Storm the Author's Cut Read online

  When she heard about the job at the radio station, she had known it was for her. It was only a part-time beginner's job, doing typing and helping with the billing of advertisers; but she knew that if she got that job, she could go further. She had gone down to Queen Charlotte City for a day's shopping when she saw the advertisement. She'd gone straight over to the station and Nat Howard had interviewed her. At first she worked Mondays and Tuesdays, her days off at the hotel. Then when an announcer came down with laryngitis, Laurie got the chance to read the news. She hadn't done a professional job of it, but when John Wainright realized how much she wanted to learn, he started coaching her, giving her tips and criticizing her mercilessly. Her natural speaking voice was good for radio and she had learned quickly.

  When John moved to Arizona, Nat Howard decided Laurie was a natural for the job.

  Her parents hadn't liked the idea. They regarded her part-time job at the station as a hobby. When she returned from college on the mainland, she had found them waiting for her, depending on her presence as if it could make up for losing Shane. When she told her father about the new job, she had been glowing, full of her love of radio and the excitement. The next day, when she talked to Nat, she started crying when she told him she could not take the job.

  If Nat hadn't talked to her father, she would still be in the hotel. Somehow, Nat had reassured Lawrence Mather and Laurie had become a radio announcer.

  In the quiet of the empty building, she picked up the telephone to start a round of calls following up on the rescue. JRCC confirmed that the crash victims had been lifted off by helicopter that morning and taken to hospital for examination. The hospital confirmed that only one of the victims had required admission. He was now in satisfactory condition. With that information, she quickly finished typing a news item on the missing plane.

  Then she started working on a detailed account of the rescue operation for Monday's Island Time. She had it roughed in when Nat slipped silently into the studio. He leaned over her shoulder to read what she had written.

  "I'm impressed. I sent you for an interview, and look what you brought back."

  "But I didn't get an interview."

  "You interviewed Chief Hall. That sounded pretty good on the air, by the way."

  "Dave always co-operates with interviews."

  Nat laughed. "Violet would have his head if he didn't cooperate." Violet, Nat's wife and the Chief's daughter, was a Haida artisan. Dave Hall's totem poles were famous throughout the country, while his daughter had a successful business marketing her beautiful, traditional clothes and leather-and-bead ornaments. "I didn't expect you would get an interview from Lucas."

  "Then why send me?"

  "I sent you because I knew you'd bring back something worth having. I didn't tell you to get on the plane."

  "No, that was my own irresponsible move, and now I'm in trouble with everyone I know. My parents are worried, Mrs. McDonald is annoyed, and Ken wants to talk to you."

  "Don't let your family get you down. You're a first-class journalist and you brought back a great story. When do you want to air it? On the Noon Show? Or Island Time?"

  "I thought a short item at noon to whet their appetites, and then the full story on Island Time." That kind of decision properly belonged to Peter, the program director, but two months ago he'd gone into hospital for open-heart surgery. Since his illness, Laurie had been doing most of the programming.

  "Every office in town will have the radio turned on to listen at two o'clock," said Nat.

  "That's what I'm hoping."

  He nodded and just stood there, studying her.

  "What?"

  "I've been thinking about your proposal on the freelancers. Are you sure we could get the quality we need?"

  "Absolutely. The keeper's wife on Cape St James lighthouse has a wealth of lighthouse stories, and a great speaking voice. Then there's a retired logger in Masset who has been compiling a history of the islands. He's got enough stories to give us three-minute commentaries for years."

  Nat leaned over the control console and adjusted a knob so that they could hear the broadcast from the automatic disc jockey in the studio.

  "It's a big project. A lot of work."

  "It will bring new listeners, and you're the one who told me that listeners mean advertisers. We could sell the best commentaries to other regional stations."

  "Who brings those people up to scratch for broadcast work? Who does the programming—not to mention marketing the rights?"

  "You're the marketing guru."

