A Sea Change

by Annette Reynolds

  Nick nodded.

  “It’s not too late, Nicky. Call her right now. Tell her you’re sorry. Tell her you want to start again.”

  “What if she won’t take me back?” he asked.

  “Then it’s her loss,” Kay replied without hesitation.

  Nick smiled as he rose from the chair. Kissing his sister on the cheek, he said, “I’m not so sure about that.”

  He sat on the arm of the couch and dialed the phone one more time. Again, it rang and rang. No answer, and for some strange reason, no machine picked up.

  “Hey, Nick?”

  He looked over his shoulder to see a bleary-eyed Tom standing in the doorway of the family room.

  “How was your nap?”

  Tom yawned as he stepped onto the carpeting. “Listen, I was channel-surfing, and CNN says the Northwest’s been hit by a really bad storm.”

  Nick put the receiver down and stood.

  “How bad?”

  Tom picked up the remote control and switched on the television.

  “See for yourself.”

  Chapter Fifty

  The clock on the kitchen stove stopped at exactly 8:18 p.m., the moment the first power line snapped. It broke and hit the cold, wet ground; a noise with the decibels of a sonic boom followed. When the live wire bounced up and smacked the snow again it repeated its thunderous death rattle. The house was plunged into a darkness so complete, even the fire in the hearth couldn’t penetrate it. Not at first.

  Maddy’s book jumped from her fingers as she drew in a sharp breath. The noise was familiar, like a cannon being fired at close range, but it made no sense. When her body was finally able to move, just after the second round, it didn’t know which message to obey first: hide or flee.

  Her hand shook as she lit a candle. She ran to the French doors and peered out, her breath fogging the panes, but there was nothing to see except a black void.

  Grabbing the heavy-duty flashlight from the mantle, Maddy flung open the front door. Her right foot came down on the porch, touched it, and flew out as if repelled. She clawed at the doorframe, held her ground, but dropped the light. Maddy watched in fascination as it skittered and spun across the thick sheet of ice that had turned the ordinary boards into something treacherous.

  Then her ears picked up a foreign sound. In the hush of nighttime it seemd to grow and clamor, until it drowned out anything else. She didn’t need the flashlight to see the arcing power line. It lit up the path like a large, blue sparkler. But it was only one note in the disharmony she was hearing.

  On hands and knees, Maddy reached for the torch, then played it up into the woods.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered.

  There had been a fairy tale from her childhood so frighteningly gorgeous she’d never forgotten it, because it told of something she could never have imagined on her own. Now, the story of the Ice Queen unfolded before her in all its chilling beauty.

  Everything – from the largest tree limb to the most delicate blade of grass – was encased in ice. Saplings bent under their sparkling burden. The scarecrow the neighbor’s children had put together in the fall stood like something out of a horror movie, waiting for the thaw to come to life.

  And then there was the noise. A constant cracking underscored the sudden loud pop of a branch, as it gave up trying to hold on. It would break free, crash through the undergrowth then fall to the ground with a muted tinkle. The sounds went on all around her, like someone walking across giant sheets of bubble wrap.

  Maddy moved the beam next door and saw the icicles hanging from the eaves, some nearly a foot long. Everything the light touched was crystalline. Every piece of wood and metal, coated in a clear glaze. It was the most awesome thing she’d ever seen. Maddy suddenly thought of the mermaid, and knew what she’d be doing tomorrow morning.

  A massive, rippling shiver tore through her, and she crawled back to the doorway. The frozen rain continued, steadily layering everything it touched.

  When Maddy picked up the receiver the phone whispered and crackled, its own way of telling her she’d have to check on Mary by foot. She placed another log on the fire before dressing to go outside once more.

  The trek to Mary Delfino’s house was slow and dangerous. With every step, Maddy stamped her booted foot to break through the ice to the snow underneath. She used a garden stake as a cane. Her eyes went from the frozen sheet beneath her feet to the power lines above her head in a constant vigilant sweep.

