Forecast (3 page)

“I like that boy. So handsome,” said Gwendolyn. “He hasn’t been round much lately.”

“No, he’s busy … I’m busy … you know.”

“No. Busy with what?”

“I don’t know. Work and stuff.”

Gwendolyn looked affronted. “You’re hardly over-worked.”

Rowie burst into tears. “We broke up, okay”

Lilia and Gwendolyn both shot over to the counter.

“Oh no! He was so nice.” Gwendolyn grabbed a hanky from her pocket and shoved it at her granddaughter.

Lilia hugged Rowie. “Did you …? You didn’t …?”

Rowie nodded and a fresh wave of sobs exploded. “I did.”

“Oh darling, I told you not to kiss him,” reminded Gwendolyn.

“I had to kiss him sometime.”

Gwendolyn and Lilia comforted Rowie as best they could. It didn’t help. Rowie wasn’t just crying over the loss of a perfectly likeable boyfriend, but because she was sick of having her hopes shattered.

It was clear from the moment Rowie was born that she had inherited the family gift of clairvoyance. What no one knew then was she had been blessed (or cursed as she often suggested) with a couple of extra gifts as well. One gift became apparent the day she first spoke. They were all sitting down to dinner when, as clear as day, Rowie said, “A hurricane is coming.”

Everyone laughed and commented on how clever and sweet she was, until the following morning when they found themselves hiding under the beds as strong winds ripped part of the roof off.

Rowie’s knack for forecasting the weather was always used to their advantage after that. The Shakespeare women were never caught without an umbrella when it rained, and Gwendolyn used Rowie’s predictions to gauge when she should plant her seasonal vegetables. Predicting the weather was harmless and helpful. There wasn’t a day go by that she wasn’t thanked by one of the locals for her morning reports.

The second, more unusual addition to her clairvoyant repertoire was the reason she was now crying. It was the reason David Packer, the first boy she ever kissed, made the rest of her school years a living hell. It was why Rowie’s romantic life had been one premature break-up after another.

Thanks to her extra gift, one kiss was all it took for Rowie to know a guy. One kiss and she could clearly read him, his desires, his secrets, his past, his present and, most importantly, his future. No matter how great the guy was, his future played out clearly before her and always starred other people. Rowie stayed detached from the men she met because she didn’t see the point of getting too involved with someone she had no future with. She’d learned years before how painful that could be.

Erich Lennox was her first real boyfriend. They met in college and fell madly in love. She tried desperately to ignore the future she saw for Erich when they kissed. She didn’t ever want anything to come between them. Not their separate destinies, not the man for her, the one shrouded in mystery, and certainly not the blonde lawyer he’d eventually marry.

They shared two bittersweet years before he met Darna Mattel, a pretty blonde law student. He returned home to the small studio he shared with Rowie, packed his bags and hugged her tightly before he left.

“I still love you, Rowie … but it’s her I belong with.” With that, Erich walked out the door and disappeared from her life.

All night Rowie sobbed at the unfairness of life. She wailed the twist of fate that had burdened her with a gift that stole the most treasured of human experiences from her: first love. With her clear second sight, only the truest of love would be blind. All others would be nothing but glass and completely transparent.

Rowie promised herself that night that she would never get seriously involved with another man unless they had a future together. A future she couldn’t see.

“What did you see for Brad?” asked Lilia.

“The bank will transfer him to Hong Kong in the next couple of months.”

“Good silk in Hong Kong?” Lilia offered, and then added, “Cruel trade, silk.”

“He’ll marry someone from Mainland China.”

“How lovely for him,” sighed Lilia.

“Yes, remind me to send chopsticks,” Rowie snapped.

“Why don’t you continue seeing him until he leaves,” asked Gwendolyn.

“What’s the point?”

“We may see the future, Rowie, but we must live in the present.”

“Thank you, Confucius, but it’s over. He’s already signed up to study Cantonese.”

“I still think you should give him a chance.”

“It’s too late. You don’t understand what it’s like, Gran.”

“That’s not true. Both your mother and I have experienced the same thing … granted a much milder form.”

“I’ve just got to face it, I may never meet anyone.”