  "And the rest?"

  "John and I can help Peter." But Laurie had had ideas time and again, and Peter had vetoed them. Since Peter's illness, Nat had been letting her try out some of her ideas. She'd miss that when Peter returned to work.

  "Peter's retiring, Laurie."

  "So you'll advertise for a program director?" She frowned. "Someone from outside? If you bring in someone who doesn't know the island—"

  "I'm offering you the job. I'll advertise for a new announcer."

  "But, what about John? He's been here far longer—"

  "John is exactly where he wants to be. Twenty years from now he'll be happy thrilling listeners with his voice. John's lazy."

  "That's not true! John does his share. He does a good job."

  "I don't deny it. He's one of the best announcers I've ever worked with. But he would be a rotten program director. He likes to be told what to do. He's done a lot of good work, but the ideas haven't been his. Lately, they've been your ideas. John can be happy announcing for the rest of his life, but you can't."

  She loved announcing, but even more she loved the joy of seeing her ideas become reality on the air.

  "Get organized, Laurie. I'll place the ad for an announcer in the Vancouver papers tomorrow. If we get someone in place by the end of the month, you can start the new job the first of July."

  "But Nat—"

  "We'll talk over the details tomorrow."

  How could she turn an offer like that down? She had ideas he hadn't heard yet for making the station better and better. She knew she could make those ideas work if she had a chance.

  But Ken didn't like her commitment to the station now. He wanted her to quit the job and she couldn't—she wouldn't quit.

  Tomorrow's date with Ken was shaping up to be a disaster.

  Chapter 8

  Lunch at the McDonalds' was tense. Ken had gone out—just as well, considering he was still annoyed with Laurie. Bev tried to carry on a conversation while her mother radiated disapproval. Laurie offered to help with lunch, but Mrs. McDonald merely sniffed.

  Finally, Laurie could bear it no longer. "Mrs. McDonald, I shouldn't have gone off on that search without telling you. I know that, and I'm sorry."

  "I don't like people sneaking around under my own roof."

  Bev said, "Does anyone have anything planned for the day? I'd love to go up the coast to Tlell. It's years since I saw that beach."

  "Nothing keeping you from coming home to live," muttered her mother. "Nobody forcing you to stay in that city job."

  Evidently, Bev was getting her share of the criticism, too.

  "Why don't we all drive up," suggested Laurie. "We could take my car and a few sandwiches. A picnic on the beach would be lovely."

  "Not me," said Mrs. McDonald. "I've got too much to do."

  Laurie and Bev left quickly, bursting into giggles as the car pulled out of the driveway.

  "I feel like I'm sixteen," said Bev. " She's been acting martyred ever since yesterday morning."

  "She's angry at me for going on the search. I must have reverted to my troublesome teens."

  "About time. Whenever Mom visits me in Vancouver, she can't stop telling how mature and responsible you are. Never causing her any worry at all, unlike her daughter. Frankly, it doesn't sound like the Laurie I remember."

  "I had to grow up some time. But I blew it all yesterday, going off on that trip with all the forethought of a twelve-year-
old! Do you think I've reverted to type?" Laurie slowed to follow a logging truck.

  "What do you think?"

  The road straightened and Laurie passed the truck.

  "I can't make sense of my last twenty-four hours. Let's forget the whole thing—maybe the fresh air will bring back my sanity." Would a day trip to Tlell make her forget her night in Luke's arms?

  "Do you want to see Skidegate village on the way," she asked to distract herself from the image of Luke. The sun was just escaping from a black cloud as they approached a turnoff to the right.

  "Let's just drive through. I'd like a look."

  Laurie slowed and turned right on to a gravel road. The blue Honda moved slowly down the twisting road to Skidegate village. The First Nations settlement was built on a hillside overlooking the Hecate Strait. The quiet streets were dominated by the spectacular expanse of ocean everywhere they looked—a view city people would not believe!

