The Rest of the Story

by Sarah Dessen

  Behind him, I could hear a phone ringing. “Which doesn’t mean anything if you look at the forecast. They should already have told you where to go when it starts to get bad—it’s Storm 101.”

  “According to them, this place is hurricane-proof. All I’ve seen are a few sandbags.”

  “And they haven’t said anything about shelter?”

  “Well . . .” I looked at the bar again. “No. Not yet.”

  “Get low,” he said. “Bottom floor, ideally a room with no windows if you can find it. Stay away from all glass. Bring your valuables and medication. And if you haven’t charged your phone, do it now. Tell your dad and Tracy, too.”

  “Okay,” I said, “but seriously, maybe they’re watching a different forecast track over here, because they’re really not worried.”

  “Then they’re stupid,” he replied. “Look, get ready and then hopefully it will all be for nothing. But if it isn’t . . .”

  He let this thought trail off, even as I waited for him to finish. Finally I said, “Are you scared?”

  “I’m concerned,” he said. Another phone rang. “And busy, so I should go, even though only morons think they can get storm windows put in before this afternoon. I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I’ll call again later, okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “And you’ll be at the dinner, right? At six?”

  “Sure,” he assured me, but he sounded so distracted I wondered if he’d even heard my question. “Talk to you soon.”

  When I hung up, Tracy turned her head, looking at me over her sunglasses. “Everything okay?”

  I nodded. “Roo’s just worried about the storm.”

  She tilted her head back, looking up at the blue sky, white clouds drifting across it. “It hardly looks like hurricane weather, though, does it?”

  When I shook my head, she stretched out, then lowered her sunglasses again. But the truth was, behind the Tides, over the trees, I could now see a row of darker clouds, shorter and squatter, piling up on the horizon. As I lay back, I called on my imagination to picture us all at dinner that night, with oyster forks and candles, Mimi and Nana and Bailey and Roo. But when I closed my eyes, all I could see were those clouds. By the time we left the pool an hour later, there were even more of them.

  At four p.m., I was sitting at the table with Nana, looking out at the sky. By then, it was dark as dusk.

  “Looks ominous,” she observed mildly. She turned to my dad, who was watching the TV, now all storm coverage. “Should we double-check with the hotel that dinner is still going to happen?”

  “They’re saying they’ll be fine no matter what the weather does,” he replied, not taking his eyes off the screen, where the reporter in the windbreaker from earlier was being thrashed by rain and wind as he tried to describe the conditions. “But I’m wondering if we should have a shelter plan, just to be safe.”

  “Roo says so,” I told him as I yet again tried Roo’s number, only to have it ring and ring before going to voicemail. It was the same with Bailey. “We need to be downstairs, away from windows.”

  “You’d think they’d set up something,” my dad muttered, walking over to the phone in the kitchen. “I’ll call down, see what’s happening.”

  “It’s going to be okay,” Nana told me. “If the dinner gets canceled, we’ll reschedule.”

  But for the last few hours, I hadn’t been thinking about the dinner anymore. It was Mimi’s house and Calvander’s that were on my mind: that big kitchen, with the shiny toaster. The gardenia bushes by the door. Each of those rooms I’d learned to clean, the tiny fold on the toilet paper at the beginning of a roll. I’d just gotten it all back. What if it was lost for good?

  My phone rang then, startling me after so long of not being able to reach anyone. I jumped on it like it was alive. “Hello?”

  “Can you get over here? Do you have a car?”

  Trinity. She sounded like she was moving, her voice coming in and out. “What’s wrong?”

  “I just want to be at the hospital,” she said, her voice breaking. “If this baby decides to come during the storm, I swear to God I will clamp my legs SHUT. I want my fucking epidural!”

  Nana glanced over at me. Whoops. I stood up, putting some distance between us before saying, “Are you having contractions?”

  “No,” she said, “but I’m so uncomfortable and I can feel the barometric pressure dropping. Storms make weird things happen, and I do not want my kid to be one of them.”

