When Molly and I got back, Paul was napping. How he could sleep while the wind roared and thundered like an oncoming locomotive, tearing at the roof of the building like some wild beast trying to get in, I’ll never know. I waited until Molly was safely back on her lounger, then said, ‘I’m going to check on Alice.’
I found her stretched out on a blanket in her hidey-hole behind the bar. Somewhat surprisingly, Alice seemed to have left her size five-and-half Manolo Blahniks on the floor under her bed and put on a pair of sensible white sneakers. She wore white jeans and a green t-shirt that said: I love vegetarians. More meat for me.
‘Why aren’t you sitting with Jaime, Alice?’ I asked as I sat cross-legged on the blanket beside her.
‘I’m not speaking to him.’
Although I could think of a thousand reasons, I couldn’t resist asking why.
‘I put my foot down, Hannah. I teared up and I put my hands on my hips and I said nuh-uh, no-way, fuhgeddaboudit.’
I felt like I’d tuned in to the middle of a sitcom, lost without the script.
‘He gave me this ring, and now he wants it back.’ She leaned sideways, bumped her shoulder against mine. ‘I think he wants to pawn it.’
Alice offered her right hand for inspection. On her little finger, she wore a small emerald and gold ring. ‘Jaime needs money?’ I asked as I admired the ring.
Sally Parker had owned a ring like that, I thought. My stomach churned.
Alice shrugged. ‘Who. Freaking. Knows. Every time I mention money, Jaime tells me to shut up. So I do.’
‘Where’s Jaime now?’ I asked his bride. ‘I haven’t seen him since he brought the first aid kit.’
She reached for her teddy bear. ‘He’s probably with his precious sister, hiding under daddy’s desk.’
The lights flickered once, twice, then died. As Jaime had predicted, the generator had run out of gas. ‘Are you going to be OK?’ I asked Alice as I squinted at her into the dark.
‘I think so.’
‘Do you want me to stay with you?’
‘I’m OK. I’ve got Mr Patches.’ She grabbed the bear’s paw and helped him wave goodbye to me.
‘I need to go check on my husband, Alice, but if you want company, just bring Mr Patches and come join us.’ I patted her knee, comforting her just as I would a child.
I made my way back to Paul largely by feel, guided by the beam of the flashlight Molly had turned on. As the storm continued to rage, I straddled the end of Paul’s lounge chair, thinking about Alice’s ring. A thin gold band with an emerald perched on top. There must be thousands like it in the world.
Yet I was convinced Jaime had stolen it from Sally.
As I stared into the dark, my eyes slowly adjusting, I wondered if I should confront Jaime about the ring as I had about the boat. I scanned the room, but didn’t see him.
A Coleman lamp burned in the corner where two sailors huddled, reading in its light. I could see Gator’s Nikes, a ragged disgrace to the brand, sticking out from beneath his blanket as he slept with his head under a table, curled up next to his dog. Every once in a while a flashlight would play eerily over a face as it was flicked on, played around the floor as if looking for something, then switched off.
Helen continued to roar, uprooting trees and hurling them against the building thump-thump-thump. Rain dashed against the windows as if someone were throwing gravel, while over our heads, the roof moaned and popped. I looked up, convinced we were going to lose the roof, and grateful when I couldn’t see daylight.
I nudged Paul. ‘Move over, sweetheart.’ He stirred sleepily. I squeezed myself on to the narrow lounger beside him, nestling against the warmth of his thigh. I pulled the sleeping bag tightly around us, and as the wind continued to howl like a demented soul, I prayed.
Just as suddenly as it had come, the noise stopped. I awoke to a deadly, silent calm.
Hurricane Helen’s eye.
Sometime during the storm, Alice had made her way over to us. She had sandwiched herself between Molly’s lounger and mine, clutching her blanket and Mr Patches. ‘How much time do you think we have?’ Alice asked. ‘Before it comes back, I mean.’
I consulted with Paul who was wide awake now, too. ‘Thirty-five minutes, give or take.’
Jaime appeared out of nowhere and met Gator at the front door. Together, the two men lifted the hurricane bar and threw the doors wide, flooding the club room with grayish-yellow light. Justice frolicked out, presumably in search of a tree. Considering the intensity of the storm, I thought he’d be doomed to disappointment.
