Winter at the Beach

by Sheila Roberts

  “Oh, shut up and eat your sandwich,” Karen said. She grabbed another brownie and stuffed it in her mouth. A sister getaway had seemed like a good idea at the time. Right now a getaway from her sister sounded even better.

  * * *

  They had light and they had heat and the TV was working. Taylor told herself she needed to stop feeling so pissed. But she was having trouble listening to herself. She sat on the bed and took the potato chips out of the grocery bag.

  Their evening feast consisted of chips, apple juice and apples and some crackers—they’d been lucky to get those. It had been like the end of the world in the town’s little grocery store with its dim lighting and emptied freezer and refrigerator shelves.

  “Can’t sell ’em,” one of the workers had said when someone asked him about the frozen items. “Store policy. Possible food contamination.” Which, of course, made what was left even more valuable. People were scooping things off the shelves and elbowing in front of each other to get bread and peanut butter. One old lady had almost gotten trampled by a man determined to grab the last loaf of bread. But she’d gotten there first.

  “Hey, lady,” he’d protested. “You already have three loaves in your shopping cart.”

  “I have a lot of people to feed,” she’d informed him, and the crusty old man with her had told the guy to back off or he’d sock him in the nose.

  Taylor had been sure Greg was going to get punched when he’d snatched that apple juice. The woman he beat to it looked mean enough. Obviously, emergencies didn’t bring out the best in people. This one certainly wasn’t bringing out the best in her. But then, lately, nothing had.

  Someone knocked on their door, and she opened it to find her nephew standing there. “Mom wants to know if you want to come over and play Crazy Eights with us.”

  Miranda was already off the bed. “I do!”

  “You can go over after you’ve had something to eat,” Taylor said. “Tell your mom Miranda will be there in a few minutes.”

  “Tell your mom we’ll all be there in a few minutes,” Greg corrected her.

  “I don’t want to play cards,” she said as she shut the door.

  “Why?”

  “I’m not in the mood.”

  “Fine,” Greg said, his voice sharp. He took an apple out of the bag and some crackers. “Come on, Miranda. We’ll eat over at Aunt Sarah’s.”

  Miranda looked from one parent to the other, her little brows knit.

  Greg got her coat and handed it to her. “Put your coat on and let’s go have some fun.” She did as she was told, and he gave her the apple. “You go on over, and I’ll be right behind you as soon as I talk to Mommy. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Miranda said. The earlier excitement had disappeared from her voice, and she sounded subdued. She slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

  Greg shoved into his coat and took another apple. “I don’t know how to break this to you, Taylor, but the world doesn’t revolve around you.”

  The disgust written on his face fanned her anger to a blaze. “Yeah? Well, it doesn’t revolve around you, either,” she retorted. “This is all your fault.”

  “Don’t blame me for the weather!”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.”

  “I thought maybe this weekend we could actually have some fun, like we used to. Forget our troubles for a while.”

  “Oh, yes, you’d like that, since all our troubles are your fault. Well, guess what, Greg. I don’t want to forget our troubles. I want to be done with them.”

  He pressed his lips together so tightly, they turned white around the edges.

  “It wasn’t my idea to come here,” she reminded him.

  “Yeah, well, too bad we didn’t leave you at home. We’d all have had a better time without you,” he said, and left, slamming the door behind him.

  How dare he! “You bastard!” She marched over and locked the door, then returned to the bed and her chips and struggled to open the package. Finally, with a vicious yank, she succeeded, sending potato chips flying in all directions. She scooped a handful off the bedspread, then dropped them. Who knew what had been on that bedspread? She threw the bag down in frustration and indulged herself in a good cry.

  Whatever circle of hell she was in, she needed to find a way out of it soon.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Aunt Edie and Pete returned with two bags filled with staples. “We have bread and peanut butter and juice and carrots and celery and cocoa mix, and some canned soups,” Aunt Edie announced. “That, with what I have in the pantry, should get us through.”