  I looked at my dad, who was on hold with the front desk, still watching the TV. Outside, I could see several Tides employees in white golf shirts hurriedly folding up the chairs on the beach.

  “I have a car,” I said. “But I don’t think—”

  At first, I didn’t recognize the sound she made in response to this. Then I realized it was a sob. “I just can’t do this, I’m already alone without the Sergeant and everyone’s freaking out here. Even if I just sit in the hospital parking lot, I’ll feel better, I swear to God, I’ll walk there if I have to. . . .”

  “Can you call Roo?” I asked, turning my back to Nana and my dad. “Or Vincent?”

  “Everyone’s at the Station,” she wailed. Good God. “Mimi and Oxford boarded up the hotel windows and went to help down there—it always needs a ton of storm prep. So it’s just me and Gordon here, and she was all nervous, so I yelled at her, and now she’s God knows where feeling sorry for herself, even though she is NOT a million years pregnant.”

  I heard a beep: another call coming in. Bailey. “Hold on,” I said to Trinity, who was sniffling in my ear. “I’ve got Bailey on the other line.”

  “Tell her to get over here and take me to the hospital!” she yelled, loud enough to make my dad, halfway across the room, turn and look at me.

  “One sec,” I said in my best measured voice, to compensate for her near hysteria. Then I clicked over. “Bailey?”

  At first, all I heard was whooshing. Then, finally, her voice. “Are you downstairs yet?”

  “No, they haven’t said anything,” I told her. “I’ve got Trinity on the other line. She’s kind of—”

  “Freaking out,” she finished for me. “I know. But she’s not in labor, so there’s no point in trying the roads. One way or another, this will be over by tomorrow.”

  Well, that didn’t inspire much confidence. I said, “She’s all alone, though.”

  “Gordon is there.”

  “She yelled at Gordon.”

  “Well, my dad’s yelling at everyone. It’s a storm,” she replied. “Look, the wind is really picking up here: we’ve already got some branches falling. Tell her I said to find Gordon and get to the TV room. They’ve already reported a tornado touching down in Colby.”

  “What?” I said, looking back at the TV, where the windbreaker reporter was now literally getting pushed sideways by the wind. “Really?”

  “Saylor, wake up. This is a storm. It’s going to be bad.” She cleared her throat. “Look, just get your dad and grandmother and Tracy and get safe, okay? I’ll check back in with you in a bit.”

  “What about you, though?” I asked as Nana looked at me. “Are you safe?’

  “Safe enough,” she replied. In the background, I heard a male voice, bellowing. “Shit, I better go. Just stay low and away from windows, okay?”

  Before I could answer, the line cut off, bouncing me back to Trinity. Who was still crying.

  “I just hate this so much,” she said when I told her I was back. “Being alone this whole stupid pregnancy, and now—”

  “You’re not alone,” I told her.

  “I am literally standing in this room all by myself!” she yelled so loudly I pulled the phone from my ear. “Nobody cares! If this is like Richard, the house will probably come down around me and my unborn child!”

  “Emma?” my dad asked. I looked at him. “What’s going on?”

  Now Trinity was sobbing, her breath coming in ragged jags. I said, “It’s Trinity. She’s alone and r
eally pregnant and she wants to go to the hospital.”

  “Hospital? Now? They’re saying to stay off all the roads for emergency vehicles to get through.”

  Trinity, hearing this, wailed even louder. “I know. But she’s so upset, and no one is there to drive her. So she asked if I—”

  “You?” Now he gave me his full attention, turning from the TV entirely. “Absolutely not. You’re not leaving this hotel.”

  “I know,” I said. More sobbing, louder, and now I felt tears prick my own eyes, I felt so helpless. “But I just—”

  He came over, holding out his hand. “Let me talk to her.”

  I handed it over. He put it to his own ear, blinked at the sobbing, and then cleared his throat. “Trinity? Hello? This is Emma’s dad, Matthew. You’ve got to calm down, okay? This isn’t good for you or the baby.”

  There was a blast of response from the phone, none of which I could make out. He said, “I understand. It’s scary. But the storm will pass and you will be fine. Deep breaths.”

