by Jay Quinn
Cathy stood and gave me a tired smile. “You’re one of the best, most empathetic people I know Chris. Your daughter-in-law is very lucky to have you. I thought Tony’s mother was going to take this one home with her in her purse. Sheesh, a male child. You’d have thought I was the infanta of Spain bringing the royal heir into the world.”
I laughed. “There’s an Irish version of that as well. Susan’s is a boy. Trey e-mailed me a picture of his sonogram with a big red arrow pointing at the little thing’s package.”
“Have they decided on a name?”
I sighed. “My ex-bastard told me they were going to name it and call it Chris whether or not it was a boy or girl, but I don’t know if he was just trying to be malicious in telling me or if that’s really the truth of it. They haven’t said and I won’t ask. It’s their decision, not mine.”
Cathy just shook her head. “Have you talked to the ex lately? How’s he dealing with becoming a grandfather?”
“I wouldn’t know; we don’t talk. His latest child is just now a toddler. I can’t believe he’d let a grandchild affect him one way or another, other than to stoke his rather large ego.”
“Won’t you see him when you go up to see the new baby?”
“Oh God, I hope not. I’ll take Steve with me, and that should scare him off.”
“So, you think Steve will go with you?”
“Honestly, I doubt it. He’s amused by my kids, but he’s not a family kind of guy. He was an only child. Sometimes I think he wonders what all the fuss is about.”
Cathy nodded and peeked under the blanket covering the baby and her breast. “He’s asleep,” she whispered. With that, she turned and went back into her office. And I got back to work.
When I woke up, the television was still on. Steve had brought one of his over from his house and installed it in my bedroom the night before. He was still in the same tense position he was sitting in when I went to sleep. The Weather Channel was showing the likely strike zones, and we were just inside the northernmost edge of the northernmost boundary of the red zone. Hurricane Joan was becoming a real threat after days of speculation and growing concern. Right then she was off the northern coast of South Carolina—a Category 3—and gaining strength as she rode north on the gulf stream.
I sat up and looked at the clock by my bed. It was nearly 4:30 in the morning. I wondered if Steve had done more than nap all night long under the soothing sounds of The Weather Channel expert’s weary conjectures. “Are you ready for some coffee, Steve?” I asked.
He put his arm over my shoulder and kissed the side of my head distractedly. “You should go back to sleep,” he said.
Nuala stirred at the foot of the bed, got up and stretched happily, and then came to lick my face. She had to climb over Steve to reach me.
“Get down, Nuala. Damn. Chris, why in the hell did we ever let this dog get used to sleeping on the bed?”
I got up and Nuala joined me. “C’mon girl, let’s go make Steve some coffee.”
“I’m sorry, Chris. I don’t mean to be an asshole about the dog, okay?”
I walked around the bed and Nuala dashed past me, out the door, and down the hall. “I’ll start the coffee and take her out for a minute. I’ll bring you in some coffee when it’s done, okay?”
Steve looked away from the television and gave me an appreciative look. “Did I ever tell you I like seeing you in my drawers first thing in the morning?”
I laughed. “Can’t be as much as I like seeing you out of them.”
Steve shook his head and threw back the covers from around his waist. He still wore the jeans he’d put on after his shower the night before. Nodding toward the TV, he said, “This one’s got me worried, Chris. Come get me when the coffee’s done. We need to have a talk about what we’re going to do if this big bitch starts to turn.”
I gave him a smile and took off down the hall after Nuala.
She was patient while I got the coffee started, but the minute I was done, she showed me her leash hanging by the kitchen door and whined. I took it down and clicked it onto her collar, then we took off out the door and down the stairs to the street.
So early in the morning, the stars were still out and full over my head. The sky was completely clear, and a slight onshore breeze stirred the trees and prompted the last soft chirring of the summer cicadas. It was a beautiful warm morning, and I followed behind Nuala as she sniffed and squatted happily.
