A Reason to Stay (6 page)

“Isn't the sky beautiful?” she asked drowsily, lulled by the gentle rocking of the boat. In the distance, she could hear cicadas singing their strange song from the trees lining the shoreline.

Geary agreed. “Don't know when I've seen a fireworks show like this one.” He leaned closer. “I'm thinking maybe it's a signal I ought to make a pass at you.”

She couldn't help it. She laughed out loud. “I might not stop you.”

A low rumble drew their attention away from the moment. Within seconds, the first flash of lightning streaked across the sky. An audible moan drifted from the nearby crowds. And from Geary.

“Ah, no,” he said, obviously upset at the development.

Anyone living in southern Texas was used to sudden and unexpected storms triggered by hot gulf air converging with cooler air fronts coming in from New Mexico. Still, no one wanted this evening to end prematurely. Her especially.

Geary scanned the sky with a deep frown on his face. “This doesn't look good,” he said as the wind picked up. “We'd best get ready to go. Looks like we're about to get caught in a storm.”

She nodded and moved to gather her bag.

Without further warning, the sky opened up and it poured. Big drops of water coming at a surprising rate threatened to drench everything.

From across the way, an announcer's voice broadcasted over the loudspeaker, advising the conclusion of the fireworks show. Sadly, they'd have to skip the grand finale. The announcer had just finished his remarks when a bolt hit too close for comfort and all the stage lights went dark.

Geary grabbed a light rain jacket from a compartment in the side of the boat and draped it over her head in a near futile attempt to keep her from another good soaking. “C'mon—we'd best get off this lake.”

Like hundreds of others scattering across the parking lots to their vehicles, Geary and Faith darted to the news van. They reached their destination just as the rain stopped as suddenly as it had started.

Geary laughed and shook the raincoat, sending water flying. “Uh, sorry,” he said with a sheepish grin. “So much for playing the hero.”

She smiled back at him, sorry for the evening to end. His hair was dripping wet, sending a stream of water down his forehead and across his cheek. Before he could rub it away, she reached and lightly diverted the rogue moisture from his face. “Guess there's just no staying dry here in Conroe,” she teased.

His hand caught hers before she had time to pull it back. He held it there for a couple of brief seconds. “Can I—I mean, I'd like to see you again.”

Faith let a timid smile form. “I'd like that too.”

“Hey, guys.” Chuck came jogging up to the van, soaked as well. “Great night, huh? Too bad the rain ended everything early.” He glanced between the two of them. “Oh, sorry. I—I can come back if you want.”

Both of them shook their heads. “No, that's not necessary,” she told him, aware Geary's deep blue eyes remained focused on her face. She broke eye contact long enough to retrieve a business card from her purse and handed it to him before saying good night.

“I had a great time tonight,” she said.

He lifted her card. “I'll call you.”

Later when she'd arrived home, she'd no more than unlocked her front door when her cell phone buzzed, alerting she'd received a message.

She pulled the phone from her bag and glanced at the screen. Her face immediately broke into a wide grin.

You've snagged this fisherman's heart. Is
tomorrow night too soon to see each other again?

F
aith whistled as she scooped her morning yogurt and fruit into her blender, happier than she'd been in months. She found herself smiling while driving to work, even when a small accident backed up traffic on the West Loop, nearly making her late for the morning rundown meeting.

While she wrote copy for the feature on the rise in storage and moving theft, her eyes kept drifting to the wall clock. Distracted, she found herself mentally rehearsing last evening in her mind and counting the hours until she'd meet Geary for dinner tonight, behavior reminiscent of her college friends and totally out of character for her.

What had gotten into her?

Even Chuck mentioned the change in her demeanor. “You're looking happy this morning,” he said in a low voice as he grabbed a cup of coffee in the lunchroom. “Seems you've
fallen
for someone?” He winked, obviously taken with his own sense of humor.

Normally, she'd have rolled her eyes and brushed off his sappy pun. She'd have told him she was too busy for joking around. Instead she stirred the sweetener into her own coffee and grinned back at him in silence.

She even whistled on her way back to the orange room to check on the Twitter hashtags used for her segment.

This type of distraction was not what she needed right now. She didn't have time to focus on anything except becoming an on-air talent as quickly as possible. Yet here she sat—thinking about a guy who had barely left her mind in the last twenty-four hours.

“Hey, Faith.”

She turned her head in the direction of the voice. Cathy Buster, an associate producer, barreled toward her.

“Grab your stuff and c'mon!”

Faith slipped her iPad into her bag, grabbed her lavalier, and followed. “What's going on?”

Cathy answered over her shoulder. “The assignment desk just caught a police scanner reporting a jumper on the Fred Hartman Bridge.”

The news of a potential suicide immediately amputated Faith's good mood.

She tossed her half-drunk Styrofoam cup of coffee in a nearby trash receptacle and followed Cathy through the newsroom and down the short hall leading to the back parking lot. “You want me to go out on the field report? Alone?” The minute the words left her mouth, she wished she could gobble them back. “I mean, I—I'm on it.”

