Around noon, Carol was looking into the refrigerator, assessing whether there was enough sandwich meat for two for lunch, when her phone chirped on the counter.
Looking over with her hand still on the open refrigerator door, she noted that it was one of those alerts from Channel 9. Carol had downloaded their free app and signed up for the alerts years ago. Sometimes the station sent updates about severe weather, but it couldn’t be that, she reasoned, glancing out the window, where the sky was a perfect blue. Maybe it had something to do with someone being shot or a big car crash or perhaps it was something the governor or president had done or said. Carol almost didn’t click on it, but curiosity got her.
She closed the refrigerator and picked up the phone, opening the alert.
Words in all capital letters blared out at her:
BREAKING: CHANNEL 9’S OWN BELOVED METEOROLOGIST, FAITH RICHARDS, FOUND DEAD. COMMUNITY MOURNS.
Carol staggered backward, dropped the phone on the kitchen floor, and heard it crash. It took her a moment to gather enough air into her lungs to scream and when she did, it was long and loud.
Jim was hammering in the final nail for the fence when the yell came from the house. It was a sound he had never heard his wife make before, piercing, anguished, clearly not just an “I stubbed my toe” yelp. Dropping his tool, he took off running and burst through the back door into the kitchen. Carol was standing with her hands over her face.
“Honey? What’s going on?” He was panting from the sprint across the yard.
Carol pointed at her phone on the floor, the screen cracked. “A news alert…”
Jim’s brow furrowed. News alert? What could that mean? His first thought was maybe some big international news, but why would Carol scream like that? He knelt to pick up the phone, scanning the words quickly.
“Oh no,” he whispered. “Oh my God…”
Carol started to cry and slithered down to the kitchen floor, placing her back against the stove. He joined her, and she buried her face in her husband’s chest, smelling his familiar Old Spice scent and crying harder.
“Let’s wait for more information, honey. Maybe there’s been a mistake,” Jim said softly. He only hoped it was true. Didn’t news outlets sometimes make mistakes and have to retract their statements?
Carol’s phone rang. Seeing that it was Olivia, the only personin the world Carol would have felt like talking to, Carol fought back a sob and skipped the hellos.
“Olivia, you saw the alert?” she blurted out.
“Aunt C, I’m just sick. I don’t know what to do or say.”
“Me neither.”
There was a long silence broken only by sniffles from each of them.
“Honey,” Carol said, collecting herself. “You can come over here if you want to. I’ll put on some of your favorite tea, and we have leftover cookies.”
Carol enjoyed taking on the motherly role with Olivia, especially with Evelyn tromping through Europe. When Evelyn left she hadn’t seemed to care that Olivia would need to process her own feelings about her parents’ divorce. Typical Evelyn, Carol thought, all about herself and her emotions, as she had been ever since they were children. Carol had instead been the one to hug Olivia, let her vent, and offer to stay up late watching funny movies and eating ice cream together to make Olivia feel better.
“Maybe I’ll stop by later,” Olivia said softly. “I just need to go for a long walk or something. I can’t believe I just talked to Faith yesterday. Less than twenty-four hours ago we were standing in the parking lot together…”
“I know, sweetie. It’s inconceivable.”
When they hung up, Carol and Jim looked at each other and Jim wrapped his arms around her, gently rocking them both, but after a minute he felt the need to do something more proactive than just sit there, so he said, “Let’s turn on Channel 9. Maybe they’ll have an update.”
There was a small TV in the kitchen that they watched while cooking. Jim flicked it on, but Channel 9 was just running golf,the usual for midday on a Saturday. He was definitely not in the mood for that and clicked it off immediately.
“I’ll check the newspaper’s website,” he said instead. Jim subscribed to theDetroit Free Press’s online edition and knew they often had breaking-news alerts. Opening his laptop, he put on his reading glasses, navigated to the site, and read the top story headline aloud to Carol, who was still on the floor.
Popular meteorologist reported dead by Channel 9. TheFree Pressis working to confirm.
Carol let out a whimper.
“This is just like Princess Diana.” She sniffled. “Just like how I felt that day.”
Jim remembered how distraught Carol had been after Princess Diana’s death, how many months—no, really years—it had taken her to get over it, and how long he had to console her. He wasn’t anxious for a repeat.
“I wonderhowshe died…” Jim speculated, scrolling through the rest of the newspaper’s online front page but not finding anything else. “I guess it could have been natural causes. Maybe she had a heart attack or a stroke. A car accident. Or you don’t think she…”