I knew I should be more concerned about the storm, but I was actually sort of elated. This was my first hurricane—at least the first one I’d tracked with the real measure of concern a local knew. The year before I’d given up on the hype surrounding the arrival of Hurricane Isabel. Knowing the center of its eye was coming ashore at Cape Lookout was driving me crazy. My house was approaching the final stages of construction, and I knew if it were destroyed, I’d be in a world of hurt. I waited with shredded nerves until I got a call from my contractor letting me know all I’d lost was a few shingles. If Isabel had tracked in just a few ticks south, it could have been a whole different story.
Only a few years before, Hurricane Bertha had wreaked havoc on Emerald Isle. Between the high winds and micro tornadoes, the western end of Bogue Banks had caught hell as the storm came ashore near Wilmington. A few weeks after that, Floyd came in and flooded out all of eastern North Carolina, creating a disaster of epic proportions. Hurricanes weren’t anything to feel elated over. But I couldn’t deny the adrenaline rush and move with the wave of anxiety that played on TV 24 hours a day.
I stood and enjoyed the easy breeze on my face. It seemed nearly impossible to believe it could turn wide, vast, and furious, coming in anger to destroy things and places I knew and loved. Nuala nudged me with her nose. It was time for us to get back to the house, but I wanted to see the beach. I started up the street to my neighbor’s house on the ocean front. It turned out they had identified the boys who vandalized my house. I stopped by and thanked them profusely. They’d waved off my thanks, telling me neighbors had to look out for each other. I made a mental note to find their phone number and ask if there was anything I could do to help secure their house for the coming storm.
Walking with Nuala up the rise of a dune, I looked out over the dark beach and sea. The moon had ridden at her highest and had retreated toward the end of the island. She was not quite full, but she was growing, which would make a great deal of difference with tides and storm surge when Joan came to call.
I listened to the sea. There was only a soft lap on the shore and the sound of distant waves farther out, all seeming to be calling to each other, spreading secrets and hints of what was coming that only their brothers down south and farther out knew for sure. I turned Nuala around gently, and we headed home.
Steve came into the kitchen while I was putting Nuala’s food in her bowl. He watched me while I set her bowl down and as I made our coffee. He rubbed his chin and I heard the soft scrape of his beard in his fingers. When I handed him his mug he said, “Let’s go on outside.” Once we were there, he settled into an Adirondack chair and looked up at the sky before taking a sip of his coffee. He leaned forward and held the mug between his hands.
“Chris, I want you to go on up to Trey’s and Susan’s and meet the baby like you planned. I got a lot to do, and there’s not a lot of it you can help me with. If this thing does like Isabel, I’ll need every spare minute to get my place secure, triple-anchor my boat out in the sound, and hunker down. I’ll help you get this place locked up today. After that, I want you to take off.”
The coffee warmed my hands, and I held it there for a minute before I said anything. Nuala wandered out onto the deck and panted with her lips pulled back like she was grinning. Steve reached over and rubbed her neck behind her ears. She stretched happily and settled down near his feet. “What will you do with the dogs?” I asked.
“If it looks like it’ll hit around here, I’ll take Nuala and my dogs to Heath’s. He knows to expect them—I’ve already ta
lked to him. They’ll be safer there than either here or my house. Heath’s place is like a bunker.”
I lit a cigarette and offered one to Steve. He took it and my lighter, then looked at me expectantly. “Well, what have you got to say?”
“I’m not leaving. I’m going to stay here with you.”
“No hell, you ain’t.”
“Yes hell, I am. If I go up there it may be days before I can get back. I’m not going to do it. I’m staying my damn ass right here.”
“Chris, act like you’ve got some sense. All those days you might be stuck in Raleigh, you’d be stuck here with no air-conditioning, no power, no nothing.”
“I’ve got a gas range and extra ice and water already stored up. The house has stormproofed, impact-resistant windows and doors, it’s 10 feet above grade, and it’s far enough back from the ocean that I’m not worried about storm surge.”