  Maddy held her breath as she passed the electrical cobra that weaved and bobbed on the hillside, just a few yards above where she walked. She lost her footing once, slipping on a piece of plyboard someone was using as a sidewalk, and landed with a grunt, never letting go of the flashlight. When she stood, an explosion echoed through the community, almost knocking her off her feet again. She stayed still and waited, but didn’t see any flames. This time it was a noise she recognized. Somewhere high above the beach – probably at Point Defiance – a transformer had blown, and Maddy could hear the keening wail of the sirens begin; another instrument added to the cacophonous symphony.

  Not bothering to knock on Mary’s door, she walked inside, made her presence known, and then stood still for a moment, relishing the solid floor beneath her feet and the relative warmth of the entry.

  Maddy played the light through the hallway until she found Mary’s thermostat. It read fifty-three degrees and didn’t have a calibration below fifty. Not sure what action to take, she quickly made up her mind when she kissed Mary’s cold cheek.

  “Pack some things you need – clothes, medicine – in a small bag. You’re coming with me.”

  Using a slightly bent ski-pole as support, the old woman carefully followed in Maddy’s footsteps. She wore three layers of clothing. That, and the two pair of socks inside her ankle boots slowed her down considerably. As the two women stepped onto the frozen path, Mary had protested when Maddy took the backpack from her and strapped it on.

  Maddy could hear Mary’s labored breaths behind her. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. But the thought of her home alone, hauling wood, trying to stay warm enough kept Maddy moving toward Jaed’s place.

  She matched her pace to Mary’s, saying, “Don’t look up. Keep your eyes on the ground and put your foot exactly where I put mine. I tried to break up the ice on my way over.”

  Ordering Mary onto the couch, Maddy handed her the quilt she’d been using earlier. She could hear her friend’s teeth chattering.

  “There’s still some hot water. It’ll be weak, but I’ll make you some tea.”

  “I can do that.” Mary rummaged through the backpack and unearthed the green box of Murchie’s tea. An uncontrollable shiver shook her.

  “I don’t think so.” Maddy took the tea from her. “Just sit in front of the fire and warm up.”

  As Mary sipped the watery brew, and her body temperature normalized, she watched Maddy. “The power will be out for days down here. The beach is the last place the city workers think about.”

  Maddy was forming a stockpile of candles. “Then it’s a good thing Jaed’s into all this New Age stuff.” She opened a cabinet under the stereo. “Jackpot! God, she could hold midnight mass at the Vatican with all these.”

  Mary laughed for the first time that evening.

  “Hey, I have an idea,” Maddy said, taking the flashlight to the French doors. “I’ll be right back.”

  Under every potted plant on the deck were two bricks. Maddy slipped three or four times, and only fell once, as she piled the bricks inside the door.

  Curious, Mary got up. “What are you doing, Madeleine?”

  “I’m going to build us an indoor barbecue.” She added four bricks to the growing stack. “And get back on the couch.”

  “I can help.”

  Maddy glanced at Mary and knew by the look on her face there was no stopping her. “Find the oldest pan Jaed’s got – I think there’s one with a metal handle under the stove – and fill it with water.”


  “Yes. Then what?”

  Maddy slip-slid her way back to the doorway, set a few more bricks down, and smiled. “Then, watch in amazement.” She shuffled back across the deck toward the square, kettle barbecue.

  The crusty grill from the barbecue sat a few inches higher than the logs, on brick legs. The water was already beginning to steam. The knock on the door barely got their attention as they both stared at the pan in delight. A louder knock brought Maddy reluctantly to her feet.

  “Just checking up on folks,” Norm Nelsen said, stamping his feet against the cold.

  “Come on in. Get warm for a minute.”

  “Quite a mess, this is.” He followed Maddy down the hall. “Mary! I was just heading down your way. Can see there’s no need, though.”

  “Would you like a cup of tea, Norman?”

  “No ma’am. Gotta keep moving. I’ve got numbers seventy to ninety to look in on. Glad to see you’re all right.” He stooped to get his face closer to the heat. “By the way, Corina says we’re still on for dinner tomorrow. Turkey got cooked tonight, before the power went. And we’ve got the woodstove firing on all cylinders. One o’clock. As planned.”

