Whirlwind. Rick Mofina

San Antonio. We appreciate the help.”

      “And, if I may, Chuck,” Dorothea said, “I want to applaud our bureau, Moe, Harley, Tilda, Annalee, Tommy, Eduardo, Maria and Sue for outstanding work on the breaking coverage. So far, with updates, we filed more than one hundred stories, and two hundred photos. Some of our bureau people are still out in the field. One way or another, most us at the bureau are connected to the storm. I also want to thank our interns, Roy Webster and Mandy Lee, for their fine work.” Dorothea nodded to both of them just as a ringing cell phone interrupted her.

      The reporter with the phone took the call while leaving the room.

      The meeting resumed without mention of Kate.

      She swallowed the slight of being overlooked.

      Other people were facing worse, she thought, like the young mother she’d found searching for her missing baby.

      Chuck flipped pages of his notebook as he gave an overview of coverage requirements for the next morning, ticking off search and rescue of the missing, updating the lists of the dead, injured and missing; relief and recovery. Coverage had to include the economic and psychological toll. He said the governor would be visiting the worst areas.

      “Our Washington bureau confirms that the White House is arranging for the President to visit.”

      Chuck noted that he had people on overnight shifts covering rescue efforts. Then he began assigning reporters from the other bureaus to specific tasks for the next day and then advised his people to return to the same areas early in the morning and continue covering the storm.

      “Headquarters in New York is telling us what we already know. This is the top story in the country and a lead story around the world. Our copy is in demand. You’re all pros—you all know what to do,” he said. “Give us the facts and the human drama, the heartbreak and the heroes.”

      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.

      10

      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