Before the Storm

by Leslie Tentler

  Keeping that promise would soon be out of her control, however. Hurricane Gina was now a category three. Previously, it had been headed north of them—closer to Wilmington, North Carolina, some one hundred and fifty miles away—but it had shifted course that morning and now appeared to be making a beeline for the South Carolina coast. Charleston and its surrounding communities had been issued a warning. A direct hit to the area was predicted, and unless the storm weakened or again went off its trajectory, it would make landfall sometime the following night.

  A mandatory evacuation had been put into place.

  Everything Samantha had in this world was tied up in the café.

  Fortunately, the Sea Breeze Centre had storm shutters as both a preventive measure and architectural complement. From the shop’s kitchen, she could hear the heavy wham of the shutters being secured into place by workers trying to make good use of the last remaining hour of daylight.

  “I put the patio tables in the alley and chained ’em to the Dumpster out back,” Luther said as he came into the kitchen. “That’ll have to do since they’re too big to bring inside.”

  “What about the umbrellas?”

  “Those fit in the utility room.”

  Between serving customers, they’d been making preparations for the better part of the day. Exhausted, Samantha pushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “I think we’ve done about all we can for tonight. But can we start again early in the morning? I was thinking we should try to get some of the appliances off the floor, in case of flooding. We can put two-by-fours underneath them.”

  Luther nodded. “I’ll head on out and stop by Gimbell’s Hardware for the planks on my way home. They’ve got the place open ’til midnight. If they’re sold out, I might have to go into Mount Pleasant.”

  He made a move toward the exit, then turned back. “Sam…tourists are already leavin’. When do you plan on going?”

  “I could ask the same of you.”

  He chuckled lowly. “Don’t worry about me. I was born for this kind of weather. Probably ride the whole thing out at the Shamrock with a beer keg if the police don’t run me off.”

  He eyed Samantha warily, though. “Skinny little thing like you is likely to blow away if you don’t get inland before the winds kick up.”

  She forced a faint smile. “I’m not leaving until the shop’s ready, but your message’s received. I’ll be out by tomorrow afternoon—in plenty of time.”

  Luther picked up a box to haul out to his truck. “I’m probably worried for nothin’, anyhow. Mr. St. Clair’s a good man. He’ll take care of you.”

  As he went out the door, his words made her heart ache. She missed Mark, and she felt sick over her deceit and the way things had ended between them. But she deserved the pain and humiliation that clung to her like a shadow.

  A few moments later, she heard Luther’s ancient pickup spring to life. Once its low rumble faded into the distance, she wandered into the closed storefront, her arms wrapped around her midriff. Her eyes took in the hardwood floors and wrought-iron shelving, the domed refrigerated display counters rimmed with brass. Samantha sighed, a tightness in her throat as she looked at the now-shuttered windows. If Gina managed to do her worst, the shop she had so lovingly designed might look very different once the rain and winds subsided. She might have nothing left. Frowning, she thought of the elegant St. Clair and wondered how Mark was dealing with the approaching storm. She knew the hotel’s main structure was more than a century old and had no doubt seen its share of hurricanes, but she could only imagine the responsibility and worry he carried.

  And I’ve added to that worry. All she could do now was try to remove herself as a source of his problems.

  Needing a distraction, Samantha took some of the jars from the shelves to move them to the windowless storeroom in back. She had already made arrangements to donate the café’s perishables to one of the hurricane shelters inland. If she stuck to her schedule, she would be able to drop the items off on her way out of town tomorrow.

  Filling a cardboard box with bottles of herb-infused olive oil, she began hauling it to the back when a knock sounded at the service door in the kitchen. Samantha set the heavy load on the counter. She wiped her hands on her jeans and went to see who it was.

  To her surprise, Emily grinned up at her. Mercer stood uncertainly behind Emily. She lifted her hand in a tentative greeting.

  “We thought we’d come by and see how you’re faring. I mean, with the storm and all.”

  Mercer’s tone was light, but her blue eyes, so much like Mark’s, appeared solemn and questioning.

