At Wave's End: A Novel

by Patricia Perry Donovan

  “There will be plenty of time for that, Mom. We can always come back in a few days, once the weather settles.” If she could only get her mother alone, she could debrief her after their eye-opening visit.

  “Don’t tell me you drank Bruce’s Kool-Aid.” Hands on hips, Maeve cocked her head toward the ladder.

  “Really, Faith. You can go. We’ll be fine.” Connie made a shooing gesture Faith found condescending.

  Seeing the two women were set on this plan, Faith shrugged. “Okay. But the second the weather changes—”

  “We’ll send an SOS to Brooklyn,” Maeve finished. “Don’t fret, dear. I’ll take good care of your mother.”

  With that, they said their good-byes.

  Faith scuffed her feet along the brick path. Maybe a few days in a run-down, empty inn would be a good thing for her mother, to demonstrate that running the establishment involved more than baking Bundt cakes and serving afternoon tea, that empty guest rooms equaled an empty cash register. Once the novelty wore off, her mother surely would realize the folly of sacrificing her secure future for this uncertain livelihood.

  After all, it was Connie’s vacation. If her mother chose to spend that time scrubbing toilets and stripping beds, that was her prerogative.

  The trip had turned into a bit of a reality check for Faith as well. She’d driven down to the shore today to indulge her mother, fully expecting her to dismiss this bed-and-breakfast fantasy. But now, leaving Connie behind in Wave’s End, the idea that she could actually assume the frayed handles of The Mermaid’s Purse seemed like a real possibility.

  11

  Within days of Faith’s visit to Wave’s End, officials placed the entire East Coast on high alert, notching up precautions as the upgraded Hurricane Nadine gathered force. Faith arrived at Piquant to find dishwashers stacking sandbags around the restaurant’s perimeter while a few hardy patrons braved the afternoon chill to sip cocktails on the patio.

  “City just delivered them,” Xander explained when Faith questioned him. “Let’s hope they keep this place from floating away.”

  As the approaching storm became more than a gleam in forecasters’ eyes, everyone took notice. With the restaurant sound system tuned to the weather station nonstop, Piquant summoned its employees to a mandatory emergency briefing.

  “Will we really have to evacuate?” a bartender asked.

  “We’ll know for sure tomorrow,” answered Xander. “The city’s saying the seaport could get up to eleven feet of water with the storm surge.”

  Storm surge: a nightmare scenario predicated on a complicated set of models involving wind shear, tides and the moon’s cycle. The rampant media prognostication turned the phrase into a hashtag. Faith could feel the staff’s collective anxiety building as their boss outlined Piquant’s hurricane contingency plan.

  “Everything depends on Nadine’s path. We have to be prepared. Tomas, I’ll need more sandbags out tomorrow afternoon. The rest of you, concentrate on getting everything up off the floor as best you can.” The bar- and waitstaff should report to Xander in the dining room; Faith would strategize in the kitchen. Her gut knotted at the thought of the thousands of dollars of kitchen equipment that required securing.

  Storm prep would start tonight after dinner ended, Xander said, resuming at seven the following morning.

  “But what if there’s no trains?” called a server from the back of the room. Xander acknowledged the possibility of the city’s precautionary subway system shutdown.

  “Bike it, my friend,” cracked a dishwasher.

  Pockets of heated conversation broke out, and Xander held up his hand for quiet. “I know you’re all worried. I’m worried as shit, too. But with any luck, it will be business as usual come Tuesday.”

  The waitstaff exchanged anxious glances. Faith could easily imagine what they were thinking: Could the restaurant close?

  “Let’s just get through tomorrow. Keep those phones charged so we can reach you. There’s a good chance we’ll lose power, as well.”

  He and Faith had already discussed that likelihood, retooling menus around Piquant’s perishable inventory.

  Xander clapped his hands. “All right. That’s it. First reservations are in thirty minutes. Get out there tonight and do your thing. And remember: best night ever!”

  “Best night ever!” Xander’s team shouted the restaurant’s nightly rallying cry.

