Page 50 of Love in the Lab
“Now, what kind of team do you need?” Dr. Gantt continues. “Dr. Stanch will obviously pilot thePulse. You’ll want at least one other person with you on Wednesday. Then when the data start coming through, you can have all the grad students at your disposal, Dr. Delaney.”
“I’m going with Jonathan on the boat Wednesday,” Molly throws in.
Dr. Gantt and I both freeze and turn our attention to Molly. “Really?” I ask, at the same time Dr. Gantt prompts, “Are you sure?”
Molly focuses her eyes on mine, her lips pressed together firmly. She lifts her chin, a glint in her eye. “I’m not missing this.”
Why does my heart pound with the hope that she means more than just a boat ride?
Over the next day and a half, I live out all my oldTwisterdreams as Molly and I learn everything we can about soon-to-be Hurricane Hernando. Granted, tornadoes and hurricanes are vastly different—strong, rotating winds really being their only similarity—but the vibe’s the same, the rush of facing off against Mother Nature and the risk of losing it all.
As Molly watches for track developments in the forecast, I focus on preparing the gliders. I notice when an email comes in from Dr. Perron on Monday, but I don’t have time to do more than skim the message. It’s crunch time on possibly the most significant breakthrough of my career, and, more importantly, Molly’s.
With all the activity, there’s really no time for Molly and me to talk, though I do make it to her apartment each day to leave a note on her refrigerator. On Monday, I wrote “You make the impossible look effortless” on a blue sticky note. And today on my way to Slidell to make sure all three gliders in storage there are functioning properly and ready for a new mission, I stop by her apartment and leave a red one that says, “You meet challenges with courage and strength.”
She hasn’t mentioned the notes to me, but I know she’s seen them because she moves them. When I stick the third note, the first two are sort of diagonal to each other, lined up bottom right corner to top left corner. I don’t know if she has an end goal inmind for their placement, but I like the idea that she sees a note, maybe, hopefully, it makes her smile, and then she unsticks it and carefully sets it in place.
As expected, after Hernando passes over Cuba into the Gulf on Tuesday night, the spaghetti models start to align. By Wednesday morning, the probability is high that Hernando will intensify into a Category 1 hurricane before the end of the day and then slowly move toward New Orleans, making landfall here Thursday night.
Chapter twenty
Molly
Waiting on a hurricane really is like stalking a turtle. That’s the phrase Dennis Jackson, a popular local meteorologist, uses. Dennis and I have become good friends over the last two days. Well not like real friends, but I’ve watched all his broadcasts, read all his social media posts, and pored over every map and track he’s shared about Hurricane Hernando.
I think Dennis must be living at the Channel Nine headquarters this week. Even though the changes to the track forecasts have been minimal and Hernando is creeping along at just ten miles per hour, Dennis is up on the screen, giving liveupdates every couple of hours and posting to his public social media accounts with details in between on-camera appearances. Does the man even sleep?
If not, I’m right there with him. I’m slamming down coffee and Dr. Pepper as I check and recheck the coordinates for the gliders against each shift in the forecasted storm track. I’m planning to have each of the three gliders take a slightly different path, hoping we’ll get data from the center and the edges of the storm as it passes through.
Jonathan’s been busy prepping the gliders. Gah. That man. I’ve returned home each night this week to a new note stuck to my refrigerator. Three days, three notes, each one sweeter than the last. He’s not only running full force on my research project right now, he’s also finding the time to melt my heart. He must really believe I’m worth all this effort.
I’m waiting at my apartment now for him to pick me up to drive to Slidell and head out on the water with the gliders. In the meantime, I’m sitting on my couch with a laptop propped up on the coffee table, watching Dennis’s latest live-streamed forecast.
“Remember, everyone, today is the day to finish all your preparations. Make sure you’re stocked up on nonperishable food and clean water. Charge your devices in case we lose power. Bring any loose items from the yard inside. If you’re evacuating from any of our lower-lying areas, remember you don’t need to go far. We’re expecting Hernando to make landfall as a Category 1, which is definitely not something to ignore, but there’s no need to panic, either. One of our best rules of thumb for these storms as you’re deciding whether to evacuate or ride it out is: run from water, hide from wind. If you’re in an area that floods easily, which is a lot of us here in Orleans Parish, consider going to higher ground at a friend or relative’s house, or at one of the public emergency shelters set up in the area.”
The rotund Black man in a bow tie has such a soothing voice, yet it’s authoritative at the same time. No wonder I, and most of the rest of New Orleans, consider himtheperson to listen to in a potential weather emergency. He’s famous for his reassuring hurricane “rules” that counsel residents to be prepared and alert in the face of a forecasted hurricane, but also not to get sucked into the hype. His most quoted rule is: “Don’t panic until I tell you to panic.”
He’s not telling anyone to panic now, though he would probably advise Jonathan and me against going boating today. I peek out the back window. So far, the day is bright and sunny and will likely remain that way for hours yet. We’ll be fine.
Jonathan texts that he’s parked downstairs, so I grab my bag and kiss the top of Beaker’s furry little head. After ensuring I have the key and locking my door, I walk down the stairs to the front entrance. Before I open the door, I take a deep breath to fortify myself against what’s bound to be a long, awkward ride out to Slidell.
The truck’s parked at the curb. I open the passenger side door and slide into the front seat. Without meaning to, I inhale the now-familiar smell of Jonathan and his truck. The clean smell, mixed with hints of cinnamon and citrus, instantly makes me feel comfortable and safe. I’ve missed this.
Jonathan is on the phone with Dr. Gantt, her voice projecting into the cab through the speakers. “And no major changes to the forecast?”
He glances at me, so I answer. “Hi, Dr. Gantt. I’ve been religiously tracking the forecast, and all the models are in agreement about Hernando’s path and intensity.”
“Okay. That sounds fine, then. But you always have an out today, okay? Your lives are more important than the research. If it feels unsafe at any point, you turn back. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jonathan and I reply in unison.
“Alright, then. Be safe out there.”
We say goodbye and Jonathan disconnects the call. He smiles at me nervously before pulling out onto the road and driving toward I-10, but at least it’s a smile.
We’ve been en route less than ten minutes when my phone pings, and I see a notification from the National Weather Service.
“Hernando is officially a hurricane now,” I announce.