  “I’m fine, thanks.” Samantha bent to give Emily a hug. She wondered how much Mercer knew by now, what Mark might have told her. If she did know, then Samantha was truly shocked to see her. Flustered and uncertain, shame heating her face, she focused on Emily.

  “It’s good to see you, sweetie. Are you getting packed for a trip somewhere?”

  “’Gusta,” she replied, stumbling over the name of Augusta, Georgia, which was farther inland. Mark had mentioned he had an aunt there who lived in the city’s Historic District.

  Emily looked hopeful. “You…come, too?”

  Samantha’s heart pinched, but she did her best not to show it. “I’m afraid I can’t. But I’m sure you’re going to have a wonderful time.”

  “You know what?” Mercer spoke up. “I bet Sam’s got a treat for you in the store somewhere.”

  Samantha straightened. “There’re some crayons out front. I think there might be a cookie for you, too.”

  They went into the café. As soon as they’d gotten Emily settled with a treat and glass of milk, Mercer and Samantha went to stand near the cash register.

  “I still can’t believe she’s talking,” Samantha marveled in a low voice, observing as Emily scribbled on one of the drawing pads she kept for restless children. The little girl held a crayon in one hand and a heart-shaped sugar cookie in the other, and Samantha said a silent prayer of gratitude for her progress.

  “Mark took her to the psychiatrist the morning after her breakthrough—Dr. Richardson seemed very pleased. They’re going to assign her a speech therapist in addition to her regular sessions,” Mercer confided. “Samantha…she’s been asking about you. Emily’s perceptive, and she’s been worried about what she saw the other night. I wanted to bring her by and let her see for herself that you’re all right.”

  Samantha nodded her agreement, looking at Emily so she wouldn’t have to meet Mercer’s eyes.

  “You are all right, aren’t you?”

  Releasing a breath, she asked what her heart wanted to know. “How’s Mark?”

  “Not good,” Mercer admitted with a soft shake of her head. “He won’t say much to me, or anyone else, for that matter. He’s tied up with the hurricane preparations, but beyond that, he’s pretty much shut down.”

  Samantha made no reply. Mercer bit her lip pensively.

  “You…need to know something. I found the photo at Mark’s house. I took it with me so Emily would never see it. Then I ran it through the shredder in my office at the hotel.”

  “Thanks,” Samantha whispered. She bowed her head, upset.

  “Mark can be a bit straitlaced, but he’ll get over this. You looked so young in that photo. I know the statistics, how many young girls get pulled into those…kinds of things. What you did years ago has nothing to do with who you are now,” she reasoned, touching Samantha’s arm. “It doesn’t have to define your life.”

  It was clear Mercer was trying to piece together exactly what had transpired between her and Mark, and it sounded as though he had told her nothing. She had only tapped the surface with the photo from the Blue Iris. Samantha recalled Mark’s face when she had confessed to killing Devin.

  I have a little girl, Samantha. I knew you had secrets, but I can’t drag her into something like this.

  Her heart ached all over again.

  “Does Olivia know?” Samantha asked, not wanting Mark’s
mother to make it any worse for him. Unless it was she who hired the private investigator. In some ways, Samantha hoped Olivia was the one. She wanted to hold on to the belief that Mark had trusted her—that he hadn’t been having her investigated even as they’d been lovers.

  “I’m sure Mark didn’t tell her. She seems pretty oblivious.” Mercer pressed her lips together before speaking again. “Carter’s the one who told Mark about all this, I’m certain of it. He’s been moping around the hotel with a black eye, looking like a depressed raccoon. I asked him what happened, but he said he ran into some filming equipment on set. I…noticed Mark’s knuckles were bruised.”

  Her stomach twisted uneasily. Carter. That would explain his recent strange behavior toward her. Samantha felt terrible, knowing she may have been the final crack in Mark and Carter’s already strained relationship.

  “We shouldn’t talk about this,” Samantha insisted quietly.

  Mercer looked at her, emphatic. “If you and Mark won’t talk about it, someone has to.”

