by McCall Hoyle
My pulse throbs in my neck. Zeke stands in the distance, too far away to yell advice over the earsplitting engine, too far away for me to make out his facial expression either. I look to Finn in the rearview mirror a second time. I think he nods.
And I go for it.
I just do it.
I stomp on the gas.
The truck rocks and bucks. The engine shrieks. But nothing happens. The post doesn’t budge.
“Grrrrrr.” Hanging on to the steering wheel for dear life, I lift my butt off the seat for better leverage and manage to press the gas pedal the last half-centimeter to the floor. In the time it takes me to blink, the truck lurches forward, rocketing across the sand. My heart races. The truck races. But my brain remains frozen, suspended for a millisecond before it fires the signal to my foot to brake.
Lifting my foot off the gas, I stomp the brake, desperate to stop before I hit the stand of saplings and scrub brush head-on. The truck halts suddenly, and the massive fence post whiplashes, smacking the back of the truck with enough force to slam me chest first into the steering wheel.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Words, like nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.
ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON
I grip my side, gasping for air, but nothing’s happening. I can’t breathe. I can’t speak.
I collapse against the seat. When I do, my lungs open enough to suck in half a breath. Something’s squeezing my chest. I struggle to breathe. “Oh, God!” I moan, certain I’ve injured myself. But each plea for help carries a bit more oxygen to my lungs, and I realize I haven’t broken ribs or punctured a lung. I knocked the wind out of myself.
I close my eyes and concentrate on inhaling and exhaling.
“Sophie? Sophie! Are you okay?”
I open one eye. Finn stands on the running board, peering in at me. If his eyes open any wider, they might pop out of his face.
I strain to form something resembling a smile, but don’t have the energy. “I knew you cared, Wild Man,” I croak.
“Not funny. You scared the crap out of me. I thought you hurt yourself or—” His jaw clenches, like he’s imagining the worst.
“I’m surprised you didn’t try mouth-to-mouth,” I say, my voice a tiny bit less bull-froggy.
He jerks as if I slapped him, then squints at me carefully. “Wait. Was that a joke?”
A genuine smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.”
When he drops from the running board to the sand, we’re eye level. “And you took down that beast of a fence.”
He lifts the door handle, pulling the door open.
I shake my head. “We took down the fence.”
He lifts my arm from the steering wheel and drapes it over his shoulders. Then he’s half guiding, half carrying me to Zeke and Guillermo. “My tough old girl died just before you gunned it. You did that all by yourself.” He waves his free hand in the direction of the overturned fence post and the long section of cable stretched across the sand.
“It doesn’t matter when the Blazer died.” I stop and wait for him to meet my eyes. “I couldn’t have . . . I mean . . . I wouldn’t have ever done that without you.”
He nods and maintains eye contact. We stand like that for several seconds. Then I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him, thankful that he doesn’t ask questions or push me away. He seems to understand my desire for silence. I release his neck in favor of his hand.
Zeke beams as we approach. “Good work, kids.” He pulls both of us in for a hug, apparently not caring how long it’s been since any of us had a shower. Guillermo stands watching from a safe distance.
“Now what?” I ask.
“Guillermo goes back where he belongs. I toss out a bunch of hay in hopes of drawing the bachelor band this way.” He points to the ridge in the distance. “Then we let nature take her course.”
“And we head to Manteo?” I ask.
“You and Finn head to Manteo in my truck. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on things and go check out the shack if I feel up to it.”
Finn and I help Zeke transfer water, hay, and first aid necessities from Franken-truck to the Blazer. The Blazer is pretty much a hollowed-out shell now, but all Zeke needs is a place to rest and store supplies, so it works perfectly for him.
“Catch you on the flip,” he says, patting Finn on the back before turning to me. “Thanks, Sophie. You did a good thing.”
“You’re welcome. I was glad to help.” And I was. Rescuing Guillermo gave me a real taste of what it would feel like to be a veterinarian, and it boosted my confidence too. I resolve to talk to Doc Wiggins about creative paths to vet school when things settle down.
After we say our good-byes, Finn and I head for the monster truck. We haven’t technically spoken since we were reunited, and I have to say something before I chicken out.
“Uh . . . Finn?”
“Yeah?” He slows down a bit.
“You remember our conversation when we were trying to get your Blazer back on the road?” Of course he remembers. He thinks I shot him down.
“Yes.”
“It’s not a deal breaker.”
He cocks his head, the familiar crease forming between his eyebrows.
“The genetic thing—it’s not a deal breaker. I want to be friends . . . or whatever . . .” Heat rises on my neck. I sound like I’ve reverted to third grade and am communicating through those check-box messages. Do you like me? Check yes or no or maybe. “What I’m trying to say is I’m not quitting you.”
He squeezes my hand, pulling me to a stop. “Even without guarantees?”
“Even without guarantees . . . and . . .” My palm sweats, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or if he does, it doesn’t bother him.
“And?”
“You’re semi-irresistible.” I repeat almost exactly what he suggested I say earlier on the side of the road.
He bursts out laughing. When he pulls me under his arm for a side hug, his whole face lights up, including his dark green eyes. “And sexy?”