  Best night ever. As the staff dispersed, Faith met her boss’s grave gaze. If the seaport waters crested as predicted, the restaurant had a great deal more to lose than a freezer full of spoiled meat.

  Piquant’s best night ever might also be its last.

  12

  “How ’bout we go by this rule: anything that looks stupid, is stupid.” Gripping both sides of his podium, the New Jersey governor glared straight into the camera.

  In line at her neighborhood bodega before work the next day, Faith watched the coverage of the garrulous official chiding residents in at-risk areas who had any thought of remaining in their homes. He ordered a mandatory evacuation of all barrier islands, then declared a state of emergency for his entire constituency, as his equals in New York and four neighboring states had done the previous day.

  “If you think you’re being overly clever but you know it looks really stupid, don’t do it. That’s a good general New Jersey rule.” Coverage then returned to live storm tracking, with footage of palm trees in Jamaica, Cuba and Haiti bent sideways by hundred-mile-an-hour winds.

  Faith gulped. Would those weather conditions replicate themselves in Wave’s End?

  Juggling the items she had dashed out to purchase—the market’s last bunch of bananas and a dented clamshell of salad—Faith dug for her phone and called her mother and related what she had just seen.

  “The governor’s talking to you, Mom. Why are you and Maeve still there?”

  “We’re not on a barrier island. There’s no reason to leave. Even the mayor said we could stay.”

  Technically, her mother was right. The inn lay just outside the seaside town’s mandatory evacuation area, a redlined region initially limited to two beachfront blocks from north to south. However, each revised forecast swelled the evacuation zone a bit more, so that it now encompassed the eastern half of Wave’s End.

  “But there’s no reason to put yourself in danger when The Mermaid’s Purse is empty. Why don’t you both hop on the train and come stay with me for a couple of days?” Faith’s apartment barely contained room for Connie, let alone Maeve, but they would make it work somehow.

  “We’ll be fine,” her mother replied. “We’ll fill the bathtubs tomorrow, and we have enough bottled water to last us until kingdom come, thanks to Bruce.”

  At least Maeve finally had come to her senses at the eleventh hour, permitting Bruce to board up the remaining windows and remove her awnings. Recalling the inn’s neglected roof, Faith shuddered at how that might fare under the predicted high winds.

  “Don’t worry, Faith. Everything’s under control. Maeve’s been through this before.”

  But Nadine might not be like previous storms, Faith thought as she hung up. After all, sixty people had already perished. Setting her intended purchases aside, she left the store. As she walked home, a prescient breeze stirred the remaining leaves on the trees, the scent of imminent rain weighting the air. Under even the most conservative estimates, this weather disturbance could shape up to be the big one, the hundred-year storm, the tempest that would go down in history.

  And if her mother was so caught up in her innkeeper fantasy she didn’t have sense enough to get out of Nadine’s way, there remained only one thing for Faith to do.

  13

  Faith planned to head directly to Wave’s End following that day’s abbreviated shift. Since Xander planned to close early that evening, and had preemptively shut Piquant for Tuesday and Wednesday, she figured she could get down to Wave’s End Monday night, see her mother and Maeve through the storm, and still be back at work by Thursd
ay—that is, assuming the restaurant survived the hurricane.

  She wouldn’t think about that remote possibility right now, Faith decided, cramming last-minute toiletries into her bag.

  “What are you doing?” The sight of petite, fair-haired Ellie leaning on the door frame made Faith smile. Her roommate’s softly rounded belly strained the waist of the clingy, drop-seated onesie Faith had bought them both as gags last Christmas, to the point where Ellie resembled a somewhat pregnant toddler.

  “Getting ready to babysit my mother, who insists on going down with the ship. I’m afraid the place is going to tumble down around her ears.”

  “But you can’t leave me here alone,” protested Ellie.

  Faith looked up from zipping her bag. “You won’t be alone. You’ve got Dennis.”

  “I called him, but he’s not answering.” The wobble in Ellie’s voice hinted at the waterworks that occurred with more frequency as her pregnancy progressed.

  “I’m sure he’ll call back soon. How about trying your parents?”

