Rick Mofina: Whirlwind

The meeting broke up with people leaving, or wrapping up work, making calls, or talking with Dorothea or Chuck.

When Chuck was clear, Kate approached him.

“I think I’ve got a strong dramatic story coming out of the flea market. I’d like to follow it tomorrow.”

“What is it?”

Kate’s glance shifted to Dorothea, who’d overheard and joined them.

“A young mother, Jenna Cooper,” Kate said. “She’s searching for her five-month-old son, Caleb. She lost him when the tornado hit the Saddle Up Center. He vanished.”

“Right, she was in the copy you filed today,” Chuck said. “Sounds like a good one to follow. But first check with Dorothea on what she’ll need from you tomorrow.”

Chuck checked his phone for messages then left to talk to another reporter.

“Yes, that’s a sad one,” Dorothea said, “but there are a hundred others like it out there. I’ve got something else in mind for you tomorrow, Kate.”

“But I’d really like to follow up on Jenna Cooper. My gut tells me this story could be strong. A stranger was helping with the baby and the stranger’s missing, too. It’s very tragic and I think-”

Kate was now staring at Dorothea’s forefinger, held up to silence her.

“Roy and Mandy will go back out to cover the flea market. I need you here for an evening shift starting at three tomorrow afternoon. Please and thank you.” Dorothea’s cell phone rang. “Excuse me, I have to take this.” She turned away.

Kate stood there dumbfounded for several moments. Then she collected her things.

Before leaving, she glanced at the wall of photos, returning to the image of Jenna Cooper, holding her daughter and her baby’s contorted stroller, and gazing into the end of the world.

Dallas, Texas

The wire service had put Kate up at the Marriott City Center.

In the elevator to her twelfth-floor room she texted her friend Heather, who was watching her daughter in Ohio.

Hi Heather, I’ll be online in 5 min if Grace is still up.

Heather responded:

She and Aubrey are up. Saw the news, it looks horrible. How are you doing?

Hanging in there.

Moments later, Kate was in her room making the connection and her tablet’s screen blossomed with her daughter’s bright face.

“Hi, Mom! I miss you!”

“Miss you, too, honey. What’re you doing up so late?”

“Aubrey and I are putting sparkly stuff on our fingernails, see?”

Grace wiggled ten little fingers in front of her face.

“I see, very pretty.”

“Mom, were there really tornadoes where you are?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“Was it like the Wizard of Oz and was there a flying witch?”

“No, not like the movie. It was real. It was very bad… People got hurt.”

“But you’re okay, right?”

“I’m okay, sweetie.” Kate smiled for her. “So tell me, what’s new today?”

“Aubrey and I got invited to Kayla’s birthday party. Can I go and can I wear my new flower dress? Please say yes, pull-ease! ”

“I’ll talk to Aubrey’s mom. Are you being a good girl for me?”

“Uh-huh.”

They talked for the next thirty minutes until Grace began yawning and Kate wound things down.

“I miss you and I love you, kiddo.”

“Miss you too and love you more.” Grace puckered and kissed the screen to meet Kate’s kiss.

Talking with her daughter was balm for Kate’s heart, but the strain of the day had turned her neck and shoulders to stone. After her call with Grace, Heather told her that a woman from a collection agency had called that morning looking for a Ms. or Mrs. Kate Page.

Kate thanked her for the warning. She’d follow up on the partial payment she’d already sent electronically from Dallas.

After the call, she took a shower.

Needles of hot water soothed her tired muscles but couldn’t wash away the day’s images of walking among the dead, the dying, the injured and all that devastation.

Kate let go.

She sobbed as steam clouds rose around her, letting them pull her back through her life, back to that night when she and Vanessa, her little sister, were together with her babysitter, Mrs. Kawolski, when she’d answered the door of their creaky old house.

Mrs. Kawolski’s hand covering her mouth. The police officers filling the small kitchen, their utility belts making leathery squeaks as they cleared their throats. The policewoman giving Kate and Vanessa little stuffed bears to hold, a teddy for her, a polar bear for Vanessa. I’m so sorry, she said. There was a terrible fire, I’m so very sorry, your mommy and daddy won’t be coming home. They’re with the angels now. Mrs. Kawolski taking them both in her arms, rocking them, whispering a prayer over and over.

In the aftermath, Kate and Vanessa pinballed through a succession of homes belonging to increasingly distant relatives. Ultimately, they lived with strangers. Pretty much all Kate remembered from that part of her childhood was how she and Vanessa were forever moving.

Until the accident.

Kate and Vanessa were in the backseat of a car, driving in the mountains. Suddenly their car was flying, rolling upside down before it crashed in a river. The water rushed in. It was so cold, so dark, except for the dome light in the car as it banged against the rocky riverbed.

Everything moved in slow motion.

The windows had broken open. Kate had Vanessa’s hand; she got them both out of the car and tried to pull Vanessa to the surface with her but felt the cold numbing her fingers, felt them loosening. She was unable to hang on.

Vanessa slipped away.

Why couldn’t I hold her?

Kate was the only one who survived. She was nine years old; Vanessa was six. They never found Vanessa’s body. It may have gotten wedged in rocks, they said. Vanessa’s little white polar bear was still in the car. When they found it they gave it to Kate.

After the accident, Kate was sent to live in a never-ending chain of foster homes. Some were good, some weren’t.

As soon as she was old enough, she ran away.

She did what she could to survive. She panhandled, lied about her age and took any job she could get. She cleaned toilets, washed cars, washed dishes, landscaped, waitressed, did night shifts in an office sending out spam, she even worked as a phone sex operator. She learned about life the hard way, but she never stole, never used drugs or got drunk. She never prostituted herself.

Somehow Kate managed to follow an internal moral compass, which she believed- no, hoped- she’d inherited from her parents. Relatives had told her that they were honest, hardworking people. Her mom was a supermarket cashier who loved to read and kept a journal; her dad worked in a factory that made military truck parts. They were living near Washington, D.C., at the time they died in the hotel fire.

Kate never really knew them.

She had vague memories of her mother’s voice and how she smelled like roses. How the month before she died she gave Kate and Vanessa each a tiny guardian angel necklace with their names engraved. How Vanessa wanted to trade them so she wore the one with her big sister’s name on it and Kate had the angel bearing Vanessa’s name.

She still had it.

Whenever she looked at it, she’d remember how happy they all were, and how she felt so safe in her father’s big, strong hands whenever he lifted her up, and she could not forget how Vanessa’s eyes shone like stars when she laughed.

They were all ghosts to her now.

But at times, Kate would stare at the few photos she had of her with Vanessa, hugging her little polar bear she had named “Chilly,” dreaming that Vanessa might be alive somewhere. She knew it was impossible but she couldn’t help it. She kept reading news stories about people finding long-lost relatives after enduring years of pain. Those stories and the reporters who wrote them gave Kate hope and direction.