From the Heart

another window explode from heat. “I don’t know. I’ll try to find out.”
    “The little boy had the flu and had to stay home from school.” Shock was giving way to grief. Liv could see the change in the woman’s eyes, hear it in her voice. “I have a picture of him in here.” She began to weep—deep, tearing sobs that pulled at Liv’s heart.
    Sitting on the curb beside her, Liv gathered the woman into her arms. She was fragile, almost paper thin. Liv was very much afraid that the picture would be all that was left of the Dawson boy. Holding her close, Liv wept with her.
    She felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she saw Thorpe standing tall beside her.
    “Thorpe,” she managed as he stepped in front of them. Her eyes were eloquent. Thorpe lifted the old woman from the curb gently. She was still clutching the album. He slipped an arm around her, murmuring in her ear as he led her toward the paramedics. Liv let her forehead drop to her knees.
    She had to pull herself back together if she was going to do her job. A reporter couldn’t afford personal involvement. She could hear someone coughing violently as smoke clogged her lungs. The wind brought it still closer.
    “Liv.” Thorpe took her arm and drew her to her feet.
    “I’m all right,” she said immediately. She heard another explosion. Someone screamed. “Oh, God.” Her eyes flew back to the building. “How many people are still trapped in there?”
    “They haven’t been able to break through to the sixth floor yet. Anybody still on it, or in that plane, is gone.”
    She nodded. His voice was calm and unemotional—exactly what she needed. “Yes, I know.” She took a deep, cleansing breath. “I need something to put on the air. I have a stand-up to do.” She looked at him again. “What are you doing here?”
    “I was on my way in to the station.” There was a smear on her cheek from the smoke and ash. He rubbed it off with his thumb. He kept his voice light. “This isn’t my beat, Liv. I’m not here for a story.”
    She looked past him to where paramedics were working frantically on a burn victim. “I wish to God I weren’t,” she murmured. From somewhere to the left, she heard a child screaming for her mother. “I hate this part of it—poking, prying into people’s pain.”
    “It isn’t an easy job, Liv.” He didn’t touch her. He wanted to, but knew that wasn’t what she needed.
    She looked over as her crew made their way toward her. Liv took the scribbled note from the sound technician with a nod.
    “All right, we’ll shoot from here with the building at the back.” Drawing a breath, she faced the camera. “After I’m into it, I want you to pan the building.” She took the mike again and waited for the cue that would patch her into the station. “Then focus in on the plane before you cut back to me. Keep in the background noise.” In her earphone, she heard the countdown to cue.
    “This is Olivia Carmichael, outside the Livingston Apartments, where at nine-thirty this morning charter flight number 527 hit the sixth floor of the building.” Bob panned the building as she continued. “The cause of the crash has not yet been confirmed. Fire fighters are evacuating the building and working to gain access to the sixth floor and the plane. There were fifty-two people on board, including crew, en route to Miami.” The camera came back to her. “There is no report as yet on the number of casualties. Burn and smoke-inhalation victims are being treated here by paramedics before being transported to the hospital.”
    Thorpe stood back and watched as Liv continued the report. Her face was composed, but for her eyes. The horror was there. Whether she knew it or not, it added to the impactof her facts and statistics. There were still traces of soot on her cheek, and her skin was dead white against it. A viewer looking beyond the words would see a woman, not just a reporter. She was good at her job, he reflected, perhaps because she constantly struggled to tamp down her emotions. The effort showed from time to time and made her more accessible.
    “This is Olivia Carmichael,” she concluded, “for WWBW.” She waited until they were off the air, then whipped off the earphone. “All right, get some tape of the paramedics. I’ll find out if they’ve gotten through to the sixth floor yet. Get a courier out here. They’ll need whatever we’ve got for the noon news.”
    Liv felt the control slip back into place.