“Rubbish,” said Gwendolyn. “These things are fated. You will meet your One True Love, you will have a daughter and
you will
take over this business.”

Rowie grabbed a pricing gun and started attacking some wind chimes. “And I obviously have no choice in the matter.”

“Unfortunately for you, no.” Gwendolyn shrugged. Who was she to buck tradition? Each new generation was raised knowing they would carry on the family traditions, as well as the name. It had been a fight to even continue the lineage. Historically speaking, the Shakespeare women weren’t breeders. There were no surviving boys since the 1600’s, and each generation bore only one or two girls. The Burning Times wreaked havoc on the line, as did a wild pig at a family reunion.

The women were part of a matriarchal line descending from William Shakespeare’s great aunt, Sylvie. (In fact, Sylvie was better known in those days than her literary nephew. With her bright red hair and extensive herbal knowledge, she was always in demand to deliver babies and heal the sick.) Sylvie bore one child, as did her daughter, Olivia. In the 1700’s there was a surge in births, but by 1975, only Lilia and Bettina, a distant relative in England, were left to provide for the name. Lilia had Rowie and around the same time, cousin Calypso was born in London.

Rowie knew the fate of the Shakespeare line was in her hands, but things didn’t look too hopeful. She was roaring towards 30 (okay, she was 28) with no romantic prospects on the horizon.

Rowie felt overwhelmed. “Why me?”

Gwendolyn spoke slowly, as though to a child. “Well who else will take over? Your mother couldn’t organize a bachelor party in a brewery. Tell me, Rowena, who else is there? It’s important we sort this out now, because I may be dead tomorrow.”

“You’re not going to die,” said Rowie.

“We’re all going to die,” Lilia offered.

Rowie locked eyes with her grandmother, begging her to understand. “I need to find my own path.”

“Your path was laid out at birth, Rowie. Accept it.”

“How will I ever meet a guy when I’m stuck working here. All I meet are desperados and ageing hippies.”

Gwendolyn and Lilia both gasped, shocked at Rowie’s rudeness and blatant disrespect for their beloved customers.

“Keep your voice down, young lady. I’ll have you know, our male customers are a cut above the rest simply because they walked through that door. It takes courage to change.” Gwendolyn fanned herself with the Post-its. “I can’t talk about this right now. I feel a turn coming on.”

Rowie picked up the windchimes and stalked to the front of the shop. Most women her age had proper careers, were having families, or both. She was always with her mother and grandmother, fighting over cuckoo clocks and hanging windchimes.

Yes, it took courage to change, and Rowie desperately wanted a change. But sometimes she wondered if she’d ever have the courage?

Drew Henderson couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. It hurt when the Marlins whipped the Yankees in ‘03. He’d shed a tear or two at Yankee Stadium that night. But this? This pain was in a whole new ballpark. Could he help it if he was crying?

He’d been lying on a hospital gurney for three hours. Around him, total chaos reigned. Hurricane Hilda was roaring through the area and the emergency room at Plankaville Medical was bursting at the seams.

Drew was more scientific than religious. He didn’t believe in God, but was open to admitting he was wrong. All he needed was some proof of existence. Yet suddenly, he found himself praying for help.

“Please … Sir, I know there’s a lot of people here who are worse off than me but, if you do exist, could you arrange for some pain medication or something … The shot they gave me didn’t work. If you have time, that is …” Drew shook his head. The pain was obviously making him delirious.

“Mr. Henderson, I’m Dr. Hinchey.”

Drew looked up at the doctor and smiled. Was that a glimmer of wings and a halo with that white coat? “Great to meet you, Doc. I’m in a hellova lot of pain. Do you think I could have another shot of something?”

The doctor closed the cubicle curtains, then removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She was obviously exhausted. “Yes, sorry about the wait. As you can see, things are out of control today. And we needed to see your X-rays before giving you anything else.”

“Is my leg broken?” Stupid question really. He’d felt it snap.

“You have an open tibial shaft fracture.”

“Which means what in English?”

“You’ve made a mess of your leg. Obviously the bone is broken, but there’s also the risk of infection. When was your last tetanus shot?”

“I don’t know … a couple of years back when I went to Cambodia.” Drew looked faint. “So what’s the deal?”

