****
Meg rushed into the house and looked around. Her home for the last few years had been the place of the happiest time in her childhood. Here Mariam had taught her to garden and make bread. She had spent hours in the hammock on the front porch when she could get away from her father. When Mariam was home on the weekends, she would knit and hum as Meg rocked back and forth in the sea breeze. It was here that she learned her love of the sea, and here that she felt she belonged. She was like the tiny crabs in the tide pools left behind after the tide went out. She was more comfortable in her tiny beach house than she was in the giant ocean of humanity that was on the mainland. She sighed. Would she ever return to this house? A hurricane had never hit this tiny place head-on like they were warning this time. The house was in bad condition, and it might not take too much to demolish it.
But, she needed to look for the documents in the locker under the bed; there would be time enough for reminiscing later. That was something else Mariam had taught her—your thoughts and memories were your own. No one could take them away from you.
On her knees beside the bed, she pulled the locker out from under the bed and began the search for her father’s ledger and receipts. There were Jon’s baby pictures and the one picture she still had of Evan. He was never much for having his picture taken, but at least she had one. As she ran her thumb over his face, she thought her memories of him had dimmed. She could not remember his face the way she used to, and the way he touched her when they made love. It broke her heart to think that she could ever forget him, and yet she remembered Mariam’s lesson that your thoughts and memories were your own.
There was a backpack in the closet that had been Jon’s when he was a child. She wondered why she had kept it, until now. Opening the door of the closet, she reached for the light and realized just how dark it was getting in the middle of the day. The clouds were rolling in at a much faster rate than she had expected and then the winds changed direction again. With a clap of thunder, the lights went out in the bungalow.
Chapter 34
“I really like these and want to take them with me today.” The man in the loafers without socks stepped back from the painting again.
“Well then, let’s wrap them up,” Tom said.
“And maybe this one too,” he said slowly, rubbing his chin and taking off his tortoise shell glasses.
“Listen.” Alex was getting antsy. “There is a hurricane in the gulf and it is headed our way. If you want these paintings, let’s load them and you need to be heading north. This weather is not going to wait on any of us.”
The rail-thin man in the seersucker suit looked irritated and breathed deeply, letting it out slowly. “Okay, if you insist,” he grumbled. “But maybe that one too.”
“Let’s do it!” Alex almost shouted. “I have to get back to the island to get Meg. Tom, can you do the honors? I’ve got to go.”
“Of course, and I’ll take the rest of them to the basement.”
“Mr. Blair, it was a pleasure and I’m sure we’ll see each other again, hopefully under better conditions. Tom will help you pack up, and I suggest you head north in that rented car and not look back until you reach safety,” Alex ran for the van and pointed it toward the ferry.
Screeching to a stop at the ferry parking lot, he got into the short line going back to the island.
“Last trip, Mack!” called the tugboat captain, gesturing. “This is the last trip out and we won’t wait long to return. So if you’re sure you want to go, you’d better hurry.”
The planks rattled as Alex drove onto the almost empty ferry. The crew directed him to his spot to make the ferry as balanced as possible. Alex put on the emergency brake, wondering how much good it would do if the boat capsized in the storm. As the sky darkened, the wind whipped the waves into a wild frenzy. The man with the gray pony tail backed up behind the wall and remained out of sight. Only crazy people would go back to the island now—back into the mouth of the lion. And they were some of the crazy ones.
The time it took to get to the island seemed to double, pushing against the ever increasing wind. The salt spray covered everyone and everything on the ferry as they pushed forward. Alex used his windshield wipers several times so he could see out.
Finally, arriving at the island Alex drove off the ferry quickly. He stepped out of the vehicle and stood looking at the dock for Meg. His plan was to grab her and head back as soon as the tugboat captain said they could leave. But, the dock was deserted. No one was left on the island—or the ones still there were not going back. He raced toward town and his shop. Maybe she would be there and ready to go. If not, he would keep going to the house.
He stopped the van and ran to the shop, calling her name. The door was still locked so he knew she hadn’t been there. He would check the harbor before he went to the beach house. Maybe she was saying goodbye to her neighbors. Now that she was aware she had friends, she would hate to leave them. But, surely they were already gone.
The van’s tires squealed to a stop at the dock where the fishing boats were tied up. Waves crashed into the dock, threatening to pull it loose from its moorings. Boats collided with each other and waves sprayed up over the office building creaking in the wind. The air smelled of ozone. Meg was nowhere to be found. When he agreed to let her go back to the house for a few things, he was afraid they would be too late. The woman was so stubborn and set in her ways. Where was she?
Chapter 35
Tom was climbing the steps from the basement one last time when he heard someone banging on his front door. He put the plywood he kept for hurricanes on his windows, and he had all the paintings from his gallery safe and sound. At first he thought the noise was the wind until he realized the knocking was rhythmic. That was not the wind; someone was outside in the weather trying to get in.
With the windows covered, he had to open the door to see who was there. There swaying in the wind, stood Jon.
“Is Meg here?” he called loudly over the storm.