  In a yard grown high with field grass, two young native boys bent over an old bicycle. On the beach, a group of men worked cutting wood—one looked up and waved and Laurie waved back. Ahead of them, a large traditional Haida longhouse was built just over the beach.

  "The Band Council office," said Laurie. Behind the office, three totem poles towered against the sky. Across the street from the longhouse, a man slammed a truck door and started across the road. Laurie stopped the Honda to let him cross in front of her.

  Luke.

  He was dressed in denim jeans and that wool-lined jacket he had worn on the flight. His light hair was tossed by the ocean wind. He was hard-bitten and cold faced. She could not imagine how she had touched him intimately and lovingly in the dark hours of the storm—as if his body and his very soul belonged to her. Had she imagined the warmth and passion in his touch?

  He nodded to her, a civil gesture without a smile or any trace of expression on his face. Their glances locked for a moment. Laurie gripped the wheel. She could not smile, or nod, or make any movement at all. He stepped on to the side of the road and she shifted into gear with a jerk.

  Her tires spit gravel as she spun away from the Haida longhouse. She made a rough shift into second gear, then spun her wheels up the hill away from the village. Her back burned, as if he were watching her.

  "Interesting man," speculated Bev. "Know him?"

  "Luke Lucas." She gripped the wheel harder so that her hands would not shake.

  "I see!"

  How could the sight of a man twist her into panic? Laurie stepped on the accelerator as the little car turned back on to the highway. "What do you see?"

  "More between the two of you than an airplane flight. Pilots I fly with never look at me like that!"

  That coldness she'd seen in his eyes told her he hated her. He thought her a woman who cheated on her man as easily as she breathed.

  But it hadn't been easy, she defended herself mentally. She'd been half mad with her memories, and Luke had been the savior that kept her sanity, kept her from drowning in the past.

  "Do you want to talk about it?" asked Bev.

  "God, no!"

  Bev had the sense not to probe further.

  The highway curved and twisted gently north. They passed occasional cottages and small farms on the left. On their right the ocean swept eastward until it disappeared in a white haze that might have been snow-peaked mountains on the mainland—or clouds on the horizon.

  They stopped at St Mary's spring and cupped their hands to collect some of the cold spring water. Legend said anyone who drank the water of St Mary's would always return to the islands.

  "I'd love to live right here." Laurie stood back from the spring and stared across the highway at the ocean. "Wouldn't it be amazing to wake to this view every morning."

  "If this is what you want, you and Ken could find a house or a farm out this way."

  "I suppose. "

  By the time they reached Tlell the sun was firmly established and the sky clear of storm clouds.

  Laurie and Bev found a large beached log to shelter them from the wind that whipped up sand on the beach. They settled in the sand to drink a cup of coffee from their thermos before exploring. After coffee they walked along the beach looking for the semi-precious agates that could often be found on the islands.

  They took off shoes and socks and walked barefoot in the sand, wading in the surf until their ankles ached from the cold of the water. When they were hungry, they ate sandwiches, then fell into the car, exhausted, for the ride back to Queen Charlotte.

  Halfway back, Bev saw the sign. "Look! There's your place."

  The For Sale sign was back from the road far enough that they hadn't seen it earlier when they drove north. Laurie slowed down.

  "I was kidding. We can't really live out here."

  "Why not?"

  The house was old, nestled into the trees. This wasn't farmland, but the building looked like a small farmhouse.

  Laurie couldn't resist. She turned into the drive. "Can you imagine waking up every morning, looking out through those trees to the ocean?"

  "I don't know, Laurie. Look at the house. It's old. Can you see Ken tearing out walls and putting in fiberglass batts of insulation? If you're going to live in it with my brother, you want something modern and perfect. Ken never did care for used goods."

  Laurie got out of the car.

  The woman standing on the porch was elderly, her face lined with kindness. Had she brought up a family here? Had her sons climbed the trees and chased each other into the bushes behind?

