by Amy Miles
“Has your father tried to bribe you into attending UC Berkeley School of Law yet?” Claire asks. Everyone in the family has seen Hannah’s father’s chest swell with pride when he speaks of his alma mater.
“He offered me a new car.” Hannah smiles at the fond memory of the old two door jeep she purchased in high school with her own money. She worked hard for that truck and loved it dearly till the day it died on the side of the road in a smoky splutter.
“A Mercedes, no doubt.”
Hannah smiles over at Andrew. “I ran out and bought myself a pre-owned Honda before he could bring one home.”
Her uncle’s laugh is deep as he shakes his head. “Good on you, Hannah. At least someone in that family of yours has their head on straight!”
“Excuse me?” Claire plants her hands on her hips.
Andrew winks at his wife. “You passed the test the day we got hitched.”
A slight flush rises along Claire’s neckline as she reaches out to grasp his hand atop the table. Hannah looks at them, praying that someday she will find a man like Andrew. Someone kind, giving, quick to smile and with a wicked sense of humor.
I know he’s out there somewhere.
FOUR
Storm of the Century
Andrew beats on the old weather radio he has set up in the downstairs living room. No one felt like going upstairs. Not with the way the winds howl through the shutters, and the windows quake in their panes.
The power went out for the last and final time not long after nine o’clock. The sound of waves crashing against the house is nearly deafening. The air trapped within the Serendipity Inn feels stale and heavily laden with humidity. Hannah can’t imagine how she will ever sleep tonight.
“Blast it! This thing worked fine yesterday,” Andrew mutters, giving the radio another whack. It splutters with static but fails to bring in any good signal.
“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” He turns to give his wife an incredulous look. She smiles back at him and pats the seat beside her. “What’s going to happen isn’t dependent on what that little box tells you.”
Andrew’s frown melts into a warm smile as he nods and steps away from the box. He takes Claire’s outstretched hand. “You always do know how to keep me grounded.”
“And you always know how to listen when it’s good for you.” She beams back as he sinks onto the couch beside her.
The room seems small now that all of the doors have been shut. All of the windows have been boarded tight, and two grand oak and hickory bookcases have been shoved in front of the boards for extra precaution. Hannah curls her knees up into her chest and clasps her hands on her shins. She has tried not to show her concern to her aunt and uncle, but truth be told, she’s never been overly fond of storms.
When she was a child, lightning struck her play set in the backyard, not twenty feet from where she sat crossed legged and moping near the back door. The rains had been swift and hard that day. Hard enough to fill the gullies in the street to overflowing. She remembers that her mother had chided her about being so close to the glass. That is one lesson Hannah wishes she could have learned a different way.
“Do you think it will last long?” Hannah asks, turning her gaze away from the outer wall. She is perched on a high backed chair with soft cushions and cool fabric. She finds it comforting to have the chair wrap around her.
“Hard to say,” Andrew says. “Seems to me a direct hit might take longer.”
“Why is that?”
“Don’t let him worry you, dear,” Aunt Claire says with a smile. She raps her husband on the arm before looking back at Hannah. “Andrew has this wild thought that if the winds don’t shift, the entire hurricane might just pass right over us.”
Hannah holds her breath. She hadn’t thought of that as a possibility. Having grown up on the East coast, Andrew is all too familiar with the raw power of a hurricane, but Hannah would take an earthquake any day over these unstable winds. At least with an earthquake they usually strike fast and then trickle off.
All three turn to stare at the lifeless radio as it splutters with static. Andrew surges to his feet and hurries over, adjusting knobs and pausing to listen. He finally discovers a channel that sounds hopeful and works to tune it in. Hannah jumps when a loud beeping fills the room.
“The National Weather service has issued a severe hurricane warning for the entire Outer Banks region. This storm is expected to reach landfall at approximately 1am. Please seek shelter immediately in an interior room of your house. This storm may produce winds as high as180 miles per hour. I repeat, this is a National Weather Service alert…” the robotic voice drifts into background noise as Hannah tunes it out.
As Andrew and Claire share a worried glance, Hannah can’t help but wonder if she made a mistake in coming here. The idea of helping to make this inn a home for her aunt and uncle was a noble one, but what does she know about storms like this beyond the horrors that she has seen each summer and fall on TV?
“No need to worry,” Andrew says with a decidedly forced smile as he turns off the radio. “We are boarded up nice and tight. The house has a good, strong foundation. We’ll be able to weather this storm.”
Hannah isn’t so sure of that.
Several hours later she becomes distinctly aware of the change in the winds. They are no longer howling but are screaming as they beat upon the house. It sounds as if a battering ram is pounding from the east then whipping around the side for another round. The floor beneath her is a near constant vibration. She can feel it in the wooden planks beneath the couch she has stretched out upon in attempt to get some rest.
The ticking of Claire’s antique grandfather clock hums in Hannah’s ears. She watches as the little hand slowly ticks around the clock face. The sun should be rising within an hour, but she doubts any light will pierce through the wall of clouds that must be hovering above.
