Free Forecast by Janette Turner Hospital Page A

halloos from a floating table. You’re going the wrong way, Jimmy calls. All the islands have drowned.
    Steven keeps his hand on the tiller, his eye on the star. His sails are full of Francesca. The storm surge looms over the branches of his ship like a mountain and Francesca is taking him straight up its green glassy slope. Higher, higher, higher. He knows he will go over the top.
    A pirate ship has thrown grappling irons, the pirate has boarded his tree.
    I am taking your grandmother and Marsyas hostage, the pirate roars, but Steven sees the white egret and claps his hands, and the angel, sword drawn, comes stepping across the waves.
    8. Anatomy of a Hurricane
    Initial phase is a simple matter of smoldering tropical temperatures and turbulence. Latent heat is released into the atmosphere which becomes more buoyant. Instability increases. A chain reaction isset in motion and a cauldron of destructive winds spins into orbit and out of control. A hurricane devours everything in its path until it dies of its own exhaustion.
    What can never be accurately predicted is the sheer velocity of the sequence from initial disturbance to chaos. Tumult begins without warning and can happen anywhere, any time, at an airport, a book shop, a dinner party: eye contact, latent heat, a mad buoyancy, increased instability, derangement.
    â€˜This is madness,’ Leah protests. ‘This is insane.’
    â€˜Your skin tastes like mangoes,’ he murmurs, ravenous. The room is steamy. The air is bright with the flash of passionbird wings. Leah sees gold, cobalt, emerald green. She smells jasmine. Their bodies give off latent heat, they are buoyant, floating far above any known life, orbiting through the treetop canopy where orchids run mad.
    â€˜You smell like rainforest,’ she tells him.
    â€˜You’re wild as a hurricane,’ he says. ‘We have to go wherever this takes us.’
    â€˜We can’t,’ Leah protests, suddenly panicked. Beyond the path of the storm, she can see the faint shape of her other life. ‘Think of the devastation,’ she pleads.
    â€˜Too late,’ he says. ‘We’ve passed the point of no return.’
    But Leah can see the blue arrows. Evacuation route, the blue arrows say. This way lies safety, they say.
    9. Reprieve and Other Disappointments
    â€˜During the night,’ the National Guardsman tells Leah, ‘Francesca veered sharply north. She’s going to miss us. Going to slam into North Carolina instead.’
    â€˜So the order to evacuate—?’
    â€˜Cancelled, ma’am,’ he says cheerfully. ‘Should have the power back on soon. I see you lost a couple of windows.’
    â€˜I’ve lost two of my pines,’ Leah grieves.
    â€˜Got to go,’ the man from the National Guard tells her. ‘Got to knock on every door.’
    â€˜Grandma?’
    â€˜Steven!’ Leah says. ‘Be careful. There’s glass all over the floor. We’ve got broken windows, and look at our poor broken pines.’
    â€˜Where’s Francesca gone?’ Steven’s voice is dream-fogged and forlorn. He rubs his eyes and looks warily down at his bare feet.
    â€˜She left us. She’s gone to North Carolina instead.’
    â€˜Would we have stayed?’ he wants to know. ‘If Francesca had come, would you have stayed?’
    â€˜I would have been tempted,’ Leah confesses. She begins sweeping the shards of glass into a pile. She stoops with the dustpan and brush. She looks up at him as glass clinks against plastic. ‘But then I would have thought about you. And I could never tolerate the thought of you in danger.’
    â€˜So we would have vacuated.’ He folds his arms and hugs himself, glum. His words have the weight of accusation.
    â€˜We would have obeyed the evacuation order. It would have been the wisest thing to do, the best thing, don’t you agree?’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ he says. He