Christopher Nicole: Her Name Will Be Faith

“My God! Thank heaven we don’t have things like that in New York.”

“You could. Don’t forget Gloria.”

“Back in 1985,” she recalled. “Oh, yes. We were all panicking like mad. But she didn’t turn out to be half as bad as people expected, or as you weather forecasters said she would be.”

“That was because the Big Apple is one hell of a lucky city,” Richard told her. “Consider these points. Gloria was a Category Three storm, big enough in all conscience, but a long way short of the biggest possible. Then she passed east of New York, the center, that is. That’s very important, because of that anti-clockwise movement I was telling you about. In the northern hemisphere a hurricane pushes out its strongest winds and biggest seas to the right of it as it moves, and thus in a west moving storm the extreme conditions are always found in the northern half — what sailors call the dangerous semi-circle. The front quarter of this semi-circle is the most dangerous of all. With Gloria, as she was moving north by the time she came up here, that quadrant was on the northeast, that is, always out at sea. If she had come ashore, if, say, the center had crossed the coast over Atlantic City, it would have been a different matter: you’d have had the strongest winds blowing up Broadway. And then again, when Gloria did come ashore, on Long Island, she did so at low water. If she’d gotten there at the top of a high tide there could have been incalculable damage, and even loss of life. So you see, it could happen.”

“But will it ever?”

He grinned. “You’ll have to ask God that. But it most certainly could, given the right atmospheric conditions, or I guess I should say, the wrong conditions.”

“Is there anything that could be done to avert it, or mitigate the damage, if it were to happen?”

“There’s not a thing anyone can do to avert a hurricane. The only practical step which can be taken to mitigate the worst effects, provided warning is received in time, would be to evacuate the whole threatened area.”

Jo stared at him in amazement. “You mean, if a major hurricane were likely to hit New York, you’d evacuate the city?”

He shrugged. “If a really major storm were taking a bead on us, I’d certainly recommend it.” Another grin. “And then shoot myself when it veered off.”

“I guess someone else would beat you to it,” she smiled. “This is all great stuff, Richard. Now let me ask you that last $64,000 question: is there going to be a major storm this year?”

“That’s another one for the deity, I’m afraid.”

“But aren’t there some signs you can use?”

“Sure. And as it happens, we have them. The ocean temperatures are somewhat higher than normal for the time of year. And this warmth is pretty widespread.”

“So you think there could be a big one?”

“I think there is going to be a lot more hurricane activity than usual, this year. I won’t go further than that.”

“Well, as I said, that was just great. Now I have to put it all into readable English.” And then forget all about you as soon as I am given another subject to interview, she thought. But today she didn’t want to do that. Perhaps because her quarrel with Michael had left her feeling isolated; however long she had lived in America, this was his country, not hers. Even the Donnellys, who had so willingly and enthusiastically taken her to their hearts, were his family, not hers.

Perhaps Richard felt the same way. “Do I see you again?” he asked.

“I’ll send you a copy of the article,” she promised. “But you know, what you’ve told me today has given me an idea. I’m sure an awful lot of people would like to know something more about hurricanes than the old wives’ tales which is all they normally get. Have you thought of giving a series of talks, say at the end of a forecast? Especially now we’re into June, and if there are going to be a lot of storms this year.”

“Have you thought of the scheduling? Kiley would throw a fit.”

“I’ve an idea he might go for it,” Jo said, remembering that it was Kiley who had set up this interview to publicize his new boy. “And what I would like to do is conduct some interviews with the man in the street, get his opinion on what you had to say, find out just how much he knows about hurricanes, whether he believes one could ever hit New York, and so on. It could make interesting reading, and the two would tie in together. What about it? I’ll have Ed Kowicz — he’s my editor — give Kiley a call. And then, at the end of the season, I could interview you again.”

“Sounds brilliant.” His crooked smile played over his face. “But I’d hate to think you’re not going to interview me again until October.”

“Where are we going, Mom?” Owen Michael looked down at the East River in puzzlement as they left school and drove over Manhattan Bridge.

“To the beach,” she announced.

“Oh, Jees, that’s great!”

“But Mommy, we don’t have any swim things,” Tamsin complained.

“No problem. We’ll buy new ones.”

“I’m hungry,” Owen Michael said, waiting breathlessly for her reaction.

“How does the thought of a double, double, king-size take you?”

“Neat! Fantastic!”

“Oh, Mommy! Smashing. But why? You usually call burgers nonfood.” The little girl bounced up and down in the back seat.

“They are non-food. But today’s a special treat.” She felt like a schoolgirl playing truant; it was that sort of a day.

She bought bright yellow swimsuits and towels for them all at a beachfront store. They swam first, then sat under a beach umbrella to eat their hamburgers, washing them down with Seven-Ups, and walking away licking ices. After another swim Jo’s offer of a speedboat ride round the Jamaica Bay islands was promptly accepted. They started back at six and Owen Michael complained of hunger pains — so they found a restaurant and she handed the kids a menu. While they ate she went over her notes and added various comments or ideas — and found herself thinking of that crooked smile.

Owen Michael pushed back his chair. “Jees, if I eat any more my eyeballs will be pushed out on to my plate.”

“Ugh! Don’t be disgusting,” Tamsin scolded. She, too, was full.

Michael was waiting for them in the apartment. “Jo! Thank God! I thought…” He looked miserable.

“Hi!’ she breezed. “Like to fix me a drink while I bath these two?”

“Okay.” He nodded. “I’ll bring it to you.”

While the bathing progressed, Michael paced between bathroom, bedroom, and lounge, hovering anxiously, searching her face every time she looked at him for indications of her feelings. He watched as the kids hugged her goodnight.

“Thanks, Mom, for a super treat.” Owen Michael’s arm squeezed her neck until it hurt.

“Yeah, thanks, Mommy. What’ll we do next?”

“Well, on Saturday, how about the zoo up at Prospect Park?”

“Ooh, yes. Terrific. Dad…” Owen Michael looked up at his father. “Couldn’t you come too?”

Jo bent over Tamsin’s bed, deliberately not looking at Michael.

“I… er… well,” Michael hesitated. “What do you reckon, honey? Would you like me to come?”

Jo stood up and faced him. “Yes, Michael, I would.”

He strode across the room to take her in his arms. “Oh, my sweetheart,” he whispered. “I love you. I’m so sorry. Forgive me.”

She hugged him back, and the kids stood on their beds to join in. “What about the race?” she whispered.

“Well… maybe they can manage without me for one weekend.”

“Oh, Dad! Then you can teach me to water-ski,” Owen Michael begged.