From time to time, Andrew rises from the makeshift bed he created for himself and Claire on the floor. It is nothing more than a few couch pillows, some spare bedding, linens and the blanket off their bed but they insisted that Hannah take the couch. Although she would not normally agree, she does find being sunken into the soft cushions soothes her anxiety.
The flickering of candle light makes it difficult to read, but she tries nonetheless. She needs something to keep her mind settled. A small book rests before her upon her chest, opened but hardly read. It is a story that she has read many times. One that she would consider to be among her favorites, though tonight it does little to capture her full attention.
Hannah has always enjoyed reading inspirational romance novels about strong women who work hard alongside their husbands to carve a new life for themselves in the West. Pioneering books filled with fact and fable. Families who laugh together and weather all of life’s storms on faith alone. They bring her a sense of peace and hope. Though the world is no longer as simple, or as hospitable, Hannah likes to think that there are still plenty of people who hold to the same beliefs of love, hope and kindness.
Andrew and Claire have been silent for a long time. They lie curled together. Neither speaks. Hannah doesn’t think they have to. They know each other well enough to sense the other’s needs and fears.
Hannah bolts upright at the sound of a loud crash on the opposite side of the room. Andrew untangles himself from Claire and approaches the boarded up window. He taps against the wood and frowns. “Guess we have another window to replace.”
Claire brushes back sweaty strands of hair from her forehead and draws her knees into her chest. “We just replaced that one, too,” she mutters.
Hannah feels her stomach clench with regret for the weariness in her aunt’s tone. She doesn’t know if their insurance will help to cover any of the damages. Even if it does, their dreams of opening the Inn by next spring are sinking further and further into the distance.
“Maybe we should think about moving deeper into the house. We could always use the reading room,” Andrew sugge
sts.
To be fair, the room can hardly be considered a room at all. It is more of a nook, located in the crook of the staircase that has been hollowed out. How all three of them will manage to fit in there Hannah doesn’t really know. Andrew has plans to expand the nook into the room across the hall. Perhaps this is what he is referring to, Hannah hopes.
“Perfect,” Claire says as she rises and sweeps an armful of pillows and blankets up with her. “Now, instead of glass, we have to defend ourselves against being pummeled to death by flying books.”
“I can hardly think of a better way to go.” Andrew grins and helps scoop up the remains of their bed. He follows Claire into the darkened hall. Hannah can hear them fumbling about and rises to take a candle to them when Andrew reappears.
“Go ahead and get settled. I’ll bring in your things.”
Hannah thanks him and rushes past. The wick of her candle has burned low. Holding out her hand before her, she tries to keep the candle lit as she walks down the hall. She spies Claire kneeling on the ground, spreading out blankets. Apparently Andrew meant the hall after all, Hannah thinks, feeling the effects of sleep deprivation starting to tug at her. She hasn’t slept well the past couple of days. Not nearly as well as she should have, considering the amount of physical labor she has been doing.
She isn’t the strongest girl she knows, but she’s hardly a twig. Hannah has always been happy to lend a hand, even if that means mowing a lawn, painting a house or helping to clean or cook for someone ill in the neighborhood. Hannah isn’t afraid of hard work. In fact, she thrives off it.
“Here you go,” Andrew calls as he dumps an armful of couch cushions on the floor just behind her and then looks around. “It’s not much, but we should be safe here.”
It doesn’t take long to bed back down. In many ways, this cramped space feels cozier than the living room had. Hannah tucks her hand under her pillow and rolls onto her side, wishing that she could fall asleep. Instead her thoughts wander, to her father and his demands for her to prepare to enter law school, to her mother’s unhappiness that she tries to drown away in a fancy mixed drink each night, to her aunt and uncle’s desperate attempts to start a new dream and to herself.
Though Andrew and Claire have prodded several times, Hannah has yet to be able to give them a clear answer as to what career she would like to pursue if given the chance. When she thinks about it, there’s no real point to even considering it. Not while her father is footing the bill for school.
Hannah blinks. That’s it! If he isn’t paying for my education he shouldn’t have any say in where I go to school.
A slow smile forms along her lips as she begins to allow herself a dream. A dream involving a small university with an excellent graduate program that isn’t pressed upon her because of money or prestige. A place where she can fit in because people like her, not because of how much money her father donates to the college each year.
Maybe I could take a year off. Do some traveling. See some of the world. She has always wanted to leave the country. To visit Europe or go on one of those trips to Mexico with her church family to help build homes. Her father never let her go. He wanted her focused on her school work instead of gallivanting around the globe. Although Hannah loves her father, it has hurt her over the years that he never took her feelings or desires into consideration.
“What are you smiling about over there?” Claire speaks up.
Hannah rolls her head to the side. “Just doing a bit of dreaming.”
“Good for you,” Andrew pipes up. “It’s good to have things you look forward to—” he cuts off at the sound of a large piece of debris crashing against the house. The walls and floor shudder but hold firm. Everyone releases the breath they were holding with a shaky laugh.
“See? What’d I tell you? This old place can hold up to anything,” Andrew says with pride.
