Forecast (11 page)

Rowie wasn’t quite sure when things had become so strained with her grandmother. Her childhood memories were filled with laughter and songs and parties. Gwendolyn had swamped her with affection and positive reinforcement. But somewhere along the way, probably when her grandfather had left, Gwendolyn had become angry and manipulative. She was able to turn on the charm when she wanted, but would turn it off just as quickly. She used her charisma as currency, knowing her granddaughter and daughter would barter anything to have the old Gwendolyn around.

Gwendolyn’s withdrawal left a gaping hole in Rowie, but she promised herself she’d mend the bridge once her time at USBC was over. She had to. She missed her grandmother. Her sudden and soaring popularity did little to fill the gap, although she was flattered—if slightly scared—by the attention.

Overnight, Rowie found it difficult to walk the street unrecognized. The response was overwhelming. People loved her. The group of fans waiting outside the network grew larger each day. She’d exit the building and they’d stampede towards her, begging for autographs, photographs, information on dead loved ones.

Mac organized a car service to get Rowie to and from work unscathed. But it didn’t stop people approaching her. They called out her name on the street, in the supermarket, while she was lined up at Starbucks. Three female fans waited for her to exit a toilet cubicle at a nightclub. Apart from one woman in Barnes and Noble, who clutched her spiffy new Bible as she yelled passages from
Deuteronomy
at Rowie, everyone reacted with genuine warmth and affection. She was the classic American success story: the pretty little misfit who was minding her own business, when she was discovered and propelled into stardom. The very qualities that had always made her an outsider were the very things the public adored.

The network suggested she do some publicity, so Rowie agreed to talk to
Cosmopolitan, Marie Claire
and
InStyle.
But first, she arranged an interview with Angel’s magazine,
SheStyle
. Angel had interviewed her once before, as part of an expose on psychics, but she’d never done an exclusive.

“So when did you first realize you were psychic?”

“That’s a stupid question. You already know all this,” said Rowie.

“Yes, but I have to ask on the record.”

Angel interviewed Rowie at The Grove. It was a sticky August afternoon, the air thick with buzzing insects. They lay on banana chairs in the garden with a portable cooler—or esky, as Angel called it—full of beer in-between them. Angel clutched a packet of Tim Tams, Australia’s favorite biscuit. They were part of a care package her mother had sent her from home. Rowie reached across to grab one, but Angel slapped her hand away.

“Bugger off. You stick to your Twinkies.”

“What did I do?” asked Rowie.

“You gulped the last one down without respecting it.”

“I respected it. It was delicious. That’s why I ate it so quickly. What did you want me to do? Take it out for dinner first?”

Angel passed the packet over. “Okay, one more … but savor it please.”

Rowie took a Tim Tam and nibbled it, not daring to wolf it down.

“So where were we?” asked Angel. “That’s right, you first realized you were psychic … when?”

“Okay,” Rowie humored, “When I was … oh I don’t know. I’ve always known.”

“What’s your earliest weird memory?”

“I remember standing in my crib on my first birthday, surrounded by Shakespeare spirits.”

“You mean those witches on the wall?”

“Yes. A bunch of them dropped by to say happy birthday.”

Angel looked horrified. “Christ no, how
Macbeth
. That would freak me out.”

“I was one,” said Rowie. “Things like that don’t freak babies out.”

“Okay, next question. What were your school years like?”

“Hideous.”

“You’ve got to give me more to work on, Rowie.”

Rowie was quiet for a moment. “The other kids thought I was a freak. Their parents were scared of me. The teachers were wary … That was probably my fault. I told my 2nd grade teacher about her divorce before
she
knew about it.”

“You’d think she’d be grateful for the tip,” said Angel.

“My first kiss was ruined by a vision. Seems David Packer was destined to marry a man. I stupidly told him and he freaked. Made the rest of my school years a living hell.”

“Bitch … him, not you. So, what else can you tell me?”

“I don’t know. Make it up. People are going to believe what they want to believe anyway, no matter what I say.”

“What would you like people to know about you?”

“That I’m normal,” said Rowie quietly.

“Oh get over yourself. Why the bloody hell would you want people to think you’re normal? What’s so great about normal?”