  "I'm Laurie Mather. I saw your sign..."

  The woman's hand felt fragile and warm as it gripped Laurie's. "I know your voice—From the radio station? I listen to you every afternoon."

  "Thank you. This is Bev McDonald, my friend. Could we see the house?"

  Bev was right; it needed paint. Mrs. Evans had lived alone in the house since her husband died three years ago. It was evident that she had had no help with maintenance.

  "It's too much for me," she told the girls. "The paint is peeling and the garden overgrown. It's sad to see it get run down. I'll move to Vancouver. My daughter wants me to come." She stared at the house, her eyes filled with memories. "It was a happy house," she whispered. "But it's time for me to leave."

  The living room featured a bay window where Laurie could imagine herself sitting to watch the ocean. The kitchen was old fashioned with only an old woodstove for cooking. The oak banister leading upstairs cried for a child to slide down it.

  Upstairs, she found a master bedroom with a fireplace and a gorgeous view, and two smaller rooms in the eaves of the peaked roof. Laurie and Bev walked around the house with Mrs. Evans and finally accepted tea in the warm kitchen.

  "It's lovely, Mrs. Evans. I have to think about it."

  "Of course, dear. If you want to talk business, go into the real estate agent in Queen Charlotte City. They have all the papers. I'm not good at business. My Edward handled all that. But you and your young man could be happy here. It's a happy house."

  "When are you planning to move?"

  "I'm only staying so I can sell the house. I don't like to leave it empty."

  "Are you serious?" asked Bev as they drove away.

  "Maybe." She could still feel the warmth of the woodstove and she knew that she could be alone in that house and not feel alone. "You heard her about the insulation? It's been re-done just four years ago."

  "The only way I see Ken moving out here is if you offer him a modern three bedroom with a two-car garage and a lawn you can mow with an electric mower."

  Laurie gripped the steering wheel. It had started to rain. Where had the rain come from? Out of a blue sky?

  "Ken may not want to marry me."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I don't know." She wished she could tell Bev, but surely Ken deserved to be the first person she told. "Nat offered me Peter's job. Program director."

  "Does Ken know?"

  The rain had quickly turned into a downpour
. The clear sky had clouded over. Her car wheels whished on the wet pavement and Laurie knew the highway well enough to slow down to a crawl for the blind curves.

  "I just got the job offer," she told Bev. "I'll tell Ken tomorrow." The road straightened and she accelerated back to highway speed. "But I'm taking the job."

  "Shouldn't you talk to Ken first?"

  "He wants me to quit the station. I should, but..." She had spent last night making love with another man. Would Ken be able to accept that? It might help if she offered to quit the job at the station, but she would always resent Ken for making her quit. "Maybe I don't love him enough."

  "Laurie..."

  The car was noisy from the engine and the rain. Bev's voice was soft. Bev was always soft, always there to help.

  "I'm in a mess."

  "If you need help..."

  How many times in their childhood had Bev helped her out of a mess? "Thanks for the offer, but I guess this one is my own problem."

  Ken hadn't returned when they arrived back at the house. It might be that the moving was taking longer than anticipated, or he might be staying away to show his anger with her. Either way, not seeing him was a respite she didn't deserve—but welcomed all the same!

  Laurie and Bev watched television with Mrs. McDonald. A not-so-new movie was followed by the latest hit series and the national news. The news was depressing. Trouble in the Middle East; trouble in Africa; trouble for Laurie on Haida Gwaii.

  Bev made fudge and all three women ate it, although Mrs. McDonald groaned that she would put on another ten pounds. Mercifully, Ken hadn't come in when they all went up to bed.

  Laurie fell into a fitful sleep.

  She breakfasted alone the next morning. Usually Ken was down before her, but today he did not appear before she left. Laurie was already dreading their dinner together that night. Making her confession was bad enough without the inevitable fight about her job.