to look away again.
“And there’s something I need to know too,” Kevin continues. “This may be inappropriate, a little accelerated—after all, I hardly know you. But I do feel like there’s something between us we could maybe test-drive, and if you feel the same way, I have to know going forward that you believe in honesty. Because after what happened with my ex, I believe in truth. Not half-truth, not sort-of truth, the whole truth. As in everything out on the table. Do you agree?”
Now Karena does look away, at the patch of light Kevin was peering at. It shimmers on the rock like a living thing. She takes a breath. Makes a decision. Turns back to him.
“Of course,” she says.
“Good,” says Kevin. “Glad we got that out of the way. So now I guess I have to tell you what happened with me and Chuck. Although maybe you won’t want to go for that test drive with me after you hear it. But that’s a risk I have to take.”
“God,” says Karena. She laughs nervously and rubs her palms on her shorts. “What is it? Am I sure I want to hear this? You weren’t secret lovers or something, were you?”
“No,” says Kevin. “Chuck’s cute, but he’s not my type.” He takes her hand again. “Seriously, I don’t have to tell you. I just figured, well, if it were my brother, I’d want to know. I mean, obviously you know he’s bipolar. You know him exponentially better than I do. But when you said you hadn’t seen him in twenty years, I just thought . . . maybe you don’t know what he’s capable of now.”
“Please,” she says. “Just tell me. Before I have a freaking heart attack.”
“Okay,” says Kevin. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m not, actually. But I need to know. Information trumps fear, right?”
“Right,” says Kevin. “Atta girl.” He gives her hand a quick squeeze and begins.
16
“So this was in Oklahoma,” Kevin says, “in 2001—remember I was trying to think what year I last saw him? It was in ’01, and the reason it was the last time I saw him is what happened on this chase.
“I think I mentioned we used to chase together pretty regularly, Chuck and I—Charles, I mean. Whatever. Your brother. I met him at OU when I was getting my masters and he was a lunatic even then, but everyone loved him. They called him a crazy motherfucker—’scuse my French—a real wild card, but in a weird way that only added to his credibility. Because some of the best chasers are like that—I guess it’s that way in any field, you’ve got the straight-and-narrow successful types, and then you’ve got the savants. Chuck was one of the savants, though definitely not of the idiot variety. He was the exception that proved the rule. The rest of us diligent meteorologists would spend our mornings, noons, and nights analyzing the data, for like weeks before a chase, and then two days beforehand Chuck would swoop in from whatever odd job he was doing at the time, look over our shoulders at the models, go, ‘Mmmmm, nope, actually I’d play over here,’ and take off. And you know what? He was always right. I’ll be fu—freaked if I know how, but we’d all end up chasing our tails for at best decent shots, and Chuck would go off into the wilderness and come back with insane footage, like close-ups of touchdowns a hundred yards away. Every single freaking time.
“Of course that was because he took incredible risks, like core-punching high-precip superbeasts and getting right up in the bear’s cage, and you knew you were taking your life in your hands when you chased with Chuck, but during my last year I started doing it anyway. I respected his instincts—I was always trying to learn from him—and to me he was good company. He had his off days, as you surely know, but most of the time he was upbeat and high energy and absolutely fucking hilarious. I guess too because I was about to move up to the Twin Cities with The Ex and I had this sneaking suspicion my life as a man was almost over, I was in the mood for something wild. But most of all, again, what it came down to was when it came to predicting where a storm would be, or which one to go after, or what it was going to do when you got there, Chuck was almost always right.