“Chris don’t be stupid. You might have all that figured out, but there ain’t no house nowhere that can stand up to them baby tornadoes.”
I sat my coffee mug on the arm of my chair and touched the baht chain around my neck while Steve got his cigarette lit. The gold was cooler than my skin in the early predawn damp outside. The coffee had warmed me, but my bare chest and shoulders were cool in the breeze. I shivered slightly. Steve gave me a squint-eyed look through his cigarette smoke. I tossed what was left of my cigarette off the deck onto the driveway below and looked him in the eye. “I’m not leaving you. It’s that plain and simple. You better get used to the idea right now.”
“You’re a stubborn-ass fool. This ain’t going to be no play party if it hits. Don’t think it’s going to be all dramatic and lovey-dovey. It ain’t going to be nothing but screaming wind and scratchy weather radio. I’m going to be mean as a snake until it’s over and I know all my shit is safe and sound. You’re just going to be something else I have to worry about.”
“Well, start worrying. Now, where do you want to stay, here or your house?”
“I can see my boat from my place and my house has ridden out a lot more storms than this one.”
“Okay, fine. You just tell me what I have to do to help so I don’t have to ask. Other than that, I’ll stay out of your way.”
“I ought to kick your little narrow ass across the bridge and onto Highway 70 heading west, you know that?”
“Oh shut up, Steve. Now tell me what you want me to do.”
Steve drained his coffee mug, sighed, and stood up. “Well, the first thing I want you to do is make me some more coffee, then I want you to find me a pencil and some paper. I’m already pissed at you and I don’t want to have to tell you things twice.”
I stood as well and reached for his mug. He held it up and away from my grasp to tease me and laughed. “So Little Bit wants to be a O’er Banker. Can’t even reach up to get my coffee cup and he’s going to take on a hurricane.”
I refused to jump for the cup or fall for the baiting. I’d made my mind up, period.
The phone rang as I was bringing the last chair off the deck and into the house. I wove my way through the bulky deck furniture that was never meant to be inside and caught the phone on its third ring.
“Hi Mom, isn’t it high time you were heading out to Trey and Susan’s?”
“Oh hello, Schooner. Are you and Frank ready in case it swings in at you?”
“We’re going to be fine. We’ll get a lot of rain, but no big deal. When was the last time you turned on the television?”
“I don’t think the damn thing’s been off for two days. I’ve been busy getting the house secure, why?”
“Damn, Mom. Get out of there. The thing has turned. You’re dead in the middle of the strike zone.”
“Schooner, it can wobble or turn again anytime it wants to. I’m getting sick and tired of panicking every time it sneezes out there.”
“Mom, look, I know you’re all about the beach now, but you need to get your ass in gear. I’m surprised Steve hasn’t packed you off already. What is he thinking?”
“Schooner, settle down. Steve wanted me to leave hours ago, but I’ve made the decision to stay. If I go to Raleigh, it could take me days to get back, and I’m not going to sit up in Raleigh when my whole life’s down here. Now, I’m not going to take any shit about it. Got that?”
I was met with dead silence on the other end of the phone. “Schooner?”
“Let me talk to Steve,” he said.
“Schooner, Steve’s not here, he’s got a thousand things to do to get his own act together. I’m about to head over to his place to get all the dogs and take them to board at Heath’s. They’ll be safer there, and I don’t want to ride this thing out with a bunch of whining dogs.”
“There’s a mandatory evacuation in effect, Mom.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll be with Steve, I’ll be just fine.”
“You two don’t intend to stay at his place do you? He’s not 50 feet off the water!”
“Schooner, his house has been there for over 60 years and it’s not gone yet. Now look, I’ve got to go. Will you do me a favor and call your brother and sister for me?”
“Oh no, you’re not putting that on me. Trey will have a fit and Andrea will freak out.”