  I didn’t hear breathing, though. Just yelling.

  “Is there someone who can keep you company?” my dad was saying now. “Sit with you until the storm passes?”

  More wailing. Tracy emerged from the bedroom, where she’d been taking a shower. “Um, I just got a tornado warning on my phone. Should we be worried about that?”

  I looked at Nana, who said, “According to the hotel, no.”

  Outside, there was a crack of lightning, followed by a gust of wind that made the windows creak. “We need to go downstairs,” I said. “Now.”

  “Agreed,” my dad said. To Trinity he said, “What? No, we’re just discussing if we should take shelter. I’m going to give you back to Emma—”

  He pulled the phone away from his ear as she sobbed, loudly, in response to this. He covered the mouthpiece and looked at me. “Does she really not have anyone there?”

  I shook my head. “Just Gordon.”

  “Jesus.” He looked out at the lake, which looked mean now, ominous, whitecaps dotting the water, the dark clouds low and thick. “Okay. Look. I’ll get you all downstairs and settled, and then I’ll ride over there.”

  “What?” I said. “I want to go.”

  “No.” He looked at Tracy. “Gather up your phone and charger, your purse, anything you might need in the next few hours. Mom and Emma, you too.”

  “But—”

  “Now,” he said, sounding so firm that I jumped. Tracy went back into the bedroom, moving quickly, while Nana got to her feet as well. I just stood there, though, as he put the phone back to his ear. “Trinity. Breathe. I’m coming over. Just give me a few minutes, okay?”

  I couldn’t hear her response, because at that moment another wind gust hit. Then the power went out.

  “Go,” my dad said to me, and I ran into my room, grabbing my purse, a charger, and my shoes. By the time I got back to the living room, Nana and Tracy were at the door, ready, my dad scrambling for his own things. When we went out into the hallway, it was dark except for the emergency lights, blinking.

  “Elevator’s out,” my dad reported, after trying the button. He turned to Nana. “Mom, can you handle the stairs?”

  “Certainly,” Nana replied, but I took her arm anyway. “Lead the way.”

  We went into the stairwell, which was also illuminated by blinking lights, and started down, my dad and Tracy in front, Nana and me following. We’d gone down two flights—slowly—when my phone rang again. Trinity.

  “A tree just fell on the porch!” she screamed. “It took out one of the windows and now the rain is pouring in!”

  “Okay, okay,” I said, reporting this to my dad. “Are you in the middle room? Where’s Gordon?”

  “I can’t find her!” she said. “I’ve been yelling, but you know how she gets when you scream at her, she just vanishes. My mom’s at work freaking out, but she can’t leave. God, why is this happening?”

  A door on the landing we were passing opened suddenly, a Tides employee with a silver room service tray stepping through. People were ordering food right now?

  “Good evening,” he said, flashing us a toothy smile. “On your way to dinner?”

  “The power’s out,” my dad told him. “What are you all doing about it?”

  “The generator is just about to come on,” the guy replied cheerfully. “But even if it didn’t, we’d be totally safe. The Tides is the most storm-ready structure—”

  “Right, right,” my dad said, pushing past him. To me he said, “What’s happening with Trinity?”

  “Tree hit the house,” I told him. “And now she can’t find Gordon.”

  He sighed. “Jesus. Okay. Let’s get a move on. Mom, you all right?”

  “Fine,” Nana replied, but she did grip my hand a little harder as we began down the next flight. I squeezed back.

  Finally we reached the lobby, where Tides employees were scurrying around, moving plants away from windows and herding guests into a nearby ballroom. “It’s a hurricane party!” one girl in a golf shirt told us, waving at the open door. “We have drinks and food and activities for the whole family. Join us, won’t you?”

  My dad looked in the ballroom, where a total of about eight people, mostly kids, were grouped around one table. The rest were empty. “You need to get everyone down here. This storm is no joke.”

  “Oh, sir, this is just a precaution,” she said as a wall of rain hit the windows, the sound drowning everything out for a moment. “You’d be perfectly safe in your room, as the Tides is—”

  My dad hurried past her. “Emma, you and your grandmother get settled. Tracy and I will run over to Mimi’s just to check on Trinity and Gordon.”

