Tidewater Inn

by Colleen Coble

  “Did that boat get back okay?” McEwan’s voice was slurred and his lids droopy.

  “What boat?”

  McEwan waved his hand to the east. “Saw two men motor by yesterday. They didn’t look like no watermen to me. One was yelling at the other one about how to steer. Didn’t seem to bother the woman who was sleeping though.”

  Alec exchanged a glance with Curtis. Two men and a woman? Could it possibly be Nicole Ingram? Or was the old man out of his head? “Where were they headed?”

  McEwan’s eyes fluttered, then closed. “Out to sea. East.”

  Alec wanted to ignore the information, but what if the men were heading out to dump Nicole?

  The inn was dark and gloomy with the hurricane shutters closed. Libby had never been in a hurricane before, and the breathless quality of the air added to her unease. “I think I’ll sit on the porch and give my stepbrother a call,” she told Delilah, who was instructing the housekeeping staff to ready some extra rooms.

  Delilah nodded and Libby stepped out into the twilight air with the inn’s portable phone in her hand. The sun was almost down and the sound of the cicadas enveloped her as she settled on the swing at the end of the porch. Could the police seriously think she might have hurt Nicole?

  Libby put down the phone and clasped her knees to her chest. She had to figure out a way to prove her innocence. As long as the sheriff was investigating her, his attention wasn’t on the right person. She should have told him about her mess-up with the computer. Everything was spiraling out of control because of her lapse of judgment. She could kick herself.

  She still hadn’t opened the items from her father. There hadn’t been time, and she wanted no interruptions when she took a peek at the letters and the contents of the envelope.

  The sand glimmered in the moonlight. The scene reminded her of when she was a little girl. She and her mom usually spent two weeks along a beach. One year it was California, another year the Texas Gulf, and yet another the cold water of the Pacific Northwest. The various vacations were a kaleidoscope of memories, all slightly hazy with an aura of warmth and love.

  That zany woman with the long braid and beads who had been her mother was hard to reconcile with a parent who would lie and deprive her daughter of all contact with her father. Yet that was the situation, if everything she’d learned today was true. But was it?

  Libby stood and walked restlessly to the other side of the large porch. No matter what, she knew her mother had loved her. In spite of their constant travels and the many men in her mother’s life, Libby’s well-being had always been primary. She would cling to that fact for now.

  Headlamps pierced the gloom and tires crunched on gravel. Her pulse jumped when she recognized Alec’s truck in the glow of the security light. His door slammed, and he went around to the passenger side and helped an old man out.

  Libby met them at the foot of the steps. Alec was assisting the man to the inn. “Is he all right?”

  “This is Mr. McEwan. He lives on one of the unnamed islands. He had a little bit of angina, but the doctor says he’s going to be okay. We generally bring people to the inn during a big blow. I assume that’s still okay?”

  Libby swallowed her disappointment at his distant tone. “Of course. Let me get the door.” She jogged up the steps and held open the front door. “Delilah, we have a guest.”

  Delilah appeared in the entry. “I’ll put him in one of our three downstairs rooms. This way.” She led Alec and Mr. McEwan down the hall.

  Libby wanted to rush to her room and eat a whole bag of jalapeño jelly beans, but she forced herself to walk back to the swing. Hiding away would make her look guilty.

  SEVEN

  The windows in Alec’s house were boarded, and all they could do was wait. Few of the Hope Beach residents had left for the mainland. Too many times they’d evacuated and then been refused entry to their homes for weeks.

  He paced the wood floor in his living room and listened to the wind beginning to pick up outside. The house was on stilts to deal with storm surges, so he and Zach should be okay. It still stood after Hurricane Helene’s visit in 1958, a category 3. This was only a 1. Other 3s over the years, Gloria and Emily, had left the house fairly unscathed as well, so he wasn’t worried, but he couldn’t say the same for Zach.

  Zach put down his game, then picked it up again and glanced toward the boarded windows. “You think we’ll take a direct hit? And what about the smaller islands offshore? Will they flood?”