“That’s exactly why I want you to call them. I’ve got enough to do without dealing with all that. Tell them I’ll call them from my cell phone as soon as this thing is over and gone. Okay? Now tell me you love me and have a good hurricane. I got to go.”
“Chris, I’ll kill you the next time I see you for doing this to me.”
“Hush baby, I’ll be fine.”
“You’ll call me first?”
“Absolutely.”
“I love you, you crazy-ass fool.”
“I love you too, baby. You and Frank look out for each other. Bye.”
I hung up the phone and immediately called the voice mail service to change my greeting. I punched in the right sequence of numbers and waited for the beep. Then I said: Hello, this is Chris Thayer. It is 10:42 on Saturday morning. I’ll be staying on the island for the hurricane. I’ll be with Steve Willis in Salter Path. Please leave a message. I will return your call as soon as possible after the storm passes. Thanks and have a good day.
I pressed the number for REPLAY GREETING. Satisfied that I sounded no-nonsense and practical, I hit the code for “save” and then APPLY RESPONSE. “That,” I said aloud, “is that.” The second I replaced the receiver in its cradle, the phone rang. I ignored it and went to the kitchen to get plastic garbage bags to securely wrap all my electronic stuff, just in case the water got in.
After I’d unplugged and double-bagged my computer components, my CD player, and all my other small appliances, I did the same with all my artwork and put it in the closet closest to the middle of the house. Also in that central closet were all my paper treasures—family photos and practical things like insurance policies, tax records, and bank stuff. All sealed in sturdy, waterproof plastic tubs. I looked around the house and sighed. I’d done all I could, and after all, they were just things. I considered how many times I might have to do this—again, and again, and again—as the years rolled along.
I had packed a few things in an L.L. Bean bag—just a change of clothes, a carton of cigarettes, and some toiletries. At the last moment I threw in a copy of a book I’d been meaning to get to. I hoped it would distract me and keep me from driving Steve crazy. That done, I let Nuala out of her kennel. She was whiney and hyper. Dogs and other animals knew way before humans that something awesome was impending. I nudged her toward the door and turned off the circuit breaker as I left. From here on out, the house was in God’s hands, just like the rest of us left here on the island.
After I picked up the rest of the dogs at Steve’s, I drove to Heath’s with all five of them whimpering, panting and milling around the back of my Expedition. Together they were so heavy, they rocked the damn thing as I drove down the island. The wind began to pick up, as I herded them inside. For the first t
ime, the paper work I always had to sign absolving the veterinary practice and kennel from responsibility in the event of an accident beyond their reasonable control gave me pause.
“Makes you think this time doesn’t it,” Heath said.
“Yeah, well … whatever.” I signed the forms and pushed them across the counter to Heath. He tucked them all, including Nuala’s, in a folder with Steve’s name on it.
“Will they be okay? I mean, do they freak out?” I asked.
Heath gave me a smile and nodded his head. “Just a little. They howl some until it gets here, then they settle together like puppies in a pile to ride it out. I think they’re actually better off here than with you.”
“Why? I mean, Steve told me they were safer here, but—”
“Here they don’t have to feel responsible for you, Chris. They’re free to worry about themselves and each other. They’ll be fine, I promise.”
I nodded and turned to leave.
“Let me walk you out,” Heath said. Once we were outside, he looked up at the sky and pointed: “Look.”
Overhead, ragged clouds raced across the sky. They were moving faster than I’d ever seen clouds move. They looked like the tattered souls that flew over Dickens’s London in the old movies of A Christmas Carol. Away to the south and east, the sky was growing darker and more ominous.
“It’s going to be bad, isn’t it?” I said.
Heath laughed. “Well, I heard Jim Cantore from The Weather Channel is setting up at the Holiday Inn. That can’t be good news.”
“Where will you be staying?”
“Here, with your dogs.”
“Damn, Heath. I know how dedicated you are, but shouldn’t you be at your place?”
“It’s safer here than at my house. I rode out Bertha at my place. I won’t do that again. Are you staying with Steve?”