“Unfortunately, our options are limited. This area is in a state of emergency. Normally we’d airlift you, but we’re going to have to deal with the injury here, with the resources we have.

“It’ll be ok … won’t it?” Drew realized he was rather fond of his leg.

The doctor took Drew’s blood pressure. “Yes, but we’ll have to put the leg in skeletal traction.”

“Sounds painful.”

“You’ll be under general anesthetic.”

“Can I be flown back to New York first?”

Dr. Hinchey shook her head. “The airport is closed. You’re not going anywhere today … or for a while actually.”

“How long? A day or two?”

There was a beat before the doctor spoke. “At least six weeks.”

The room started to spin. “What? I can’t. I have a life. I have to get back to New York. To work.”

“We’ll consider transferring you back home once the bones knit, but there will still be months of rehabilitation.”

Drew was flailing about like a fish out of water. “Months? But … but … I … there’s things I need to do … I have a dog …”

Dr. Hinchey placed a hand on Drew’s shoulder. The poor guy had been waiting for hours without complaining, only to be told that his life was going to be on hold for a long time. Not that she balked at the thought of having him around for a while. Drew Henderson was the most exciting thing to happen to Plankaville since J.Lo’s jet was rerouted on the way to Miami. “It’s a very serious injury, but think yourself lucky. You could’ve been killed.”

Drew nodded. She was right. Death would have sucked, but this option wasn’t much better.

Dr. Hinchey handed Drew a clipboard and pen. “You need to sign this.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a release form for surgery.”

“I’m having surgery now?”

“You got something better to do?”

Drew began to panic. He felt like a five-year-old who wanted his mother. “Are there any other options?

Dr. Hinchey slid her glasses back on. Good lord he was handsome. “We’re a small hospital and are operating with minimal resources today. We either get this leg in traction, or you can stay on this stretcher … or we can amputate.”

Drew wasn’t sure if she was joking.

An orderly entered the cubical and released the brakes on the gurney. “Where to, Doc?”

“Mr. Henderson needs to go to pre-op.”

The orderly grinned at Drew. “I’m Winston. Ready to roll?”

Drew felt a surge of fear. “I’ve got to contact my boss.”

“Winston will wheel you past a phone on the way there. Do you have any allergies?”

“I’m allergic to pain,” Drew joked.

“In my experience, most men are,” chuckled Dr. Hinchey. Drew Henderson was a bright, and incredibly hot-looking spot in a grueling day. “I’ll see you up there.”

Winston started wheeling Drew towards the door. What had he done? How the hell could he put his life on hold for so long?

Drew stared at the ceiling as Winston whizzed him out of the ER and towards the elevator. He stopped at a desk and passed Drew a phone.

“You’d better make that call.”

Drew started to dial his boss. He dialed slowly. He rarely felt regret, but it filled his body now. Climbing on that roof had been one hellova bad idea.

Drew was standing on top of a boatshed, yelling into the microphone. It was a fabulous shot. Behind him Hurricane Hilda roared towards the mainland. The ocean rocked under a black sky. Drew looked handsome and wild.

“As you can see, it’s already volatile here. But this is nothing compared to what it’ll be like later today. This part of the coast is experiencing king high tides, which will result in massive storm surges when Hilda hits. My advice is to stay indoors and don’t do anything stupid.”

Suddenly there was a loud crack and the roof fell in. The last word from Drew was a terrified, “Shiiiiit!”

Mac Robert’s switched the TV off and turned to Jess.

‘Ouch, that hurt,” she said. “Excellent shot though. We could use that as a promo for tonight’s news.”

Mac glared at her. He sat back behind his desk and scratched his head. What to do? “We’ve just lost our guaranteed number one spot,” he said.

Jess stared at the wall above her boss and pretended to be thinking of a solution. All she could think of was Eva running her claws down Drew’s back. Mac had already updated her on Drew’s surgery. He’d also made it clear that he was furious to be left without his star weatherman. Worst of all, as far as Mac was concerned, it was all Jess’ fault.

His voice was measured. “Any ideas for a replacement?”

Jess steadied her voice. “Eva is down there. She’ll fill in for Drew at that end, and we already have Ray Wilson on for the long weekend.”