“Well to start with, people aren’t frightened of ‘normal’ people. I hate it when someone looks at me like my head is about to start spinning around. My gift doesn’t define me. I’m just like everyone else. I have the same hopes and desires as everyone else.”

“You want to study Tantric sex with Sting?”

Rowie laughed. “You’re a maniac. No, I mean I want to meet someone special, fall in love, have a family …”

“Germaine Greer will be thrilled to hear that,” Angel snorted.

“I haven’t finished yet. You interrupted,” said Rowie. “Yes, I want a family. But I also want to wake up each day knowing I’m doing something I love. This TV job … it’s wonderful. I feel passionate about it.”

“So you’d like to continue doing the news?”

Rowie paused for a moment. “I’m not sure about news … but it’s close. Besides, I’m out of a job once Drew returns.”

“Ah yes, handsome Henderson. Called him lately?”

Rowie could feel the heat creep up her cheeks. “I only called him that first night.”

“And thought about calling him again every night since.”

“But I haven’t.”

“Then you’re a bloody fool. The guy is hot and there’s the added benefit of him definitely being there when you call.”

“If he wants to talk, he knows how to find me.”

“Oh I see … playing the old fashioned card. Not my cuppa, but very hip right now.”

Rowie’s green eyes flashed at her friend. “This better be off the record.”

“Of course. Now for a really important question: How do you feel about that billboard of you in Times Square?”

“I just thank the Goddess for airbrushing,” said Rowie with a wink.

Angel laughed. “Somehow I think the Goddess would be against airbrushing.”

“Is that all you need? I’m bored talking about myself.”

“Yeah, that’ll do.” Angel grabbed another beer and then lay back on the chair. “Bloody beautiful day.”

“Yeah it is. Bloody beautiful day,” said Rowie as she ignored Angel’s glare and shoved a whole Tim Tam in her mouth.

Time dragged for Drew. He spent most of his days reading, watching DVD’s and cursing his rotten luck.

Jack flew down regularly, carrying all sorts of supplies and stories to keep Drew sane. He’d been a pillar of support for Drew. Not only did he visit, but he’d also moved onto Drew’s boat to take care of Norm.

“It’s easier than me having to drop by the boat twice a day,” Jack explained.

Drew felt awful. He knew how busy Jack was. “But moving aboard is …”

“Stop stressing,” Jack interrupted. “I’ve always wondered what it’s like to live on a boat. And Norm seems pleased to have me there.”

“He can go to my father’s, Jack. There’s no need for you to look after him.”

“Absolutely not,” said Jack. “The poor mutt is upset enough that you’re not around. He needs to be at home.”

Drew looked devastated. “Norm’s pining for me?”

“Of course he is. You’re all he’s got, Drew. But he’s okay. We’ve been watching the new series of
The Coven
together on DVD. Scored it off a friend of mine at USBC.”

Drew lay awake all night worrying about his dog. Poor Norm was already the product of a broken home. How much could a canine take? What if he’d been killed? Who would take care of Norm then? And apart from Norm, who would
really
notice if he was gone? Certainly not any of the women he’d dated recently.

Drew suddenly felt very depressed … and alone. He knew he had a reputation as a womanizer, but it made him uncomfortable. He knew how to love. He’d proven that once … and had his heart stomped on in return.

It was love at first sight when he met Sarah, a smart, stunning UN interpreter. He fell hard and fast, as did she, and within six months they were married. Another six months and she was pregnant … and a final six months after that, she was gone … to the great suburban wasteland in the sky …

Well, Connecticut actually, but close enough as far as Drew was concerned. Off to Connecticut, with an orthopedic surgeon called Terry … Drew’s best buddy since high school.

Should give him a call now, thought Drew. Get a second opinion on this leg.

There had been moments, whole days really, after their betrayal that Drew seriously thought he wouldn’t survive. Sarah had ripped his heart out of his chest. He went berserk with grief over the end of his marriage. He was reeling over the loss of the unborn child he’d thought was his. And worst of all, the person he’d normally share his pain with was the one that had caused it.