  “We’re lucky we got that,” Pete added. “It’s a war zone in there. I had to get rough with a couple of people.”

  Pete brawling in Beachside Grocery. Hopefully, he hadn’t mentioned the Driftwood Inn.

  “I’m glad I had you with me,” Aunt Edie said to him, and in the dim glow of the lamplight, Jenna could see his crinkly, bristled cheeks turning rosy.

  “Aw, you’d have been fine on your own,” he told her. “Your aunt’s quick,” he told Jenna.

  “Survival of the fittest,” Aunt Edie said as she stowed the peanut butter. “I’m sure our chowder’s hot. Let’s have something to eat.”

  And so they did. Roger was tucked into his cage for the night, and they made themselves comfortable in the living room with bowls of chowder. The room was cozy, and the fire dancing behind the woodstove’s glass door gave out both heat and comfort. Jenna would happily have settled in for the night, enjoying the experience to the max, if it had been only them and she didn’t have other people to worry about.

  But it wasn’t. And in between Pete and Aunt Edie’s reminiscences of storms past, she could hear the wind tearing around outside, slapping the windowpanes. And howling. (Wind really did howl.) There’d be more than wind howling if the generator went on strike. Jenna found it impossible to enjoy her chowder and finally set the bowl aside.

  Celeste, on the other hand, was tucked in for the night, happy with her corn chowder and the cocoa they’d made. She sat under a blanket on the couch next to Aunt Edie, as enthralled as a little kid during story hour at the library.

  “One time when the power was out, we were marooned down here for five days,” Aunt Edie said.

  “How did you manage to keep the motel running?” Jenna asked.

  “I didn’t. It was the winter after Ralph died. We didn’t have anyone staying here.”

  Jenna wished that was the case now. She also wished she’d thought to look into getting a bigger commercial generator that could power not only the lights and heaters, but the hot water tanks, too. Cold showers lurked in her guests’ future. Honestly, when it came to running this place, was she going to have to learn every lesson the hard way?

  “It was just Jolly Roger and me, here in the house, keeping each other company,” Aunt Edie continued. “Of course, people checked in on us. Brody came by every day and brought wood for the stove. Year before last, we had a storm but not such a bad one. People went beachcombing afterward. A lot of treasures wash up after a storm—glass floats, buoys, sometimes things that have fallen off boats. Patricia Whiteside found a case of whiskey once.”

  “I wouldn’t mind finding that,” Pete said.

  “Oh, yes. It’s always an adventure when there’s a storm,” Aunt Edie said with a chuckle.

  Jenna couldn’t concentrate on the stories. She was too busy fretting over what the following day might bring.

  She hated to think what their guests were going to say about the Driftwood after this. Ugh. Time to go back out and deliver the rest of her cookies.

  She found the last of the missing guests back in their rooms, and they seemed to be taking the storm in stride. “Cookies, what a kind gesture!” exclaimed one woman.

  Jenna could only hope the woman mentioned h
er kind gesture somewhere online.

  The storm was showing no sign of blowing itself out, and she scooted back to the house, her coat clutched tightly around her. She’d barely gotten in the door when Brody arrived with two bottles of wine.

  “We’re saved,” cracked Celeste.

  “I can’t believe you braved the storm,” Aunt Edie said to him.

  “It’s not that bad,” he replied cheerfully.

  Jenna gave a snort. “Compared to what?”

  “Florida. Puerto Rico.”

  That put things in perspective.

  “We’ll have a few shingles flying and some driftwood on the road down by the pier and a certain amount of inconvenience, but we’ll be okay,” he said with an easy grin. “Now, can somebody get me a corkscrew and some glasses?”

  “Gladly,” Celeste said, and hurried off to the kitchen.

  “Of course, it could always be worse,” Aunt Edie said, “but I am sorry the storm had to pick this weekend to hit us and ruin your festival.”