Tom opened the door wider. “Come in, Jon. No, your mother and Alex went back to the island. They should be back soon. You want to wait here for her?”
“You let her go back to the island? There’s a hurricane out here!”
“She was insistent. Besides, the Weather Channel said we had hours before it hit land. Obviously, it moved in faster than we thought. But, I’m sure they’ll be back soon.”
“Well, when she does come back, don’t let her leave this time! I’ll be back.” Jon ran back to the limo. “Get this thing to the dock where the ferry comes in—and hurry!” he yelled at Greg.
Greg slammed on the brakes at the dock and Jon was out of the car before it stopped. He ran to the dock to greet the ferry on its way back in. It made much better time on the way in than it did on the way out, with the winds blowing it toward the mainland.
Standing facing the water, Jon could barely stand up. The wind was getting stronger and it was starting to rain. When the tugboat captain brought the ferry into the dock, Jon scanned the cars onboard. Damn! Alex’s van wasn’t there and neither was his mother.
“Where is she!” he yelled at no one.
Watching the people step off the ferry, he realized how few people came back from the island this trip. He recognized Poppy as he walked Jon’s way.
“She got off on the island. And that Fitzgerald guy was right behind her,” was all he said.
“You saw her? Did you talk to her to find out what she was doing?”
“No, she just nodded at me when she got off was all.” The bum and his small bag of possessions walked away to wherever he went when he was not on the island.
Victoria climbed out of the back seat smoothing her skirt and walked up behind Jon, putting her arms around him.
“She’ll be fine, honey. She probably just decided to stay on the island. You know how crazy she is about that house. They say the storm won’t be that bad,” she said, rubbing his shoulders. He turned in a rage.
Jon
thought of the beautiful dark-haired woman at the country club smiling warmly at everyone she met, calling them by name as she made her way to where he sat at the table. Victoria really knew how to work a crowd. That was one of the things he loved about her—her ability to be at home wherever she was. When they played tennis at the club, her short, white tennis skirt showed off the tanned legs. She had zeroed in on Jon the first time she saw him, walking his way smiling. Yes, she knew how to work a crowd. And probably him.
“That is my mother you’re talking about! I have to get to her. Greg! Get me the Coast Guard and Victoria, call a cab home. I’ll be here until I can find her.”
Taken back, Victoria stood with the wind whipping her long black hair in her face. She looked at her fiancé a moment and then, like the little girl that lived on the island years ago, stomped her foot and turned around, pushing against the wind as she huffed back to the office at the dock. Her cell phone to her ear with her hand cupped around it, she called for a taxi. Maybe Jon and his money weren’t worth it after all.
Chapter 36
Looking out into the lagoon, Alex slowly realized that the tiny lights in the distance were going away, and probably not coming back. The last ferry had left early without them, and Meg was nowhere to be found. Could he have missed her and was she on the ferry?
He raced back to the van and drove to the beach house against the wind and rain. There were no lights on in the house. Was she still there, or did Jon find a way to get his mother off the island?
Screeching to a halt, he pushed the door open against the ever increasing wind, climbed out of the van and began the arduous trek to the house on the beach. He had to check to make sure she was not still there. If he didn’t find her at home, he didn’t know where else to search.
The garden groaned and creaked as plants and trellises whipped back and forth in the wind. This side of the island faced the open ocean and the tiny house would get the brunt of the storm. Limbs lay everywhere and he climbed over broken plants to the backdoor of the house. Pulling it open, he shouted her name. Was she home?
“Meg! Are you still here?” Alex called, running into the kitchen.
“Alex?” she came around the corner with a backpack and flashlight in her hands. “You came back for me!”
“What took you so long? Why didn’t you make the last ferry?”
“Why didn’t you? Why are you here?”
“For you! And the ferry has already left. I think we may be the last two people on the island. I was hoping maybe Jon found a way to get to you and you wouldn’t still be here.”
“I know I was being silly, but I was looking for some of my father’s papers. I have to help Jon and they might not be here when I come back.”
The windows rattled until Meg was sure they would break. The huge gust of wind that blew the screens on the porch in, suddenly stopped and sucked them back out. Then the rattle became a groan, which became louder. And the ripping began. Ancient nails being torn from their rotting wood creaked as they were pulled against their will, holding on to nothing—flying up and over the top of the house. Within an instant, the porch walls and roof were gone and the floor was about to follow.
“Time to go!” Alex shouted and shouldered the backpack full of Meg’s mementos.
Meg ran back and grabbed the painting off the wall.
“Leave it! You’ll never be able to hang on to it. Stay close with your head down. We just have to reach the van and we should be relatively safe.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her from her precious home, but she hung on to the painting, tucking it under her arm.
They ran out the back door, not even trying to shut it behind them, and clawed their way through the garden, Meg never letting go of Alex’s hand and the precious painting under her arm. Without him, Meg was sure she would have been swept away in the wind. A tomato cage with the plant still inside flew past her face, so close the leaves brushed her skin. She thought she would be impaled on its pointed wire feet. Then the painting was savagely ripped from under her arm and flew into the dark sky after the wire cage. She gasped, or maybe the breath was sucked out of her, it was hard to tell.