“Let’s not get too crazy.”
“Okay—not too crazy.” He playfully pokes me in the side. “You ready to hit the road?”
“Beyond ready.”
He gestures toward Zeke’s truck. “Your carriage awaits.”
It’s not a glass carriage, and I don’t feel like Cinderella. But who needs a carriage when you have an indestructible Franken-truck?
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON
Squinting into the wind blowing through Franken-truck’s mesh windows, I study the buildings and landscape as we head south. My mind reels at the stark contrasts. In some places, homes are leveled, stoplights are smashed on the road like Legos, and vehicles are overturned. Then a quarter mile down the road, some random house stands perfectly unscathed, looking out over the surrounding destruction, and asking what happened?
Finn’s not speeding, or teasing me, or jerking the steering wheel today. He drives well below the speed limit, scanning the road for downed power lines and other dangers. We stick to the main bypass, only detouring if a portion is blocked. The rain has finally stopped, but standing water covers large sections of the road. When we stop at an intersection, there’s no wind. It’s like Zeke said—things are always changing.
One minute the wind blows, knocking down buildings. The next minute it’s drying puddles after the storm. One minute it’s blowing families apart. The next it’s blowing a handful of random people together, teaching them to work together and opening their eyes to new ways of thinking.
Finn slows almost to a crawl, creeping around a bicycle lying on its side in the middle of the road. We’ve yet to encounter survivors or emergency personnel. Amid the chaos and destruction in the heart of Kitty Hawk, a flock of seagulls gathers in an empty parking lot—specks of white on a sheet of black asphalt.
“I guess it’s a good sign the gulls
are back,” I say, pointing at the birds.
Finn nods but keeps his eyes glued to the road.
We pass the turn to school, and I wonder how Yesenia weathered the evacuation. She probably made a game out of it, or a party, or used it as an opportunity to check items off her bucket list.
Her bucket list.
Priority number one on her bucket list: Ask someone to the dance.
It would be fun to rock Yesenia’s world—to go straight to the top of the list. She may never believe me, but it’s worth a shot.
“When do you think we’ll go back to school?” I ask, easing myself toward the epic question.
He shrugs. “Maybe next week—you know how islanders are about getting back to business.”
The bridge to Manteo comes into view, completely unharmed by the storm of the century, like a tribute to modern-day engineering.
“You’re ready to go back to school?” he asks, gripping the steering wheel with two hands. He hugs the side of the road to avoid a downed sign.
“I don’t know yet. I guess it depends on Mom and Mere and how much we have to do at the house.” I swallow reflexively. I know Finn likes me. So why is this so terrifying? “Well . . . uh . . . if we have the dance next week, do you want to go?” I just spit it out.
“Huh?”
Franken-truck mounts the bridge and begins her ascent. Whitecaps froth the Albemarle Sound beneath us. If I didn’t know better, I’d think we were crossing the ocean, not a shallow coastal inlet.
“Do you . . .” Spit out the rest, Sophie. “If we have a dance, do you want to go? With me, I mean?”
Finn stops the truck on the empty bridge. “Really?”
“Really.”
He takes one hand off the steering wheel to squeeze my hand. I lace my fingers through his as we start moving again, and just like that we’re cresting the bridge and descending. Sandbags and police cruisers block the road into Manteo. The grumpy old guy who was willing to go down with his house would be happy to know the cops are being super conscientious about who gets on the island to ward off looting before it starts. It looks like they’re not letting anyone from the mainland onto the islands. Eventually, they’ll allow people with proof of residence in areas deemed safe and then go from there. Thankfully, they wave us toward the mainland.
Even though I told Mom I was safe, albeit days ago, and even though she knows cell towers have been out, she must have been worried sick. So seeing her and Mere pressed up against the temporary barriers just past the police cruisers comes as no surprise. I wouldn’t put it past her to be the first person to request access across the bridge. My heart soars when I see her messy ponytail and baggy Horse hair, don’t care sweatshirt.
The small crowd gathered at the blockade watches our approach.
When I step out of Franken-truck, Mom’s hands fly to her mouth. I break into a run. Finn follows close behind.
“Sophie! Sophie!” Mere waves. She clutches a sweater to her chest.
Without slowing down, I wave back.
The air whooshes from my lungs when I spot the clean-shaven, bright-eyed man standing behind her. And although his face is pinched with worry, his clothes are clean and his posture straight. I haven’t seen this version of Dad in over a year.
My jaw tightens. I’m not prepared for this. I don’t know what to say to him or how to act. I slow to a walk. Finn catches up.
“You okay?” he asks, seeming to sense something’s not right.
“My dad’s here,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
His eyes dart to the onlookers. “Are you good with that?”
“I’m not sure. I think.” My eyes lock on Dad’s frozen expression. He looks like he might crack down the middle.
Mom barrels toward me, tears streaming down her face. When she grabs me and pulls me against her chest, I lose sight of him.
“I was so worried.” She tightens her hold on me.
“I’m fine, Mom.” And I am.