Cathy waved her over to where the news helicopter was waiting on the helipad. The engine started and the blades overhead slowly turned. “Jack and Ned are already out on that day care fire over on Alabama. I just sent Cara out to cover a robbery. Busy news day. You're all I've got.” Cathy ducked her head and ran toward the door of the helicopter. She yelled over top of the whopping rotors, “Just stand there and report what you see.” Her hands thrust a lavalier mike into Faith's hands. “Listen for my cues and follow. Got it?”

Faith placed her hand on the door frame, hesitated. “But what about a camera crew?” she shouted over the noise.

“I'll have them right behind you. Now go!”

Faith nodded. She stepped on the flat step mounted above the landing skid and climbed inside, then positioned herself in the passenger seat, sliding her safety earmuffs in place while Cathy fastened her harness. She felt more than heard the belt click into place.

Cathy gave her a thumbs-up and stepped back out of the way. Seconds later, the door slammed closed. The pilot adjusted some dials on a small panel in front of him, then turned and gave her a smile.

The aircraft lifted straight up into the air, sending her heart pounding. She'd never ridden in a helicopter. Directly in front of her, the windscreen extended down and merged into the chin bubble at her legs (that was what she'd learned it was called in her broadcast reporting class), giving her an incredible view of the city beneath, and her stomach a weird sensation.

They flew east over the West Loop Freeway, and minutes later the Reliant Center and Astrodome came into view. Tiny cars pin-dotted the parking lots surrounding the large sports complex.

Her earpiece crackled. “Faith, Cathy here. What's your ETA?”

She looked to the pilot and pointed to her watch. “How long?” she mouthed.

He held up all ten fingers, then gave her a thumbs-down sign.

“Looks like just under ten,” she reported back into her lavalier.

When the San Jacinto Bay showed up on the far horizon, Faith took a deep breath. She exhaled slowly.

This was it. Never would a rookie get this kind of a chance again. At least not for a while. For some reason, she'd gotten a lucky break, if you could call it that. But she couldn't make another miscalculation like her lake snafu. She'd have to muster all her training and keep her wits. She'd need focus.

They landed directly on the Fred Hartman Bridge, on top of a strip of highway just past the police blockade. Faith quickly assessed the situation from inside the helicopter.

From the looks of things, law enforcement had not had the area secured long. There was no sign of other news trucks or reporters yet on the scene. KIAM-TV could scoop the story, if she hurried.

She exited the helicopter and ran toward the tangle of police cars with their lights flashing. “Cathy, I'm the only one. We're it.”

“Excellent!” The associate producer's voice was filled with cautious excitement. “Now, get up there and position close. We've got a news truck and videographers en route. They'll be there in minutes. In the meantime, use your cell phone and capture what you can and shoot it back to me in an email. I'll throw up whatever you capture, but I want to be first.”

“A—a selfie?”

“You can do this,” Cathy assured her. “And Faith?”

“Uh-huh?”

“We have word the jumper is Oliver Hildebrand's eighteen-year-old kid.”

Faith's heart lurched. That news definitely raised the stakes.

Hildebrand Enterprises, known for its luxury hotels located across America, had been making headlines over the past five years or so by expanding into Dubai, Bali, Singapore, and most recently Jamaica, where Oliver Hildebrand acquired and developed a twenty-three-acre tract of land bordering the famed Negril seven-mile, white-sand beachfront.

“I don't have to tell you what's at stake here,” Cathy's voice warned through Faith's earpiece.

The thought of not having a camera crew to back her up niggled in her mind as the helicopter's engine shut down and the door released. Faith scrambled out and rushed forward in the direction of the flashing lights. She took full advantage of the early chaos at the scene and flashed her media badge. In a stroke of luck, no one really paid attention and she was able to pass freely onto the bridge and make her way forward, closing the gap between her and the Hildebrand kid.

She could see him now, up ahead.

The young man, who didn't even look fifteen, had climbed on the other side of the railing and was hanging there, his sandy-blond hair blowing slightly in the breeze. Two older men in dark blue Windbreaker jackets with official-looking emblems emblazoned on the shoulders stood nearby, talking to him.

Without giving prior thought, Faith walked directly up to the scene. She gulped and flashed her badge, despite the fact no one seemed to be paying attention, then quickly slapped it back in her jacket pocket. “What have we got?”

She half expected to be ordered away from the scene, but surprisingly one of the men glanced at her. “You the lady from Suicide Prevention?”

Surprised at his assumption, she shook her head, half wishing she was. Before she could clarify further that she was with KIAM-TV, the teen shifted closer to the edge.

She held her breath. Her gut squeezed.

The man quickly waved her closer. “The kid's name is Brandon Hildebrand.”

Taking the officer's cue, she stepped forward, dangerously close to the edge herself. “Hey, I'm Faith,” she said, her voice wavering.

The kid shook his head. “No! Don't come any closer.”

The outburst caused her to take a step back. She held up her hand. “I'm not here to talk you out of anything.”