  Samantha stared at the storefront’s shuttered windows. Only a weak stream of light filtered in around the edges, telling her it was pushing closer to twilight. She no longer heard the pounding of the workers outside. Samantha forced herself to look into Mercer’s eyes, willing her to understand.

  “Mercer…there’s more to the story than you know. It’s bad. I’m sure Carter will fill you in if you press him. But it’s over between Mark and me, and it really is for the best.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t accept that.”

  “You have to. You’ve been such a help to Mark. He’s going to need your support.”

  Sudden awareness appeared in Mercer’s eyes. “You’re not staying after the storm, are you?”

  At Mercer’s question, Samantha felt a lump form in her throat. She hadn’t told anyone of her decision yet, not even Luther. She raised her shoulders in a faint shrug. “I guess small-town life isn’t right for me, after all. If the hurricane doesn’t cause too much destruction, I’m going to list the business with a commercial broker. The café isn’t very established yet, so I won’t get much for it, but if I’m lucky, it might be enough to cover a decent portion of my bank loan.”

  She touched Mercer’s arm. “You’ve been a good friend to me, Mercer. One of the few I’ve ever had. And it’s good that you brought Emily by so she can see that I’m okay.”

  “Your mind’s made up?”

  Samantha gave a small nod. “I’ll keep in touch with Emily for a while. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to send some letters and cards to you, so that you can read them to her? I…think that would be easier than me just disappearing from her life all at once.”

  Frowning deeply, Mercer studied Samantha’s face. Then she stepped forward and embraced her. She pulled away only at the sound of Emily’s chair scraping backward. The little girl skipped over to them.

  “For ’Mantha.” Proudly, she held out a crayon drawing of something that resembled a cupcake, a mound of pink icing and a candle burning on top. As Emily looked up at her, the pure adoration on her face caused tears to threaten behind Samantha’s eyes. It took every ounce of strength she could muster to offer a tremulous smile.

  “Thank you, Emily.” She felt her hands shake as she accepted the drawing. “I’ll cherish this forever.”

  “We should get going—we’re leaving in the morning. Take care, Sam, all right?” With sad eyes, Mercer gave Samantha a last heartfelt look. Samantha hugged Emily one more time, then watched as the two of them went back into the kitchen, disappearing out the back door.

  Just like that, they were gone.

  Samantha rubbed her hands over her upper arms, hearing only her own heartbeat in the deafening echo of silence. Her life had not been an easy one so far. But right now, in an empty café with shuttered windows, she had never felt more alone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The normally sun-drenched lobby of the St. Clair had been featured in Architectural Digest. Its high, arched windows and sweeping adjacent veranda provided a breathtaking view of the Atlantic. But on this particular morning, the waters appeared choppy, the ocean and sky dark. A dreary mist prevailed. Not even the stained-glass skylight several stories above could dispel the monochrome grayness that was a harbinger of the approaching storm.

  It might be the start of any other rainy beach day, if not for the sense of dread Mark felt and the sight of vacationers scurrying to remove themselves from Gina’s path. Around him, desk clerks efficiently checked out guests while uniformed valets roamed the marble floor, pushing brass carts piled with luggage.

  Twenty-six years ago, the lobby had looked vastly different, with paneled walls, rich tapestries and dark hardwood floors. But that was before Hurricane Hugo, which had completely destroyed the front portion of the hotel and a full wing of guest rooms. Mark had been only a child at the time, but he recalled what his father had told them as he tried to remain dutifully upbeat: Nature has given us the opportunity for a redesign.

  Uncertain whether he had Harrison St. Clair’s fortitude, Mark fervently hoped he wouldn’t see a repeat of such devastation.

  He headed down the hallway only to notice Carter leaning against the wall outside his office. Despite his demand that he leave the hotel, his brother had steadfastly remained, giving Mark the chance to offer an apology for his behavior. Carter had quickly accepted, again voicing concern only about Mark. To himself, Mark conceded that his brother wasn’t responsible for Samantha’s past, only his enlightenment of it. They had reached a fragile truce.