  The boy’s eyes were wide. Alec still remembered the first hurricane he’d gone through. He was just as nervous as Zach.

  “We’ll be all right,” he assured his nephew. “It’s supposed to give a glancing blow to this side of the island. That’s all. And God is here with us.”

  The boy blinked. He got up and paced to the other side of the living room. “That’s the thing, Uncle Alec. I’ve heard that my whole life, but where was God when my parents went down in that plane? If God loves me, then how could he let them die like that?”

  At least Zach was talking. “He was with your dad in the cockpit. They are with him now. Being a Christian doesn’t mean trouble never comes our way, Zach. It just means God is here, and he gives us the grace to get through the heartache.”

  Zach hunched his shoulders. Alec could feel the boy’s pain. He was an adult, but he’d wrestled with his brother’s death too. Why do bad things happen to good people? It was an age-old question, and every Christian dealt with it sooner or later. Poor Zach had been faced with it much too soon.

  The phone on the end table rang. Alec glanced at the screen. It was Frank Bowden, Zach’s maternal grandfather. Alec’s gut tightened the way it always did when he had to speak with the man.

  “Hey, Frank,” he said. Zach’s head came up when he heard his grandfather’s first name. Alec shot the boy a reassuring smile.

  “Alec.” Frank’s voice boomed in his ear. “I hear there’s a hurricane headed your way. Why haven’t you evacuated?”

  “I’m needed here to help. We’re riding it out.”

  “We?” Frank demanded. “My grandson is there too?”

  “He’s fine.”

  “You have a boat. You could have taken it to the mainland! Or that fancy helicopter you’re so fond of hotdogging in.”

  Alec pulled the phone away from his ear a bit. Frank’s voice had nearly deafened him. “Yes, I could have, but it’s only a category 1. We’ll be fine.”

  “That’s the problem with your family, Alec. None of you ever gives any thought to what’s best for everyone. You think things will automatically be all right.”

  Alec clutched the phone almost tight enough to break it. He couldn’t lose his temper. Frank had his own view of the world. It was varnished tightly in place, and no one was going to change it.

  When Alec made no comment, Frank huffed. “I want to talk to my grandson.”

  Without another word, Alec took the phone from his ear and handed it to Zach. His nephew took it hesitantly. He had an uneasy relationship with his mother’s dad. No one could live up to Frank’s high standards, and Zach had given up trying by the time he was five.

  “Hi, Grandpa,” Zach said. “No, we’re fine. I’m not scared. I want to see what a hurricane is like. It’s only a category 1. We’ll be fine.”

  Alec hid a grin and went out to the back deck. The gray waves crashed over the pier and rolled dirty white foam onto the sand. The tide left flotsam behind as it receded for another attack. A dark sheet of rain that was the first outer band of the hurricane was just offshore and would be on him in a few minutes, but he lifted his face to the wind and exulted in God’s power.

  Such an awesome display. God could choose to spare this little spot or wipe it out. It was all in his control. Alec stared another minute, then the first drops of cold rain struck his face. He returned to the house and got inside just as the deluge hit. The rain thundered on the metal roof. It sounded as though the house was coming in on them, and he began to wo
nder if he’d made the right decision to ride out the storm. Even a storm this weak could kill.

  Zach’s eyes were wide and fearful. “Uncle Alec!” His nephew swallowed hard and handed the phone back to Alec. “It’s Tom.”

  Alec took the phone. “Trouble?” he asked his cousin.

  “We just got word that high tide is going to hit at the same time in the morning as the storm surge.” Tom’s voice was tense and clipped. “And Mr. Carter called. Can you evacuate him to the Tidewater Inn?”

  It was going to be a long night.

  “On my way.” Alec hung up the phone. “I need to help some of the shut-ins. You can wait upstairs in case there’s a storm surge.”

  Zach shook his head. “No way! I’m a man now, Uncle Alec. Let me come along and help.”