Dad hangs several steps behind her, but Mere jumps into the group embrace with more enthusiasm than I’ve seen from her in a long time. Dad and Finn wait, seeming to understand we need a minute together. When I smile over Mere’s shoulder at Finn, he flashes a thumbs-up.
Dad steps forward. His hand lifts as if he’s going to touch my shoulder, but he catches himself. “Hi, Soph,” he says.
I blink. I’ve practiced a million cold, spiteful comebacks in hopes that one day I’d have the opportunity to use one of them on him. My lips part, but most of the resentment’s gone.
I swallow. “Hi . . . Dad.”
I’m not welcoming him home with open arms, but I’m not shutting him out either. Reconciling with an absentee father wasn’t exactly on Yesenia’s bucket list, but she’d be proud of me anyway for taking the emotional risk.
I pull back from Mom and Mere, motioning Finn forward. “Do y’all remember Finn?”
“Yes! Yes, of course,” Mom says.
Mere smiles and nods. Dad stands there, apparently uncertain whether he’s part of the y’all.
“Finn, this is my family.” I gesture toward all three of them.
When I glance over at Finn, a hint of sun breaks through the clouds above his head. It’s the first time I’ve seen the sun in two days. Or is it three?
I’ve totally lost track of time.
And I’m good with that. In fact, I’m better than good.
I’m perfectly content to lose myself in this moment, surrounded by people I care about. There will be plenty of time tomorrow, and the next day, and the next for clocks, schedules, calendars, and alarms.
Right now, I choose to ride this perfect wave and to enjoy the blush of sun on my cheeks.
I choose my family.
And Finn.
And kairos.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
’Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON
It’s amazing how the storm of the century shook up our lives. We still have tarps on the barn roof and fences that need to be patched. We lost a good saddle and some other tack. But two weeks after the super storm, the barn, house, and school are mostly back to normal. My physical world suffered damage but nothing that power tools and hard work won’t eventually fix. My emotional world, on the other hand, evolved into something completely new and different.
I glance at myself in the full-length mirror, checking to make sure my lip gloss goes with my sleeveless peach dress, completely unembarrassed by the angry bruises and the long scab on my shoulder. In fact, I’m kind of proud of my injury. It’s a reminder that no matter how horrible things look in the middle of a storm, chances are the sun will eventually peek out again.
“You look pretty,” Mere says from her spot on my bed.
Jim completes a couple of circles on my faded quilt, then curls into a ball at her hip. Mere rests her hand on his head. Smiling, I join them on the edge of the bed.
We sit together in comfortable silence.
The breeze carries Mom’s laughter floating in through the open window. She and her friend Carla sit on the front porch, drinking sweet tea and talking about whether to order seafood or Mexican for dinner. Two moms hanging out together on a Friday night might not be a big deal in most families, but it’s huge at the March house. Mom seems to be squeezing out of her shell and starting to take some time for herself, to be with friends and get out into the world again instead of just focusing on me and Mere and all our troubles. Of course, she’s been super busy putting our lives and the business back together, but I think the hurricane changed Mom too. She told me the storm made her realize she needed to stop focusing on what she lost and start appreciating what she did have. We hugged and cried until the tears on our cheeks ran together, but it was a good cry—the kind that left me feeling hopeful for her. For me. For all of us.
“That’s Finn,” I say when a car rumbles underneath the house.
Mere nods and scratches Jim behind the ears but makes no effort to leave t
he comfy spot on my bed. Even she has seemed a little happier these days. I’ve been wondering if Mere just needed a little room to breathe. Mom and I have been so busy putting the barn and house together that there hasn’t been time to fuss over her, and honestly, Mere seems the better for it. She’s getting her independence back slowly but surely, something we probably should have helped her do long ago.
“Have fun,” she says as I stand to leave.
I smile at her again. “I will.” I lean down to give her a quick peck on the check before I head out to meet Finn.
When I grab the Sadie Hawkins dance tickets off the fridge, I see where Mom wrote Dad’s number on the calendar for us. She and Dad have been texting and talking on the phone. He hasn’t been home. None of us are ready for that, but it’s good to know where he is, how he’s doing, and that if we reach out in an emergency, he’ll be there. When she contacted him about my being stranded on the island, he drove down from Virginia and immediately started organizing people to look for me. Thankfully, it hadn’t come to that.
“Hey, you look good, Bookworm,” Finn says when I step out on the deck.
The ocean breeze brushes my hair and face. The high temperatures finally broke after the storm, and the cool air feels nice on the heat rising on my cheeks. After a long pause, I find my voice. “You too, Finn.”
And he does look really good. His black hair is shorter now and perfectly frames his eyes, making their green pop against his tan skin and highlighting the strength of his nose.
Mom and Carla stare at us all starry-eyed, like they’re remembering high school dances of their own.
“Have fun,” Mom says without standing. “And be careful.”
“We will,” Finn says, lacing his fingers through mine.
And we will. Finn’s still Finn, thank goodness. But it seems like the storm or our time together has affected him as well. For one thing, he keeps his mom’s car, which he’s been driving since the storm, cleaner than he ever kept his own. For another, he’s been trying to eat a little better—at least when we’re together.