Alice had been watching the dog, but she suddenly said, ‘There’s something I have to do.’ Before I could stop her, she dropped Mr Patches on the floor, aimed a venomous glance at her husband, and ran out the door.
Jaime stared after her, fists clenched at his sides. ‘Alice, you crazy bitch! Come back!’
‘Do you want me to go after her?’ I asked Jaime.
Jaime pawed the soggy carpet with the toe of his shoe. ‘No, I’ll go talk to her.’
I bounced up and down on my toes, shaking the knots out of my calves, watching Jaime disappear through what was left of the garden.
‘Want to go for a walk?’ Paul asked. He’d come up behind me.
‘Are you sure you’re up for a walk?’ I asked, staring pointedly at his bandage.
‘Sure I’m sure. I need to work out the kinks. Been lying down too long.’
Hand in hand, we walked through the open door and into the artificial twilight of the storm.
When I saw the destruction Helen had wrought, I couldn’t believe the building had survived. The Tamarind Tree gardens had been ripped bare of plants – lignum vitae, sea grape, casuarinas, bougainvilla, hibiscus – scoured by the wind off the face of the earth. The few palm trees that had survived were bent double. Others, less resilient, had lost their heads, snapped off about ten feet above ground. One enormous trunk had crashed down on the pool bar, reducing it to rubble. Other trunks lay higgledy-piggledy around the grounds like enormous matchsticks tossed down by an angry god.
We walked down the path, hardly speaking, climbing over limbs, wading through piles of wet debris. When we reached the resort gate, the guardhouse had disappeared. The turnstile pointed straight up, twisted like a strawberry Twizzler.
‘Want to go into town?’ I asked, curious to see how the settlement had fared.
Paul checked his watch. ‘No time.’
Back at the Tamarind Tree, the staff were still policing the grounds. The wind blew hot and gentle as we helped with the cleanup. We picked up fallen coconuts and branches and tossed them into what was left of the golf cart shed where we hoped the wind couldn’t find them.
I was helping Jeremy Thomas check the shutters, securing all the dog downs when the wind began to rise, blowing hot against my neck.
Jeremy banged his fist against a shutter, testing it. ‘Inside.’
I went.
‘Where’s Alice?’ I asked Molly as I pawed through my duffle looking for the Fig Newtons, dreading the return of Helen. We’d already had one hour of hell. Wasn’t that enough?
‘I don’t think she’s back yet.’
I ripped the cellophane off the package and held it out. ‘Cookie?’
‘Thanks.’
‘Where’s Paul?’
‘Bathroom.’ Molly took a bite of cookie and chewed. ‘Said if he wasn’t back in five minutes, send out a search party.’
‘Ha ha.’
Alice Madonna was a two-cookie worry, then a three. ‘Should I go look for her?’ I asked Paul when he came back from the bathroom. ‘What’ll happen to her if they bar the door?’
Paul’s arm snaked around my shoulder and squeezed. ‘Give her a few minutes. She’s silly, but not stupid. She’ll be back.’
Paul was right.
Alice came back, but she was not alone. She scurried through the door staggering under the weight of a purple leather bag, earning a frown from Gator who was waiting
at the door, counting heads, to bar it. Alice headed straight for her corner and sat down. I couldn’t see her face from where I sat, but as she passed me, framed in the light at the door, I suspected she’d been crying. Her sneakers, once white, were water-stained and covered in sand.
I wormed out from under my husband’s arm. ‘Let me see what’s bothering her.’
I crossed the room in seconds and popped behind the bar. ‘Hey, Alice, mind if I join you?’
She shook her head ‘no’ which I took to mean yes, so I sat down.
Her legs extended straight out in front of her, she held the bag on her lap.
‘I just couldn’t take it any more,’ she sobbed. She wrapped her arms tightly around the bag, and it was then that I noticed it wasn’t a bag. It was a pet carrier.
‘It’ll be over soon,’ I said, thinking she meant the storm.
She stared at me, tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘He said I couldn’t keep it. I asked him why, why, why?’ She started bawling. ‘He’s such a bastard!’
‘What are you talking about, Alice? The ring?’