  Alec grabbed a yellow slicker and boots. “Get dressed, then.” He tossed Zach’s gear at him. “Hurry.”

  He prayed for those caught in this storm. That no lives would be lost. Property could be replaced, but lives were much more precious.

  The storm would be on them soon. Libby sat in a swing on the expansive porch with her father’s package in her hands. Bob Marley was crooning to her through her iPod earbuds, and the reggae soothed her ragged nerves as she waited for the rain to hit. The windows were shuttered and ready. The generator was gassed up, and the house hunkered down before the coming storm.

  She stared out at the sea. The waves were high, and a few surfers were out braving the massive rollers. Crazy. She watched them for a few minutes, but her task couldn’t be delayed forever. Libby pressed the envelope between her hands and felt something hard inside. A small locket with a photo? A bracelet? She couldn’t tell. She flipped the envelope over and slipped her finger under the flap. It opened easily. She inhaled, then upended the envelope so the contents slipped out onto her lap. A necklace, a notebook, and a letter fell out.

  She picked up the necklace first. There were beads strung on jute. It was quite worn. She rolled one bead over to see an engraved letter on the other side. She could barely make out a J. The letters on the other beads had worn off, and she had no idea what it was supposed to spell. The paper might explain, but she found herself a little reluctant to unfold it and read it—almost frightened, though there was no reason for the pounding in her chest. Who was this man Ray? And why had he deserted her?

  She laid the necklace on her lap, unfolded the letter, and glanced at the greeting. Elizabeth. No one called her Elizabeth. That made the letter even more special in a strange way. Had he called her by her full name when she was a baby? No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t dredge up a memory of the man who had fathered her. Her gut tightened again, and she pressed her lips together. He was dead and gone, unable to hurt her any longer. These were just words on a page. She moved so the porch light shone on the letter and she forced herself to read.

  My dear Elizabeth,

  So here you are in my home. Finally, you are where I’ve longed for you to be these past twenty-five years. My biggest regret in life is that I was not part of your formation, but God assures me he has kept you safe under his wings. I have prayed for you every day of your life, and even now as I face my final days, I desperately pray that you will walk with the Lord. I want to fold you in my arms when you step onto heaven’s golden streets.

  I know there is so much you don’t understand. I trust my sister, Pearl, will fill you in on many of the circumstances that forced me to abdicate my responsibilities. Just know that I have loved you so much even when I’ve been unable to contact you. I hope the inheritance can make up in some small way for my neglect. I know Brent and Vanessa have never really cared for the inn. Somehow, I believe you will love it as I have loved it. Do with it as you will though. It’s yours.

  Perhaps you are wondering what this old necklace means. My wife made it for me in 1992, and it never left my neck until I took it off to give to Horace for you. “What Would Jesus Do?” has been the guiding mantra of my life. As you try to acclimatize yourself to the island and to your siblings, I want you to think about those words in all the challenges you face. Every day, I’d like you to jot down when you succeeded in the right responses and when you didn’t.

  I realize I have no right to ask anything of you. Any rights I might have had were destroyed when I walked away. I make no excuses for my failures. But if you’ll wear this necklace and heed its reminder, it would be the greatest of all the possible legacies I might leave you. Much more valuable than the inn and the land.

  I pray my God keeps and protects you all the days of your life. That you will walk humbly before him and serve him always. Your siblings will take this very hard, so I ask you to be generous in grace toward them. Extend them as much mercy as you can. The transition into the family will be challenging, and I wish I could be here to help with that. But even though I am absent in the body, I’m rooting for you from heaven. I love you, my dear girl, and always have.

  Dad

  Libby’s face was wet, and she choked back the sobs building in her chest. He’d loved her. All these years when she thought he didn’t care, he’d loved her and prayed for her. And had God really assured him that he’d kept her safe? She didn’t understand any of it. Her father said to talk to her aunt, and tomorrow she would ask Alec to introduce them. Pearl. She liked the name and only hoped she could learn to love this unknown aunt—and even more importantly, that her aunt Pearl would love her.