  Maddy sat in the armchair wrapped in the quilt Mary had been using. The mechanical sounds a house makes in the still of the night had been replaced by the hissing and popping of fir and alder. The sharp spattering of sleet against the windows had stopped around eleven. She watched her friend for a moment, Mary’s long body lost somewhere under the down comforter, and envied her ability to sleep.

  The fire burned brightly with the fresh fuel she’d placed on it minutes before. Deep inside one of the logs, internal combustion took place with a loud report followed by a sybillant sigh. She turned her gaze back to the hypnotic warmth.

  Maddy was wired. Her watch told her it was long past bedtime, but her mind didn’t want to give up just yet. A slow smile spread across her face and stayed there.

  “Tell me the joke.”

  Mary’s voice startled Maddy. She quickly glanced at her, then away, embarrassed.

  “No joke.”

  “You looked like the Cheshire Cat, Madeleine. What is it?”

  Maddy shrugged, but she knew damned well why she’d been smiling. It just didn’t seem worth talking about.

  “Let me see if I can guess, then.” Mary sat up. “Could it be you’re pleased with yourself?”

  Maddy could feel her face flush. “Go back to sleep, Mary.”

  “All right, dear.” Mary disappeared under the comforter again. A few seconds passed. “I’m proud of you, too, Madeleine.”

  That was it. She felt a huge sense of accomplishment. To someone else, this would probably be fairly meaningless. Just another day, to some people.

  Have to read by candlelight for a few nights? So what. Cook over an open flame for a week? Big deal. Suffer through a little cold weather? What else is new.

  But Maddy was pretty sure that this night would be the one to get her through all the others. Not just during the storm, and its aftermath, but for the rest of her life.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Sunlight etched everything in precise outlines so sharp they seemed to cut at her exposed face. Even with sunglasses, it was hard to look at anything for too long. The world was hard-edged and glittery. Snow encapsulated in cabochon quartz. Maddy’s lungs hurt, yet she’d only walked a few yards.

  The destruction the ice storm wrought was stunning. Massive madrona limbs lay everywhere like dead soldiers waiting for the meat wagons. Whole alders, unable to take the weight of the snow and ice, leaned toward the ground, some with roots partially exposed. Rain gutters sagged from the houses and others had broken off completely. Icicles as thick as her wrist and as long as her arm hung from eaves and decks.

  And there was the noise. Like rice crispies in a bowl of milk amplified a thousand times. The whole beach seemed to be breaking apart as branches snapped and ice expanded. It was a constant, reverberating sound of devastation.

  The path was strewn with debris. Maddy stepped over and around limbs, making slow progress. She slid with every step. One hand clutched the camera bag, the other whatever she could find to stop herself from falling.

  It was early. No one on this end of the beach was stirring yet. But she knew they’d be out soon enough. They’d want to see for themselves exactly what Nature had done to their homes.

  Sleep had been an on and off thing, and she’d spent much of the night gazing out her bedroom window. Salmon Beach, usually so dark as to require some kind of artificial light, became a stage-lit scene in the snow. The sky radiated an unearthly pale pink. The snow caught the color and refracted it until everything glowed. Maddy had finally given up on rest when the first light hit the bluffs across the Narrows. Mary slept on as Maddy rekindled the fire, put another full pot of water on to heat, and fed the cat. She left a note: Taking photos. Be back soon.

  The tide was out just far enough for Maddy to walk around the mermaid. The rocks were even harder to traverse than the icy path. They caught at her feet, turned her ankles, made her swear, but the pain was worth it.

  Snow had settled on the mermaid’s upturned tail, her head, lap, and breasts. Like everything else, she was encased in a diamond glaze. Small stalactites of ice hung from her raised arms. Her frozen beauty captivated Maddy like never before. She took the glove off her right hand and fished the camera out. With stiffening fingers, Maddy began composing. She only managed to push the shutter four times before it froze.

  Kneeling, Maddy gently placed the camera back inside the bag. From her supplicant pose she looked up at the mermaid once more: A Thanksgiving prayer to a goddess in touch with nature.