  Carter pushed off from the wall as Mark approached.

  “What’s up?” Mark asked as he checked e-mails on his cell phone, mentally calculating how much time he had to take care of a number of outstanding issues.

  “Mercer clued me in. I came to talk to you. Tell me she misunderstood, and you’re not actually planning to ride this thing out.”

  Even in the hall’s subdued lighting, Mark could see the bruise that still shadowed Carter’s right eye. He flinched inwardly at what he had done. He’d heard—also from Mercer—that the injury had gotten Carter into hot water with the movie’s director. His only saving grace was that filming had to be temporarily halted anyway, due to the approaching storm. Otherwise, his altered appearance could have caused serious production delays.

  “The evacuation’s mandatory,” Carter reminded tensely. “That means everyone. They make anyone who stays sign a waiver that includes contact information for next of kin. That’s for a reason.”

  “That’s for a cat four or five. This is a three—it’s not predicted to be catastrophic.”

  Carter threw up his hands. “Jesus, Mark.”

  Mark couldn’t expect Carter to understand. He didn’t share his mind-set or his obligation. The truth was, Mark hadn’t fully made up his mind. The hurricane’s recent change of course had left them all scrambling.

  “Just because Dad stayed doesn’t mean it was a smart thing to do.”

  “I have a responsibility,” Mark stressed, his voice low. He felt a rise of nostalgia. “Dad entrusted me with running this place. If the damage is bad, it could be days before they let us back in. I’m not going to just leave it open to looters or whatever the hell else—”

  “You’re also the father of a little girl who doesn’t have a mother,” Carter said, his voice tight. “Don’t be an idiot.”

  Releasing a breath, Mark conceded that Carter was right. He’d thought of Emily’s safety and had already made preparations for it. But she needed him, as well. He had been so intent on doing whatever he could to protect the St. Clair that he hadn’t given a lot of thought to his own preservation.

  “People die in category threes. They drown or get electrocuted. Roofs cave in,” Carter pointed out. “And if there are looters, what’re you going to do? Hold them off with Grandpa Aiden’s antique shotgun?”

  “You’re right, all right?” Mark clasped the back of his neck. Considering the hell of the past several da
ys, maybe his judgment was more screwed up than he realized. “I’ll be out well before nightfall. It’s going to take some time to get things locked down here, and to make sure all the guests and employees are out. Mercer and Mom are going to Aunt Lucinda’s in Augusta. They’re leaving soon and taking Emily with them. I’ll join them there later after the traffic has thinned out.”

  Carter narrowed his eyes. “Then I’ll stay with you.”

  “You think I won’t leave?”

  “Yeah, I’m worried about it.”

  “I said I’d go, and I will.” Mark looked at him. “What about you? They’re still letting planes out of the airport until four. I thought you had some meeting in New York.”

  “I don’t want to leave with this mother of a storm barreling down on this place. I’m trying to help you if you’ll let me.”

  “I’m fine,” Mark said absently. “And you can help by getting yourself out of here so I have one less person to worry about.”

  Carter lowered his voice, appearing uncertain. “I don’t want to leave until I’m sure we’re good, too. Mark…I need you to understand that I wasn’t deliberately trying to find something to ruin things for you. I thought I was doing the right thing by just checking out Sapphire. I ended up opening a portal to hell.”

  Mark felt the persistent ache he’d been carrying around inside him worsen.

  “I understand,” he assured him. “And you were right. I needed to know. But I don’t want you telling anyone else what you found out about her.”

  “Like I told you before, it stays between us.”

  He nodded, believing that Carter would keep his silence. Neither of them wanted to expose Samantha. He’d relayed to Carter what she had told him, about getting involved with the wrong people when she was still basically a kid. That she had killed a violent man in self-defense and gone into hiding out of fear of reprisal or imprisonment. Carter had asked about the money she had supposedly taken, but Mark had no answer. At this point, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. The approaching storm had taken precedence over everything.