  “There’ll be other festivals,” Brody said. “Meanwhile, we’re warm inside.” He lowered his voice and added, “And somebody might owe me a kiss, so I’m hoping the storm keeps it up.”

  Was it suddenly hot in here? Jenna could feel her cheeks sizzling.

  Celeste returned with the glasses and corkscrew, and Brody got busy pouring wine.

  “This is how you weather a storm,” Pete said, raising his glass in salute, and after a glass Jenna felt they might, indeed, weather it. After a second glass she went to bed with a smile on her face. Maybe she owed Brody a kiss, whether or not he wound up housing Driftwood Inn evacuees.

  * * *

  Sunday morning there was still no power and it was still raining, but at least the generator was humming happily along. And the wind had stopped. It looked like the day after the end of the world, with tree branches scattered everywhere and only a faint glow of candlelight or weak power from a generator shining eerily in windows.

  Phone calls and texts had gone out. No church service that morning. Unlike the Driftwood, the church didn’t have a generator, and Pastor Paul Welch and his leadership team had decided their members could be just as spiritual at home, huddled by the fire, as they could sitting in a freezing sanctuary. Good call, Pastor.

  Jenna probably wouldn’t have gone anyway. She had too many things to do, like checking on everyone at the Driftwood and putting together a plan for who would go where. Maybe it wouldn’t come to that, but she wanted to be ready in case it did. She’d finished with her housing assignments and was in the kitchen with Aunt Edie, listing their supplies, when Damien called.

  “It’s all over the news. You guys really took it bad down there.”

  “The whole town’s out of power, but that’s nothing new. We had power outages in Lynnwood,” she said. She remembered one when she and Damien were first married. It had lasted two days, but they hadn’t cared. They’d played cards by candlelight and had wild monkey sex. He’d sketched a picture of her naked.

  Someone new was posing naked for Damien now, but who cared? Jenna had an offer on the table of Tahiti and a bikini. She half wished she’d taken it.

  “So, should I bring Sabrina back?”

  Yes. But of course, there was no point when the road into town was impassable. Jenna explained the situation to him, and they agreed it would be best to wait. “I’ll call you when the power’s on again,” she said. If her cell phone was still charged. And what if the road didn’t get cleared before Christmas?

  But surely it would. The idea of not having her daughter with her at Christmas was too depressing to contemplate. And the idea of still having their guests stuck at the Driftwood was nearly as depressing. Don’t go there, she told herself. The power company would get busy, the road would get cleared, and she would get rid of the headache she’d awakened with.

  She dropped in on her guests, who all greeted her hopefully, sure she was bringing good news. Instead, she was merely instructing them to come to the office if the generator ran out of gas.

  “How likely is that to happen?” asked the woman who never smiled. To her daughter, who was by her side, she said, “Miranda, don’t stand in the cold doorway,” and the little girl, who’d been smiling and happy to greet their visitor, dropped the smile and slumped her way back to the trundle bed Jenna had brought in for her.

  The husband was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he’d run away. If so, Jenna didn’t blame him.

  “I mean, aren’t you supposed to be prepared for this sort of thing?” the woman demanded.

  “We were. We are. We’re trying,” Jenna ended lamely. Yes, list-maker that she was, replacing the generator with something more powerful should’ve been at the top of her list. She should at least have been pricing them. But she’d been too busy organizing a festival. Ah, priorities.

  But no generator could run indefinitely if the pumps at the gas station weren’t working.

  “Well, thanks,” the woman said, sounding far from grateful, and shut the door, leaving Jenna on the doorstep feeling both inadequate and irritated.

  “I hate my job,” she told Seth when she stopped by his room with corn chowder from Aunt Edie.

  The room looked manly and welcoming. It wasn’t cutesied up as much as the others. No sand dollar bedspread, just a plain brown one. The lamps on the nightstands were mismatched but cool. One was an antique oil lamp that had been converted to electric, and the other had a simple brass base. A framed picture of two women who were probably his mom and sister sat next to it, along with a thermos, and a book lay open on the bed. No clothes on the floor, or take-out bags. Seth Waters had made a good and simple life for himself by the sea.