  “But—”

  “Emma. Do not question me right now.”

  “Honey.” Tracy put her hand on his arm. “It’s Emma’s family. Her cousin. You can understand why she might want to—”

  “This is an emergency,” he said.

  “Which is why I think it would be better if I stayed with your mother,” Tracy replied, more firmly now. “You take Emma and go. Safely. Okay?”

  At the desk behind us, all the phones were ringing at once as rain lashed the windows. Someone came in the automatic doors. No one yelled, “Welcome to the Tides!”

  “Fine,” he said. Then he gave her a kiss. “We’ll call once we’re on our way. Stay here, yes?”

  “Yes,” she said, walking to a nearby table and holding out a chair so Nana could sit down. My phone, in my pocket, buzzed again. Trinity.

  “We’re coming,” I said as I answered. “Hang tight.”

  “I can’t find her!” she said. Her voice was high, scared. “I’ve looked everywhere!”

  “Okay, okay,” I said, glancing at my dad, who had overheard this. “Just . . . we’ll be there soon.”

  It was, after all, only three miles. But when we went to the valet stand for the car, no one was there. The rain was coming down sideways.

  “Well,” my dad said, glancing around for a moment. Then he opened the door to the valet stand, which held all the keys, scanning them until he found his own. “I guess we’ll go look for it ourselves.”

  I followed him down a path to the parking garage. Inside, we looked up at the two stories of cars, some of them double-parked. “Any idea where to start?” I asked.

  “At the beginning,” he said, starting to jog up to the next level. “Come on.”

  The good news: we found his Audi at the very start of level two. The bad: it was parked right against a wall and blocked in by a huge SUV directly behind it.

  “What the hell,” he said, eyeing it. “This is insane. We’ll never get it out.”

  My phone was ringing again, but I couldn’t stop to answer it. Instead, I walked around to the Audi, which actually had some space ahead of it. “I think I can back it out.”

  “You can’t even get in there!”

  “I can try,” I said, gesturing for him to throw me the keys. He did, and I unlocked the ca
r, then stuffed myself in the small space on the side away from the wall, inching down between it and the car beside it, a Mercedes. “I think I can crawl in the window, if I can get it open.”

  “This is crazy and stupid,” he said. “We shouldn’t even be trying to get out of here. Doesn’t she have family that can come help her?”

  “We are her family,” I said.

  He just looked at me as, although my insides felt compressed to the point of flattening, I finally made it to the passenger door. I eased it open about an inch, which was all the give there was, before sticking my hand in and wiggling it around until I found the window button. Because the key was in my hand, it went down. Thank God. I pitched myself in, crawling behind the wheel.

  “There’s not enough—” my dad was saying, but I ignored him as I started the engine. We’d practiced parking endlessly before my test, in the garage under Nana’s building, before I’d hit that car and gotten spooked. No time for fear now. I put the car in reverse, easing back a tiny bit.

  “Okay,” my dad said, coming around to the front. “That’s as far as you’ve got before the bumper. Now go for—”

  I already was, inching up, the wheel turned as far as it would go. Then back. Then up again. Slowly, I began to make a space between the Audi and the SUV, although it took another ten passes or so before it was wide enough to reverse out entirely. But I did it. My phone was ringing the entire time.

  “All right,” my dad said. He looked as surprised as I’d ever seen him. “Now, let me behind the wheel.”

  “I’m already here,” I said. “Just get in.”

  He paused, as if he was going to resist this, but then climbed into the passenger seat. I hit the gas as soon as his door swung shut behind him.

  Out in front of the hotel, it was crazy windy, the trees bent sideways, rain pelting the glass as I tried to peer through it. We passed a couple of Tides employees, running toward Campus, as I turned onto the road. A layer of water was running across it.

  “Flooding,” my dad said. “Go very slow and don’t brake.”

  I did as he said until we were past it, then sped up. My phone rang again. “Can you get that?” I asked. “It’s probably Trinity.”