She sucked in her lips and looked at me sideways through her long, wet lashes. Slowly, she opened the hatch of the carrier. I started when an exuberant puppy leapt out, a white and gray mop of fur that stood up on its hind legs and joyfully licked the tears from Alice’s face.
No, not a puppy. The dog was a full-grown, brindle Scottish Terrier.
‘Isn’t he darling?’ Alice giggled, her tears vanquished at last. ‘Jaime said I couldn’t bring him into the shelter, that dogs weren’t allowed. What a liar! Gator brought Justice in for heaven’s sake. I couldn’t leave my little sweetie all alone in our cottage. Poor thing was terrified!’
Dread clutched at my innards, but I managed to say, ‘Where did Jaime get the dog, Alice?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ She lifted the animal up like a doll, nuzzled his fur and said, ‘Mommy wuvs her widdle Beckums.’
‘Beckums?’
‘Beckham, as in David. I think he’s hot.’
She kissed the dog on the nose. ‘I couldn’t let Jaime take Beckums away, now could I?’
‘Why would Jaime want to take the dog away?’
She plopped Beckham in my lap, picked up my hand and placed it between the little dog’s shoulders. ‘Feel that tiny lump there? It’s a microchip. Jaime said it could be traced.’
I stared at Alice stupidly. Jaime had Frank and Sally’s boat. Jaime had Frank and Sally’s dog. And Jaime had probably given Alice Sally’s emerald ring. I wanted to call the police right away, but we were in the middle of a hurricane, so it would have to wait. I’d have to tell Gator instead.
Alice leaned her head against the bar and said dreamily, ‘If he’d throw a helpless little dog over a cliff, Hannah, can you imagine what he’d do with his own baby?’
The eye had passed, and Helen began to tear at us in earnest. She howled and shrieked like an enraged dragon, lashing the building with the flat of her tail.
My ears popped and my teeth ached as the eyewall swept over us and the air pressure changed. I grabbed Paul’s hand, my anchor. He’d keep me from blowing away.
‘I think Alice is pregnant,’ I said, holding on tight, my lips against his ear.
‘That’s good,’ he shouted over the storm. ‘Isn’t it?’
Before I could answer, Gabriele appeared. Across the room, she and Gator were up to something. ‘Anybody seen Jeremy?’ Gabriele screamed over the roar of the wind. ‘Hell-oh! I could use a little help over here!’
Gabriele helped Gator push the table he’d been sleeping under against the door, then she marched over to roust out the boaters. Six or seven of them began dismantling the pile of furniture, setting the chairs aside fire brigade-style, so they could get at the tables to make barricades.
Meanwhile, Helen sat on the roof like an F-15 fighter jet, all engines full throttle. I heard a shriek as nails lost their hold and the plywood that had been covering the picture window tore away. Pale light entered the room; the plexiglass began to flex with the force of the wind, growling and howling like feedback on the speakers at a Black Sabbath concert. And yet it held.
‘Away from the door!’ Gabriele yelled, her hair flying.
Helen wanted in. She thumped and rattled and knocked at the doors. I could see the door frame flexing under the pressure, the hinges straining. The doors banged and bowed and managed to hold on until with one last desperate crack, the hurricane bar splintered. Helen ripped the doors away and entered the building.
Suddenly I was on the floor, clawing at the carpet. Salt water mist filled the air and I struggled to breathe. ‘Paul!’ I shouted, but the wind tore the words away.
Eyes stinging, I looked around for Molly. She sprawled on the floor next to me, whimpering. I crawled over and covered her body with mine.
The room became a wind tunnel as Helen screamed through like a banshee, picking up books, bottles, cups, coolers, even our lounge chairs and hurling them aside in her fury.
‘Hannah!’ A table was inching toward us. At first I thought it was Helen’s doing, then I saw Paul underneath, pushing it along. He shoved the table against the wall, and I helped Molly crawl under the makeshift barricade where we huddled together for protection.
I didn’t think there could be any trees left, but Helen found them. Trunks crashed and thumped against the building. Raindrops drummed on the table over our head and I realized the roof was leaking. I tilted my head and looked up. The ceiling fans spun like windmills gone wild and light streamed through cracks in the rafters.
Across the room, Alice began to scream, ‘Stop it, stop it, stop it!’ I hoped Jaime was there to comfort her.