  The jute was rough in her hands. The necklace took on special meaning. Her father had worn it for twenty years. The worn beads had been smoothed by his skin. It was so loved that his fingers had worn off all but one of the letters. But now she knew what they were. WWJD.

  She lifted it to her neck and fastened it. The beads felt warm, almost alive. She’d become a Christian two years ago, but there was so much about faith that she didn’t understand. And she didn’t know if she’d ever stopped to consider what a godly response to any tough situation might be. Too often she reacted without thinking. She fingered the beads. What would Jesus do about this place? How was she supposed to know?

  EIGHT

  Nicole waited in vain for rescue as the wind rose through the afternoon. When the wind had first started to freshen, she was sure someone would be along any minute. But the hurricane was upon her. And she had nowhere to go for safety.

  She peered through the single window of the shack. The sea was much too rough for anyone to come now. She was on her own. She opened the door. The sky was downright scary with black clouds blocking the sun. Tossing waves that left her breathless with fear crowded the shack. The flashes of lightning and rolls of thunder were terrifying, but not as frightening as the thought of drowning. If she didn’t get higher, she was going to die. The surge was already swirling around her feet. The best she could do with her food and water was put it on the cot, but she feared it would soon be underwater.

  She swiped the rivulets of water from her eyes and clung to the door as she stared at the small island. Through the driving storm, she could see a lone palm tree, but the wind had nearly bent it double. No sense in climbing that. More surges of water would be coming through. She had to get on top of the shack. It was her only hope. The sides of the building were rough-sawn boards, but there was a small window ledge that might help her climb. She grabbed hold of the top window frame and hoisted herself up, planting one bare foot on the window ledge. The wind buffeted her back to the ground, and she splashed face-first into the seawater. She came up spitting salt and sand.

  Maybe around back she would be protected from the wind enough to climb. Sloshing through the flood, she hurried to the rear. A plastic five-gallon bucket floated in the water. She upended it, then stepped on its bottom and managed to grasp the low roof. As she hauled herself up, the wind hit her again, driving stinging water into her face.

  She wasn’t going to survive this. Pushing the thought away, she swung one leg onto the roof. She got the other leg up too and lay gasping on the splintered surface with the wind
trying to dislodge her. She forced her fingers and toes into every crevice she could find, but it took every bit of strength she possessed to stay atop the shack.

  She pressed her face into the shingles and held on. If she fell again, she didn’t think she would have the strength to climb, or to survive the night in the water.

  Tidewater Inn seemed to shrug off the effects of the wind, though the storm howled mightily in rage at the way the inn withstood its power. Libby huddled under an afghan on the armchair in the parlor. Mr. McEwan seemed oblivious to the danger as he sat drinking his coffee and eating Delilah’s fresh-baked cookies. The roar outside made her shudder. Where was Nicole in all this? Libby could only hope and pray she was all right.

  Delilah flipped off the television. “The rain has messed up the satellite signal,” she said. “Would you like some cookies, Libby?”

  “No thanks.”

  “I’m always hungry when I’m nervous.” Delilah headed toward the kitchen.

  Libby rose and paced the Oriental rug that covered the oak floor. Please, God, don’t let Nicole be in any danger from this storm. Let us find her alive and unharmed.

  A thunderous pounding came on the front door. She rushed to answer it. Alec stumbled in with a deluge of rain and wet, salty wind. Libby caught a glimpse over his shoulder of the stormy sky and ocean. Scary. Alec was supporting a wizened old man. Zach was behind him with an older lady almost as round as she was tall.

  Alec slammed the door behind them. “I have two more guests for you. I hope that’s still all right.”

  “Of course. We have plenty of empty rooms. Let me fetch some towels.” She raced to the laundry room and grabbed a stack of fluffy towels, then hurried back to the parlor where she helped the elderly couple dry off. A thought flickered through her head. What would taking in people cost her? Could these people afford to pay for the room?