  “They’re out in the Hamptons. They’re worried about the yacht.” Ellie trailed Faith into their front hall. “When will you be back?”

  “I don’t know. In a few days, at most?” Halting at the front door, Faith closed her eyes, wishing she could clone herself to support both her friend and her family. It truly pained her to leave her pregnant friend by herself. On the other hand, with Dennis only a phone call and three subway stops away, Ellie would be fine.

  Faith turned and threw her arms around Ellie. “Listen. You’re my best friend, and I love you. And that future baby of yours. I hate leaving you both alone, but you have loads of other people who love you to call on. Where with my mother, I’m the only one she’s got, and she needs me. So I have to go. Be safe, little mama.”

  With that, Faith grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. After planting a final, resounding kiss on Ellie’s cheek, Faith released her and headed for the hall, pausing to smile at her friend one last time before closing the apartment door behind her.

  PART 2: IMPACT

  14

  Faith ducked out of her cab after work, peering up at the prematurely darkening sky over Seventh Avenue as rain pelted her face. On the sidewalk, scurrying pedestrians fought escalating winds for control of umbrellas. Bisecting the crowds, Faith dashed down the escalator into Penn Station and straight to the wall monitor to determine the next train to Wave’s End, stopping short to read the message displayed there in bold red letters:

  TRAVEL ADVISORY: ALL NEW JERSEY TRANSIT RAIL SERVICES SUSPENDED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

  How could she not have known this? She stood stock-still as the equivalent of a rush-hour crowd surged around her. Of course, Xander had mentioned the possible New York shutdown, but in Faith’s mind that meant New York subways only. Frantic, she ran down the marbled ramp to the wall of ticket windows.

  “How can there be no more trains to New Jersey?” she implored the transit officer behind the glass. “It’s only seven o’clock. The storm’s not supposed to hit until late tonight or tomorrow.”

  “You think we can shut down an entire system on a dime?” He jabbed his pencil over her head. “Now, move aside, please. These folks don’t look too happy with you.” Turning, Faith flushed crimson at the sea of angry faces in the queue she had unwittingly cut.

  “I’m so sorry. But I have to get down there. What am I supposed to do?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Rent a car?”

  Faith hesitated. Renting the Zipcar to go to the airport had been one thing, but should she become stranded in Wave’s End, a rental could turn into an expensive proposition. “Yeah. I can’t do that. Any other ideas?”

  “Try Port Authority. If you hurry, you might catch the last bus.”

  “Thank you. And sorry. Sorry.” Apologizing to the disgruntled passengers as she raced by them, she then took the Eighth Avenue escalator two steps at a time. Once outside, she sprinted the entire eight blocks to the bus depot, her bag bumping pedestrians as she wove through the masses. By the time she reached it, her wet clothes clung like a second skin and blisters threatened inside her rubber work clogs. Limping into the depot, Faith spotted a sanitation worker spearing trash from the floor and approached him.

  “Bus to the Jersey shore?” She leaned against a column to catch her breath while the man withdrew a crumpled map from a back pocket. “That would be University Lines. Fourth level.”

  “Thanks.” As Faith took off for the escalator, the man called to her.

  “That’ll get you as far south as Ashcroft. And you need a ticket.” He pointed his map at a bank of ticket windows.

  “Right. Of course.” Wherever Ashcroft was, at least she was headed in the right direction. Getting herself partway to The Mermaid’s Purse would be better than nothing. At the ticket window, Faith joined the queue of customers, watching the clock and shifting her weight from one foot to the other until her turn came.

  “Lucky. You made the last bus out. Leaves in five minutes,” the clerk said, handing her the ticket.

  “From where?”

  “Gate three-oh-two. Upstairs.” With that, the clerk slammed his window shut.

  After racing up yet another escalator, Faith stepped onto the fourth level and trotted around the perimeter of the cavernous depot until she spotted the illuminated gate number in the distance. With dismay, she saw the final passengers disappear through a door in the glossy brick wall.