It felt like hours before the winds abated, but according to Paul’s watch, it was only forty minutes. When the wind died and we were sure Helen had gone, we crawled out from under the table, dirty, wet and disheveled, like survivors of a war-torn country after a ceasefire.
Paul and I stood up, took inventory of one another. Nothing cut or broken.
One of the boaters had been struck by an airborne chair, injuring his arm. After we made sure she’d suffered no injuries herself, we let Molly hustle off to nurse him.
I was about to check on Alice when Gabriele stumbled into the room out of the hallway, hair loose and wild, a flashlight in her hand. ‘Has anybody seen my brother?’
From a corner behind the bar, a small voice began singing: The eensy weensy spider went up the water spout; Down came the rain and washed the spider out . . .
TWENTY-TWO
CONDITIONS MODERATE RAPIDLY TODAY AS HELEN EXITS, WITH SOUTH WIND BELOW 50 KNOTS BY MID-DAY. CLEAN-UP EFFORTS CAN BEGIN STRAIGHTAWAY.
Chris Parker, Wx Update, Bahamas, Sat 6, 10a
The sun came out, shining on a settlement I barely recognized.
With Justice in the lead, Paul and I straggled back to town behind Molly and Gator, weaving through piles of debris, stepping over logs, and sloshing through puddles up to our ankles. Everywhere residents were emerging, dazed and blinking from the shells of their ruined homes. Where walls remained, jagged holes stood as reminders of doors that had once welcomed visitors, or windows that had once been open to the tradewinds, flower boxes blooming, curtains gently swaying.
Golf carts, generators, and air conditioners had been picked up by the storm, whirled about and discarded, sometimes hundreds of yards from their original locations. Behind the hardware store, a delivery van had overturned; the driver’s-side door yawned open, the seat missing. Next to it lay, incredibly, one of Tamarind Tree’s tiki torches.
The Pink Store, I was relieved to see, had suffered little damage. The slats of the jalousie windows were twisted and bent, allowing water to blow into the store, but Winnie’s pharmaceutical shelf appeared to be the only casualty. The wind had toppled it, sending boxes of Tylenol, Dramamine and cold tablets tumbling, bottles of shampoo, Pepto-Bismol and Benjamin’s Balsam cough mixture, too. They lay in two inches of water on the floor
, a soggy jumble.
Winnie was already at work, sweeping everything out.
‘How’d they fare up at the school?’ I asked.
She paused in mid-sweep. ‘Trying to make it.’
I turned to Gator for a translation. He waggled his hand. ‘Means so-so.’
‘Anybody hurt?’ I asked Winnie.
‘No, praise the Lord.’
A few yards down the road, Tropical Treats hadn’t fared so well. Hurricane Helen had hurled a generator through its roof. It landed smack-dab on the ice cream freezer where crushed tubs of ice cream oozed and dripped, forming multicolored puddles of ice cream soup. ‘And I was going to buy you a rum raisin cone,’ Paul teased.
I poked him in the ribs. ‘Rain check.’
The marina was worse than I feared. As it came into view, Gator grunted. His dive shack had disappeared, tie-downs and all. The dock had twisted and heaved, planks were torn away leaving gaps, like missing teeth. Some floated loose below, knocking against the pilings.
Paul, Molly and I picked our way carefully down the dock while Gator stayed behind, kicking desultorily through the debris that had been his place of business.
One sailboat had sunk. Three others were still afloat, but all had parted company with their masts. One mast leaned crookedly against a piling; another had been hurled through the window of the marina office. I stuck my head inside. File cabinets had toppled, their drawers yawned open. Papers, magazines and books lay in a sodden, pulp-like mass on the linoleum.
I worried about Gator’s boat, Deep Magic. When I’d last seen her, she’d been tied into a slip, held off the finger piers by a web of lines strung from port to starboard, like a giant cat’s cradle. Three anchors had been set off her bow. I headed in that direction, calling to Paul and Molly over my shoulder, ‘I’m going to check on Deep Magic!’
I saw Gator was already aboard his boat, grinning hugely.
I ran down the dock, cheering wildly. ‘She’s OK! She’s OK!’
Gator patted Deep Magic’s console. ‘Good old gal. Never let me down yet.’
Without a Grave Page 22