  “You’re still riding a steep learning curve,” he said to Jenna. “You’ll get this all sorted out eventually.”

  “How much longer do you think we have until the generator dies?”

  He shrugged. “I’d have to see the manual that came with it. Probably a few more hours. You got a Plan B yet?”

  “Yes, but I sure hope I don’t have to use it.”

  “Well, like my grandma always said, expect the best but prepare for the worst.”

  “I wish your grandma was here to help us,” Jenna grumbled. She hesitated at the door. “Am I whining?” She hated whining, especially when she was the one doing it.

  He grinned. “Maybe a little, but you’re allowed. It’s called letting off steam.”

  “I like that better than whining.” But really, she was whining. No more of that, she told herself. She didn’t have time for it.

  Come afternoon, she was in the office, bundled in a hat and coat and gloves, working by the light of a propane lantern and debating whether or not to distribute candles to the rooms. What if someone put their candle near the curtains and set the room on fire? On the other hand, what if someone tripped in the dark and broke a wrist? She should invest in some little flashlights for the rooms in case this happened again. But maybe it wouldn’t if she got a decent generator.

  Too late, she thought grimly as the lights winked out in the rooms. There would now be a stampede to the office. Thankful she’d charged her cell, she pulled it out and called in her reinforcements. All three promised to come immediately and drive people to their homes. Each of those homes would be overflowing, and Jenna couldn’t help feeling grateful that a few of her guests had escaped before the road became impassable. Who knew where she’d have put them?

  She’d just finished her May Day calls when the first guests showed up, a couple with a toddler. “Our power’s gone,” said the mother.

  “Don’t worry. We have a great place for you to stay until it comes back on,” Jenna assured her. “And this woman loves babies.” Tyrella kept hoping for grandkids, but so far her son in South Carolina was not cooperating. She’d be thrilled to have a little one in the house to fuss over.

  Ne
xt came Darrell Wilson. “I guess you’re aware that the power’s off.”

  “I’m afraid our generator’s run out of gas, and we can’t get any more because the pumps at the gas station are down.” Now was when he’d erupt, threaten to sue her, come across the counter and throttle her.

  Instead, he said, “These things happen.”

  This man was a treasure.

  “Is there any place in town that has fireplaces in the rooms?” he asked. “Maybe we can move.”

  “We are moving you. To my house. It’s right next door,” she said, pointing across the parking lot, “and we’ve got a fire going in the woodstove. Go on over. My great-aunt loves company, and she’ll give you something hot to drink as soon as you get there.”

  His face was the picture of relief. “Thanks,” he said, and hurried out of the office.

  Jenna called over to the house. “Our first guests are on their way,” she said to Celeste, when she answered. “Tell Aunt Edie to have tea or hot chocolate ready. Mrs. Wilson’s just gone through chemo and she feels like crap.”

  “We’ve already got the mugs out and bowls full of pretzels and peanuts on the coffee table.”

  “Good. Because it’s going to be a regular invasion.”

  “We’re ready. I’ve got the list of who’s sleeping where. I’ll get everyone settled.”

  Celeste actually sounded excited. No surprise. She loved to party, and in her mind this was going to be one big party. Jenna decided not to burst her bubble. Keeping eleven strangers happy under less than ideal conditions wasn’t going to be an easy feat.

  More people showed up, and Jenna had accommodations ready for all of them. “I can guarantee your hosts will make you feel welcome,” she said to the growing crowd.

  Brody piloted guests to his place in his hot red Mustang, thrilling both a fourteen-year-old boy who opted to ride with him and a sixty-seven-year-old man who’d talked fondly of the ’Stang he’d had when he was young. Thank God Brody had such a big house. He’d be taking most of the Driftwood Inn evacuees. Tyrella had a van and stuffed it full of people and luggage. Just as Jenna had thought, she was delighted to take the couple with the toddler.