Hannah can hear the swells. She imagines them rising up to swallow the stairs leading to the Inn from the beach. She only hopes that whatever it was that just crashed into the house wasn’t a large chunk of the dock that Andrew worked so hard to refinish. Many of the boards had been rotted away but the foundation was good. He spent weeks working on getting it just right, widening it for guests to be able to sit out on loungers and enjoy the view.
The rain beats against the roof, the sound spiraling down from the floors above. Slowly sitting up, Hannah pauses to listen. “I think the winds are beginning to die down.”
Claire follows suit and tucks her blankets about her legs as she rises. “I think you’re right,” she says, tilting her head to the side.
“I couldn’t hear the rain before over the winds,” Hannah says, crossing her legs before her and praying that the end may be near. It seems too fast, though, somehow. Not that the past six hours of sleepless waiting has not felt like an eternity. It just seems too easy.
Shouldn’t there be more destruction? Should more windows have busted? Not that she wishes for any of those things, but Hannah hadn’t really known what to expect.
“Huh,” Andrew mutters as he leans back against the wall.
“Why do you look so disappointed?” Hannah laughs as the look of consternation on her uncle’s face.
“He’s just upset that his theory was wrong,” Claire grins.
Hannah chuckles and unwinds the ponytail from her hair. She runs her fingers through her hair and tries to smooth out some of the tangles, knowing that it may be a couple of days before the power is restored.
“You should be grateful you were wrong--” Claire’s cry of alarm cuts through Hannah’s statement when a thunderous crash sends them all cowering to the floor.
“What was that?” Hannah screams.
Andrew is on his feet and rounding the staircase with flashlight in hand before Hannah and Claire can get to their feet. They scramble up the stairs behind him, trying to see their path by the bouncing of his light against the floor as he rushes ahead.
“Andrew?” Claire calls. They hear a door open and a loud grunt of displeasure from above.
“Yeah,” he calls, leaning over the railing of the second floor. Hannah and Claire come to a halt on the darkened stairs and Andrew shines his light over so they can join him. Once they are all on the landing, he swings the flashlight to his right and Hannah gasps. The large ocean-facing bedroom that will one day be a grand suite is now home to a faded green canoe. Or at least what is left of one. The fiberglass hull appears to have been torn apart and then chucked straight through the second story window. Rain lashes through the empty window. Glass snags in the damp carpets. Splinters of the boarding used to seal the room litter the floor.
Andrew’s head droops as he motions for the girls to step back and he closes the door behind him. “Nothing we can do about this until the storm passes.”
Hannah feels numb as she slips back down the stairs under the guiding light of Andrew’s flashlight. Perhaps the destruction is far worse that we realize. We are so remote out here. What if entire houses are being washed away?
She curls her arms around herself at the thought. People all along the Outer Banks are suffering. Probably farther inland as well. The clean-up will most likely take weeks, if not months. Hannah remembers the horrifying images left behind from Hurricane Katrina. The thought of that sort of damage happening here makes her sick at heart.
Hannah has only just sat down when a terrible ripping sound echoes from the front of the house. Her heads whips around as her stomach rises into her throat. It sounds as if the entire deck has been torn away!
“Stay here!” Andrew shoves a spare flashlight into Hannah’s hands and rushes down the hall. Hannah watches his light sway erratically back and forth then disappear completely.
Claire sinks down beside Hannah, and the two women cling to each other as they wait. Minutes pass, stretching endlessly before them, and still Andrew does not return. Hannah can hear water splashing, but it sounds far too loud and too near to be hitting the exterior of the house.
“Claire?”
“I see it,” she calls back with a grim tone. Lifting the light, both women peer down the hall to see water seeping under the closed door, spreading their way. “Andrew? Can you hear me?”
No response. No light. No sign of her husband.
Hannah notices a tremble of fear beginning in her aunt’s fingers. She clasps tighter and helps her rise. “Let’s go check on him.”
Claire’s widened gaze turns to meet hers. “He said to stay here.”
“And we would, but he might need some help,” Hannah responds with as even a tone as she can manage. Fear claws at her throat, making it hard to breathe as she hurries down the hall with Claire in tow.
“Uncle Andrew?” she calls as she reaches the door leading into the living room and the kitchen beyond that. Water floods over the soles of her sandals. Far too much water for a few broken windows to let in.
“Can you hear him?”
Hannah starts to shake her head but then presses her ear to the door at a faint cry. “Oh God,” Claire moans as she places her hand against the door, searching for the knob. “I can hear him!”
The door spills open before Hannah as Claire shoves through, knocking her into the wall. Her aunt stops short, her face a mask of disbelief in the glow of the flashlight. An entire corner of the front room of the house has been torn away. Something large hovers in the dark as Hannah steps close to the edge, shining her light out into the night.
She can see the driving rains and watches the swells rise and fall with the undulating ocean. Beyond that she can just make out the peak of a roof. Only a roof. “Oh God,” she gasps as it rises with a storm surge and spills over the sand dunes and onto the road beyond.