Both the men turned their heads in her direction, frowning.

She nodded, assuring them she wasn't nuts. They didn't know, but she was no novice at talking a person off the so-called ledge. “I'm with KIAM-TV. I'm a reporter.” She held her breath, half scared he'd jump, despite her appearance of bravado. “Your name is Brandon?”

The kid nodded, his eyes shadowed with despair. “Yeah, so?”

Overhead, she could hear approaching helicopters. No doubt other news crews were arriving on the scene. She could sense more
than see the crowd building at the police barricade. She'd lucked out and been given extraordinary access, perhaps because she'd been mistaken by some as being affiliated with Suicide Prevention. Didn't matter. Cathy would say she'd been given a lucky break and tell her to run with it. And she would—later.

Right now there was a young kid who might end his life with one slip of his fingers from the rail. A quick image of his family formed in her mind, of the despair she knew they'd feel if that happened.

She made determined eye contact. “So, I was thinking you might want to tell your story before . . .” She let her words drift off, not wanting to acknowledge his intentions or encourage him in any manner. At that moment, she'd give anything to reach out and take his arm and pull him to safety.

“What's your story, Brandon? What do you want people to know?” She looked at him more intensely, aware the network's cameraman now stood only yards away with his lens pointed in their direction. “You have time. Tell us.”

He dropped his head. She could see him take a deep breath. In a voice almost inaudible, he responded, “I'm so tired.”

She inched closer, aware the officers were watching. One looked to even be praying. “What's making you so tired, Brandon?”

He raised his head slowly. “Ever feel like no matter what you do, it's just never enough?”

She gave him a weak smile. “Yeah, I know that feeling far too well.” And she did. No one knew the performance trap more, the need to show the world your value. “I get tired too sometimes.”

She saw it then. That tiny glimmer in his eyes that said she'd made a connection. Even if only a small one.

“Sometimes the pressure to do everything people want you to do, and do it well, gets to be a real pain. Worse? Sometimes that pressure is from inside. Yeah, I know exactly where you're coming from.”

A flash of anger crossed his features. “Do you know what it's like to be me? To be the Hildebrands' kid? To constantly be told that it'll all be yours someday and you need to step up and get ready? Study harder. Work more. Go to the right schools. Hang with the right people. I'm sick of it. All of it.” He turned then and looked down at the water.

Faith could hear the officers gasp. Her heart pounded inside her chest. “So, when it's all yours you can set up a trust and give it all away. You can make a difference. More, you can shed the responsibility if you want, and walk away. Have any kind of life you want.” She dared to approach. “Brandon, no one gets to tell you what life you will live. No matter who your family is or what expectations are forced upon you because of their actions—you alone get to choose your own destiny.”

Hadn't she done that very thing? Hadn't she made a decision to distance herself from her own beginning and leave all that garbage behind?

“
You
get to choose, Brandon,” Faith repeated. “No one else. You.”

His eyes pooled with tears. She could tell he wanted to believe her.

A boat circled below. Perhaps the Coast Guard or police. A voice blared from a loudspeaker. “Brandon. This is your father. Don't do it, son. Please, don't.”

The kid looked at her then. Faith reached out her hand. “You can stop all of it without this—and rest. It's your life. No one else's.”

Brandon Hildebrand shifted his body.

Faith scrunched her eyes closed. If he let go, she couldn't bear to know.

She heard a scuffle and forced herself to look.

His arms were clutching the railing. The two officers scrambled forward and grabbed him. As they quickly hauled him over the railing, a faint cheer rang out from the crowd that had gathered in the distance.

Only then did Faith let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Minutes later, she handed off her cell phone to the crew. While they did their technical magic to download the footage she'd recorded, she let herself bask in the fact the kid was now safe.

A reporter from a competitor station thrust a microphone in her direction. “How does it feel to be a hero?”

Over the course of the next hours, she told the story over and over, each time recounting how she'd carefully constructed a connection with the potential jumper, how she'd communicated with him on an emotional level and ultimately saved his life. What she didn't reveal is just how scared she'd been inside, knowing from experience how things could've taken a nasty turn and ended much differently.

Back at the station, champagne was uncorked and the entire news team broke into applause. In a fortunate twist of events, Faith found herself smack-dab in the middle of the spotlight, and she wasn't going to lie—it felt good.

KIAM-TV had scooped the story, and word was coming into the station that everyone in Houston was talking about the young field reporter who had saved the day—literally. They'd cluster this report for days, milk every opportunity. She almost felt sorry for their competitor stations that would be forced to endure their rankings sliding into the toilet, while KIAM-TV ratings soared. This was the human interest story of the summer, and viewers would tune in to hear every detail.

Later that evening, the station's general manager ordered in dinner, catered by the swanky restaurant Que Huong, known for their Blue Nile cuisine. “Nothing too good for this occasion,” he bragged after promising Faith that she would be going places at the station, and very soon. No doubt he knew she was probably already getting messages from other GMs, offering the moon if she'd move and let her rising star shine over at their stations.