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“My taste also includes you.”
“That’s why I’m questioning it.”
I laughed. “If I made some fancy tomato relish and gave it a fancy name, you’d think I was posh.” I shovelled in a mouthful of eggs and sauce and bit into some toast for good measure, then spoke with my mouth half full. “But I ain’t fancy.”
He chuckled. “I can see that.”
We ate in silence for a bit, then I nodded to the boarded-up view. “I hate not being able to see outside.”
“Blue skies this morning until lunchtime,” he said. “Top of thirty-five degrees, humidity is currently a moderate sixty percent, but that will climb until breaking point around six o’clock tonight when the storm rolls in.”
I stared at him. “Are you a walking weather station?”
He gave a shrug as he sipped his coffee. “It’s what I do.”
I shovelled in the last of my eggs, stood up, and downed my coffee. I gave his shoulder a squeeze on my way to the sink with my plate. “I’m gonna have a quick shower; then I’ll drive you. We’ll take one car, and I’ll drop you off. I wanna get some cameras set up,” I explained. “Can I use your gear for that?”
He shot me a surprised look. “Yes, of course. I forgot about that. I’ve been so busy and distracted... I should have thought about that.”
I went over and kissed the top of his head. “You’ve been a tad busy, so it’s understandable. Now, eat up. I won’t be long.”
I took the stairs two at a time, had the quickest shower ever, and trotted back down. He’d cleared away the table, set the dishwasher going, but was staring blank faced at his laptop screen.
No, not blank.
He was ashen, grim.
“What is it?” I asked, walking over to him. Part of me dreaded asking. “Jeremiah?”
He looked up at me, startled, clearly having not heard me. He shook his head. “Uhh, there’s footage.” He swallowed. “And photos, starting to come out of the islands. In Indonesia, the Alor Archipelago. And Timor-Leste...” He blinked a few times. “Those tiny islands. They’re... they’re just no longer there. Jesus Christ, Tully. Look.”
He turned the screen toward me and it was... devastation.
The foundations of buildings left exposed, the buildings nowhere in sight. Palm trees and greenery, whole damn islands, looked like a giant lawn mower had decimated everything in its path.
Debris, destruction, flooded streets, vehicles sprinkled about like toys.
“Is there... is there a death toll?”
“Not yet, nothing official.” He put his hand to his mouth, his fingers trembling. “These poor people.”
“Hey,” I said, closing his laptop. “You’re not responsible for those places.”
“No. But I’m responsible for here, for the people here, Tully. And Cyclone Hazer that did that.” He pushed his laptop away. “It’s coming. Tonight. It starts tonight.”
I pulled him to his feet and wrapped him up in a hug as tight as I could. “You’re not responsible for the people, Jeremiah. You’re responsible for providing information and data, numerical facts, nothing more. What the authorities and emergency services do with that information is out of your hands. You did your part. When they asked you, you told them in no uncertain terms what to expect, and you told them to leave.”
“If they could leave,” he mumbled. “A lot of people don’t have the means. No transport, no money. All those Indigenous communities in remote areas. Their homes aren’t built—”
I pulled back and took hold of his face. “Stop. Stop, Jeremiah. Those who were at greatest risk have been evacuated. Those who choose to stay make that choice for themselves.”
“Like you. You shouldn’t be staying.”
I tried not to sigh. “I told you, I’m not leaving you.”
He pouted. “Tully.”
I squished his cheeks together and kissed his pouty lips. “Stop arguing with me, Doctor, and come and help me pack a bag.”
