Free The Meteorologist by Blake Crouch Page B

forecast
discussion. The NWS had, as usual, missed the boat. A line of
storms were setting up, but over the eastern plains of Colorado, a
hundred and seventy miles west of his position. With convection
already underway and a supercell forming south of Greeley, the
party would be over long before he got there.
     
    He convinced himself on the five-block stroll
from his RV to the Prairie View Café that he was going in hopes
they’d reprised the chicken-fried steak and because he’d spent the
entire day in his home on wheels. It had nothing to do with the
waitress who probably had the night off anyway.
    She stood at a booth scribbling an order onto
a pad when he walked into the restaurant. The chimes that jangled
over the opening door caught her attention, and she looked at Peter
and raised her finger, might even have winked, though he couldn’t
say that for certain in the poor light. The thought of it put knots
in his stomach. She wore a blue and white dress that seemed such
the epitome of her profession it reminded him more of a movie
costume. With her hair down tonight and her lips a paler pink than
before, perhaps their natural color, he went short of breath as she
walked toward him.
    “Hi, Peter.”
    “Melanie.”
    “You want the window booth again or a brand
new experience?”
    He thought about it. “I like the booth.”
    She walked him over.
    He slid in.
    “How was your day in scenic Hoxie?” she
asked, setting a menu on the table, and he almost responded as he
would have to any other human being who tried to engage him, but he
didn’t want to just say, “Fine,” because then she’d probably smile
and leave and he wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t want her to walk
away yet.
    “Disappointing,” he confessed.
    “What happened?”
    “It was supposed to storm up near the
Nebraska border, but the forecast didn’t pan. Kind of a wasted
day.”
    She looked at him askance. “It was a
beautiful day, Peter.”
    “Not if you wanted a storm.”
    “No, I guess not. Well, I’ll be back in a bit
to tell you about the special. You want something to—”
    “I’m an idiot,” he said, heat flooding his
face, wondering if she noticed the color. “I should explain.”
    “No, it’s—”
    “I’m a storm chaser. That’s why I wanted it
to—”
    “You mean one of those people who photograph
tornadoes?”
    “Sort of.”
    Her face lit up. The awkwardness retreating.
“Oh my God, that is so interesting. So you’re one of those
guys.”
    “Yeah.”
    She smiled. Strangely, genuinely impressed.
“That’s the coolest thing I’ve heard of in awhile. How’d you pick
Hoxie?”
    “You guys got hammered a couple years back
with a tornado outbreak.”
    “I was here when those storms swept through.
It was awful.”
    “Well, I’ve been all over Oklahoma, the Texas
panhandle, eastern Kansas.”
    “Searching for that elusive storm?”
    “Something like that. This western part of
Kansas is the last region I haven’t spent a ton of time in. Long
range models were predicting an active couple of weeks, so I
thought why not give it a shot.”
    Melanie glanced over her shoulder at the two
other occupied tables, then sat in the booth across from Peter.
    “You ever seen a tornado?”
    “I’ve seen nine of them.”
    “Like in real life?”
    “Yep.”
    “What’s the closest you ever got?”
    “A mile away.”
    “What was it like?”
    Like standing next to God, but he didn’t say
that.
    “Amazing.”
    She looked at her tables. “I better get back
to it.” She got up.
    “Melanie?”
    “Yes?”
    His heart thumped in his chest.
    “I’m going out again tomorrow. Now, there’s
no guarantee the weather will cooperate, but—”
    “I’d love to, Peter.”
    “You would?”
    “You must’ve read my mind. I was hoping you’d
ask.”
    It was like nothing he’d done in years, and
he felt both joy and debilitating regret that in a moment of
weakness (or strength) he’d exposed himself.
    The waitress said,