Terry’s betrayal cut the deepest and losing him was like losing a limb. Over time his grief abated. He even came to realize that perhaps he and Sarah weren’t that well matched. But there was no denying, the incident had left its mark and he’d been unable to commit to anyone since.

But then, in his defense, he’d met no one special since the divorce. There were offers, proposals, friends who knew “just the person,” but Drew wasn’t willing to settle for second best anymore. He wanted the whole enchilada. He believed he’d love again, and was happy to wait. In the meantime, he was only human, so in order to get laid he had to endure the process of wining and dining, or partying and clubbing.

He’d also had flings with some of the women he worked with. Two actually, despite all reports to the contrary. Eva had been a surprise. She’d asked him out for a drink one night and announced that she’d decided to take his flirting to the next level. She also made it clear that she had no interest in anything more than very casual sex. “When I decide to get serious about a guy, he’s going to be
way
richer than you, Drew.”

Within five minutes, they embarked on a very satisfying four-day affair, cut short by Hurricane Hilda.

Then there was Jess who was, in retrospect, a mistake. She’d sold herself as someone with no time for a relationship, and no desire for romance. She was looking for, quote, unquote, ‘Casual sex sprinkled with intelligent conversation.’ It sounded perfect. When a gorgeous, smart, professional woman puts it to you like that, you don’t refuse, right?

Wrong!

He’d extracted himself from her clinging clutches as gently as possible. He didn’t want to hurt her, or their professional relationship. So far, so good. They were friendly, and still worked well together. She wasn’t the type to hold a grudge … was she?

He wasn’t so sure now. Her tone on the phone had been brutal, and she’s refused to take his calls since.

Best to steer clear of co-workers, thought Drew. Especially ones like Rowie. Watching Rowie each night was messing with his head. She was the antithesis of everything Drew believed his job to be. With her gorgeous face and quirky ways, she flitted about in front of the greenscreen, genuinely moved by the calamities the weather caused.

“Oh dear,” she’d say apologetically, as if the bad weather was all her fault. “So much rain in Idaho won’t be good for the crops.”

Then there was the voodoo stuff. She’d stand in that strange little pose, her insanely green eyes focusing somewhere … somewhere only a Star Trek commander should go. She predicted the weather in an almost monotone voice, breathy and low, and Drew wondered what it would be like to have her whisper in his ear. Wherever her information came from, she never stalled, never questioned it, no matter how crazy it seemed.

And she was never wrong!

Drew liked her immensely. He was strangely drawn to her and found herself dialing her number regularly, although he always hung up before it rang. He knew she was good, in her own wacky way, but also couldn’t help feel she made a mockery of his years of struggle and study, and his genuine desire to understand an almost inexplicable science. It was an uncomfortable clash of opposites: science and magic. Kind of like watching Harry Potter do his job. She made Drew feel strangely unsettled.

“You’re hot for the girl,” Winston chuckled one night.

Drew rolled his eyes at the Winston. “Yeah, I’m really into weirdness. It’s an attractive quality in a woman.”

Winston, the orderly from the ER, often swung by for a visit. He was an interesting character. Black as night, with regal features and huge, thick hands, he took time to talk to the patients. While the hospital doctors concentrated on the diseases and injuries, Winston concentrated on the patients themselves. He might not know how to cure Mr. Roland in 43B, but he knew that his grandson was a star quarterback, his daughter nagged him about smoking, and his sister was having problems with her car.

Many patients agreed that Winston’s ability to listen was the most effective medication available. Drew certainly looked forward to his company. They’d chat, play cards and sometimes watch the news together. Winston made him laugh, with his droll insights into human nature and the often-obscure cases he witnessed at the hospital.

“Hot, hot, hot for her,” Winston cackled.

“Haven’t you got work to do?” said Drew.

“Hey, whatever, I’m just telling you what I see. Every night you lie here mesmerized.”

“Like I’ve got a choice, being in traction and on painkillers and all.”

Winston barely paused. “And all day long you’re reading those magazine articles about her.”

“I don’t ask Jack to bring me those,” Drew lied. Anyway, it was only smart to be aware of his competition. Rowie’s popularity was soaring. Magazines were lined up; her face was plastered over billboards; TV programs wanted her to guest star … Apparently Barbara Walters wanted to interview her.