  “Wait! Please stop!” Faith ran to the gate and through the door, where she watched the last rider board the bus and the door slide shut. “Please! Don’t leave!” Faith flailed her arms, entreating the passengers staring like zombies as the bus’s hydraulic wheeze reverberated in the concrete depot. Just when she was ready to turn away in defeat, the driver slammed on the brakes and opened the door.

  “Good way to get run over,” he grunted. “Standing room only tonight.”

  “That’s fine. I don’t mind.” Further soaked with sweat from the exertion, Faith took her place in the aisle, shivering in the air-conditioning. As the coach began its circuitous descent, she gripped the side of the nearest seat for support, apologizing to its occupant, a middle-aged woman wearing distinctive persimmon eyeglasses and clenching her hands in her lap. Getting to her mother in Wave’s End was proving a greater challenge than she had bargained for, Faith thought, eyes downcast as the bus slid into the Lincoln Tunnel.

  “Lucky we caught the last one, huh?”

  Startled, Faith glanced up to see the female passenger speaking to her. “What? Oh, yes. I guess we are.”

  “Where are you headed?”

  “Wave’s End. You?”

  “Bayport.” At Faith’s perplexed frown, she added, “Just north of you.”

  “Sorry. I don’t know the area. Do you live there?”

  “No, but my aunt does. In her eighties and still on her own.”

  “We should be so lucky.”

  “Maybe not so lucky. She’s on the beachfront. Moved there as a bride, and refuses to evacuate. Even after the police came by and told her she’s writing her own death sentence if she stays.”

  “So you’re going to talk her into leaving? My name’s Faith, by the way.”

  “Tanya. Tanya Lloyd. I’m going to do my best. I didn’t have much luck on the phone. I’m an attorney. I argue for a living. But do you think I could convince an eighty-seven-year-old widow to get to safety?” She shook her head ruefully. “My aunt is a stubborn lady.”

  “It’s nice of you to go and check on her.”

  “I couldn’t not go. She took such good care of me growing up. Like a second mother. I’m pretty much all she has.”

  “Me, too. For my mother, I mean. She’s only in Wave’s End temporarily, I hope. Not close to the beach like your aunt, but close enough.” That reminded Faith she had no idea how she would make her way to Wave’s End once off the bus. “Have you figured out how you’re getting from Ashcroft to your aunt’s?”

&
nbsp; “A cab’s meeting me at the park-and-ride. You’re welcome to share it. I had a hard enough time reserving this one.”

  Faith leaned against the seat in relief. “Thank you. I hadn’t quite worked out that leg of my trip.”

  “Your timing is impeccable. They’re shutting the parkway tonight from Ashcroft south, but the cab can use back roads.”

  Warnings about high winds and bridge closures flashed on turnpike overpasses, and gusts bullied the bus and flexed overhead road signs. Eyeing Faith, Tanya bent over and pulled a sweater from a canvas tote at her feet. “Put this on. You look chilled to the bone.”

  Faith slipped off her soaked jacket, the only outerwear she’d brought, and put on the cardigan. “Thank you. I didn’t exactly come prepared.”

  “And this is only the beginning. I bet your mother will be relieved to see you.”

  “I hope so. She doesn’t exactly know I’m coming.”

  15

  Faith had tried unsuccessfully to reach her mother from work and tried again several times during the ride down. Connie could be frustratingly casual about her phone when she chose.

  Meanwhile, travel conditions deteriorated so dramatically during their bus ride to Ashcroft that the driver pulled over several times to sit out torrential downpours that dangerously hampered visibility. Faith and Tanya exchanged nervous glances as merciless winds bore down on the idling bus, which shuddered on the parkway shoulder, blankets of rain rolling across its broad windshield.

  “They don’t pay me enough for this,” the driver said to no one in particular, balancing an unlit cigarette between his lips as he crept back onto the highway.

  It might be better Connie didn’t know she was coming. Her mother would probably fight Faith as surely as she had fought her on almost everything else related to The Mermaid’s Purse. Certainly Connie wouldn’t be going anywhere on a night this miserable, she thought, staring out the window. The coach limped through a string of coastal towns, around pockets of emergency vehicles and beneath traffic lights undulating like jeweled pendants in the wind, before returning to the parkway.