“I’ll paint you another one, come on!” Alex’s voice was barely heard over the storm.
Once at the back of the garden they began the climb up the sand dunes, holding on to grass along the way. At the top they stopped, crouching to see what might be blowing their way before standing. From the top of the dune, Meg could see there were no lights left on in the harbor. Either they had been blown out or everyone had already left.
Climbing over the rise, suddenly the rain increased, wrapping around them like soggy bed sheets on a clothesline, entangling them in their own wet clothing. Meg could see the van parked off the side of the road in the distance. It rocked in the gusts like it might take off flying at a moment’s notice. Heads down and stumbling into the wind they pushed forward together against Mother Nature’s fury—one step forward and sometimes two or three back. Once they reached the asphalt, they found it slick and Meg fell on her knees. They made little headway until they got back on the soggy sand.
Alex pulled the door to the van open and shoved her inside. Climbing to her side of the vehicle she realized he was still outside struggling to pull the door shut against the relentless wind. Meg crawled back to his side and the two strained together to pull the door closed. Finally shut, she found she was in a wet heap in his lap as he started the engine. She dragged herself to the passenger’s side of the van, and she looked out the windshield as he backed up and saw the angry black sea crashing more and more closely into the defenseless beach house she called her home.
The windshield wipers could not keep up with the driving rain as they drove slowly against the wind, the van rocking from side to side. It was less than half a mile into town—a distance she had walked daily for years, her wagon in tow, but it seemed to take hours to get there. Dodging limbs in the road, debris blew past and sometimes crashed into them. Meg knew they would have never survived without the safety of the steel surrounding them.
Finally, she could see the tiny town—but no lights were burning. The lines must be down already. She wondered who was left on the island after the final ferry left. Almost reaching the shop where Alex lived and worked, they were stopped by a huge tree lying across the road.
“We’re going to have to hoof it from here,” Alex said, opening the door and pulling her out behind him. She tried to close the door against the wind, but it was fruitless. “Just leave it open,” Alex said as he dragged her to the shop where the glass from the window and door were already blown out.
Once inside, Meg felt safer. She could at least stand up, even though the wind still howled outside.
“To the back. There’s a door behind the closet that leads to the basement. I don’t think it leaks, at least I’ve never seen water any time I’ve been down there.” Alex led her to the back of the shop.
Opening the dark closet Meg felt her way through the clothes, pulling them out and throwing them on the floor. She clamored to the back and reached for the doorknob. Suddenly a light shone behind her. “I was hoping this flashlight still worked,” Alex said steps behind her.
The moldy basement walls felt wet and rough as she slid her hands along them, creeping down the ancient wooden steps—knowing she could fall through at any moment. It might be dark and moist, but it was better than outside where the winds howled and the devastation was ripping the town apart.
Alex shone the flashlight at the bottom of the steps. In the corner under the stairs were stacks of boxes, canning jars, and a bench. Alex moved the jars onto the floor and set the backpack beside them. Then he directed Meg to the bench, wrapping her in a heavy woolen coat that smelled of moth balls.
“I grabbed the first thing I could find in the closet on the way down.” He stood in front of her wearing an all-weather overcoat over his sodden clothes. Grimy blankets lay in the corner covering things she didn’t want to think about, but Alex picked o
ne up and shook the dirt loose. He brought the dirty blanket to the bench and pushed it up against the load bearing wall under the beam. “We can at least sit on it to make things more comfortable,” he said, spreading it on the bench.
Sitting in the dank basement, Meg’s thoughts turned to her tiny house and the garden behind. It would all be destroyed—maybe completely gone. Where would she go and what would she do? The last place she wanted to return to was Corpus Christi. But, first they had to survive the night and thanks to Alex, she might.
The shop groaned ominously as if it was alive. She looked up. Upstairs doors banged open and glass broke in the back of the shop. Then the heavy footsteps began. Someone was in the tiny shop. Maybe someone had come back to save them! Meg was on her feet in an instant. “Jon!” she started to yell when Alex grabbed her arm.
“Shhh,” Alex said with his finger to his lips. “We don’t know who that is. It could be someone needing shelter or who knows. As far as we know, we were the last ones on the island,” he whispered. “After the incident in the alley, we can’t be too careful.”
Alex doused the light as the footsteps rounded the corner to the closet. Clothes strewn about would show the way to anyone who was looking for them—good or bad.
The wind gusted and the shop groaned urgently, and then the first foot touched the top of the stairs. The hair on the back of Meg’s neck stood up and she was suddenly shivering in the damp, musty wool coat. She moved closer to Alex, but he leaned away, reaching for the box of canning jars. He sat back up with two jars in his hand and handed one to her. They watched the steps for life and heard the creaking as the intruder neared the bottom of the steps.
“Anyone home?” called a gruff voice.
Secrets of Sandhill Island Page 16