  Please. Let Danny be someplace else. Someplace warm.

  She’d thought about him most of the night. Worried about him in that specific way mothers did with their children, the ones who’d grown up and moved far away. The ones with lives of their own, out of arm’s reach but always protected in the heart. It was a new way of thinking for Maddy, and it felt right.

  They took up every available seat in the Nelsen’s family room, but it didn’t seem crowded. More guests than originally planned for lounged on sofas, armchairs, deck chairs, even campstools. It was a big room, made for entertaining, and the woodstove provided the focal point. As conversation ebbed and flowed through the group, sooner or later everyone’s eyes turned back to the box that emitted a steady warmth. They watched it with the greatest of interest, the way people used to watch the radio.

  The stove had heated yams and rolls, boiled water for tea and hot chocolate. When Susan Logan expressed a yearning for a latte, Corina Nelsen unearthed an espresso pot that had been in vogue twenty years earlier, before the world had jumped on the coffee-craze bandwagon and demanded two-hundred dollar machines for their homes. She simply filled it, set it on the stove, and proceeded to fulfill Susan’s wish.

  Maddy sat on a pillow, her back against a chest of drawers. She watched two of the Nelsen’s dogs clean the floor under the dining room table with their tongues, while Jack – the third in their canine family – lay curled next to her. Across the room, Sparky Karlson and George Gustafson were engaged in a heated discussion. Maddy couldn’t hear what they were saying, but knowing George, it had something to do with the merits of war.

  Emily’s grandson, who’d come for a visit with his family and gotten marooned on the beach, had joined Manny and Moe under the table with a fistful of food. Maddy looked on in amusement as the toddler fed huge chunks of turkey to the two dogs. His older sister, obviously wanting nothing to do with him, moved from adult to adult trying to enlist a Monopoly partner.

  Earlier in the day Maddy thought she’d enjoy the solitude of being snowed in, and she came to the Nelsen’s regretfully. Now, Maddy could feel her heart swelling with love for these people. Alone was okay sometimes, but they had shown her the importance of the need of another human being; the give and take of true camaraderie. It was something Maddy didn’t know from her own family. Sh
e’d learned it here.

  Rita Anders handed her a cup of tea and plopped down next to her. “You gonna stay here tonight?”

  “Thanks.” Maddy took a sip. “No, I’m okay at Jaed’s. But I think Mary should. It’s a lot warmer here.”

  Rita nodded. “Just remember, we’re on the list for hot water. Come on up for a shower.”

  “Sounds like heaven,” Maddy said. “I don’t think I could stand my hair another day.”

  The List shouldn’t have surprised her, but she’d been amazed nonetheless. Sometime during the morning the residents compiled an inventory of who had gas hot water heaters, wood stoves, and extra beds. The hardiest of the beach crowd had already been out with sledgehammers and snow shovels to clear the front porches of those who couldn’t themselves.

  “Hey, people! People…” Norm stood next to the stove holding up his hands. “Just heard on the radio. They’re expecting another eight inches by tomorrow night.” Everyone groaned and Norm shrugged. “Sorry. That’s what they’re saying. Oh, and Corina’s picking teams for a game of Pictionary.” More groans, louder than the last, went up. Norm grinned. “I see you all remember the last time we played.”

  “Yeah, well at least Jaed’s not here to analyze every drawing,” someone said, eliciting laughter from the group.

  As Corina Nelsen began reading off the names, the crowd began shifting into position. Susan walked past Maddy and Rita, grumbling, “Why do I always get stuck on the team with the least artistic ability?”

  Maddy heard Donna Walker reply, “Hey, I still remember Nick’s version of ‘raglan sleeve.’ That one cost us the game.”

  “Yeah, but he’s a guy. He didn’t have a clue.”

  “Refresh my memory,” Bill Walker said. “What the hell is a raglan sleeve, anyway?”

  “See what I mean?” Susan said to no one in particular. Then she pointed at Bill’s arm. “Right there. You’re wearing them.”