Chapter 35
Diana
I’m angry with myself for taking so long to work up the courage to go out to the boat.
A fat lot of good that did me—it was full of water by the time I got out there.
I got close enough to see a major crack in the hull, and the ocean was crashing so violently against the shore I felt like it was going to drag me in.
Then lightning struck so nearby that my skin tingled.
I bolted to the top of the lighthouse tower on autopilot.
You’d think there would be cell service up here.
I’m sitting on the floor, drenched and shaking while I clutch my useless phone and pray for a few bars.
Or even one bar. I’d take one tiny bar—some way to let Ike know I’m stuck out here while lightning flashes through the lantern room, and the water only gets higher.
Usually we hear about these big storms days in advance.
There are text alerts and preparation. People snatch up all of the bottled water and toilet paper, and hunker down.
There was no time to hoard anything with this one.
I don’t have any warning texts or missed calls.
Nothing. Where did this storm come from?
I mean, there was bad weather on the forecast, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
“Di!” Ike’s panicked voice echoes through the tower. “Diana, are you up there?” He’s already stomping up the iron stairs before I can answer.
“Ike,” I breathe, my voice weak with relief. He came. I can’t believe he’s here. “What are you doing over here?” He’s crazy. Now we’ll both be stuck on this island, at the center of the bullseye for this storm. But my heart isn’t thumping quite so hard. I can breathe.
Ike’s here.
I’m safe.
“I came to get you,” he says in a rush. He’s almost at the top of the stairs. “We need to get you off this island. Fast.”
He read my mind. I’m ready to be far away from here, so I don’t waste any time. I rush down the stairs, crashing into him and throwing my arms around his neck.
“Oof.” He chuckles when I plow into him. “I guess this means you’re ready to go?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, grateful to have his calming voice in my ear. “So ready.”
“Okay. Let’s move.”
He takes my hand, and we race down the tower and through the stinging rain toward the shore. We’re only halfway across the grass when Ike curses. He drops my hand, rushing toward the rocks.
“No!” he hollers through the wind with another curse.
Another boat—I’m guessing it’s the one that brought him here—is sloshing haphazardly in the whitecaps a few dozen yards from shore.
Our boat is almost fully submerged now. Ike yanks it onto the rocks, flipping it as he tugs it free, and inspecting the damage with a groan. “I need to patch this up before the storm gets worse. Can you run to the boat house? Grab a—”
Simultaneous thunder and lightning crash, cutting him off. I screech and duck, like that will help. There’s no logic in times like these.
“Ike,” I call through the wind. The water is rising so fast. It already took the other boat.
I don’t want it to take us, and I’m not getting into a patched boat in this.
We’re not getting off this island, and we have no way to reach anyone on shore.
Ike and I are riding out this storm together, whether he realizes it or not.
His brow furrows and he purses his lips, rain streaming down his face while he measures the impossible distance to the mainland. He groans at the sky.
“Let’s get inside,” I call, reaching out a hand. “We’ll figure out something.”
Except there’s not much to figure out. Taking a tiny boat out in this storm would put us in far greater danger than if we stayed. That’s obvious to me—not so much to Ike. I can see him trying to find a solution. I take his hand, trying to tug him toward the house. With some hesitation, he lets me.
Once we’re in the breezeway and out of the storm, Ike scowls out at the heaving ocean.
He digs his fingers into his shoulder, massaging while he thinks.
“We need to get off this island. I need to be over there.” I can tell he’s thinking out loud, because based on the size of those waves, what he’s suggesting is clearly impossible.
“Ike.” I rest a hand on his shoulder. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“We can’t sit here. The surge is coming—”
“All we can do is get to high ground.” How is it possible that I’m the levelheaded one right now? Talk about role reversal. “The storm will blow over.”
He paces across the breezeway like a caged animal. “You didn’t see the weather alerts? We’re in danger here. And I need to be at the fire station. This is so much worse than—” He groans, scrubbing his hand through his dripping hair.
The person who is used to saving everyone is going to have to watch from afar while a storm pummels the town he loves. I understand his agitation, but there’s nothing he can do without putting himself at risk. And I’m not having that.
I take his cold hand, smoothing it between mine. “Ike,” I say as calmly as I can, given the torrential rain and rising storm surge happening out the window.
The muscle in his jaw hardens visibly. “Yeah.” A tremor runs through him, either from cold or stress. Maybe both.
“Look at me.”
Finally, his dark gaze finds mine. The tension around his eyes loosens by a fraction.
I tighten my hold on his hand. “You’ve done everything you can for them. We need to focus on staying safe here. Let’s get into some dry clothes and get upstairs.” I squeeze. “Okay?”
He nods, and it turns into a shudder. “Okay.”
A few minutes later, Ike meets me at the upstairs window wearing jeans and a dry flannel. He’s still tense. Every move he makes is sharp and edgy.
“How long has the power been out?”
I shrug. “I’m not sure. It went out while I was talking myself into getting into the boat.” I turn, tossing my useless phone onto my bed. I should’ve kept it charging this afternoon. I’m down to seven percent—not that it’s good for anything. I still don’t have any service.
I’ve made a lot of rookie mistakes today.
If I had been brave and gotten on that boat neither of us would be stuck here.
I drop onto the bed in a huff. “I’m sorry I didn’t get off the island and that you came over here.
I feel terrible that you’re trapped, too.
I would’ve been okay.” That’s a bald-faced lie.
I was disintegrating like cotton candy in the rain.
I’m glad he’s with me, and that might make me an awful person.
He sits beside me, kneading that spot in his shoulder absentmindedly. “I wouldn’t leave you here.”
“I know. I know you, Ike.” I move my hand under his, rubbing the tense muscle for him, working my fingers up to his neck and back. “That’s who you are.”
Ike leans into my touch, letting his chin drop to his chest. The wind and rain roar around the darkened house. After a while he mutters, “I hate not doing anything.”
“You’ve done as much as you can.” I swear the knot in his shoulder tightens under my fingers at my words. I need to get his mind off of this storm. “Why did you keep playing?”
“What?”
“In high school. Why did you keep playing football after you were injured?” Because it’s been almost fifteen years, and he’s still feeling this every day. I’m bothered on his behalf.
“We didn’t have a big bench. It was me or Davie Rouse, and no offense to Davie, but a spaghetti noodle could knock him over.
” He chuckles, and I’m glad his mind is off of saving Cape Georgeana for a second.
“I wanted to win. My coach, my principal… The whole school wanted it. Our team was good that year. We had a shot at playing past the regular season. So I muscled through it.”
And he’s paying for it years later.
But wait. “Wasn’t your mom the principal? I can’t believe she let you play.”
He laughs. “She wanted a good season more than I did. And have you tried saying ‘no’ to Shelly Wentworth? She gets this look in her eyes—”
“Oh, I’m familiar with the Wentworth sad eyes.”
The corner of his mouth hitches. “I didn’t tell her how bad it was,” he says with a shrug.
I shake my head, letting my hand rest on Ike’s shoulder.
His voice rumbles in the dim room. “What?”
He knows what. I don’t mind telling him, though. “You do so much.” I want to tell him he does too much, but I want him to see it for himself.
He freezes under my hand. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Not when it comes at a cost.” I bump his arm. “You rowed through a nasty storm to get to me, Ike. And if that’s not proof enough, I have two words for you: Muffie’s. Underpants.”
Ike laughs.
“You like to help people, Ike. I love that about you. But sometimes it’s too much.
As your wife, I’m not okay with the man I love being this town’s sacrificial lamb.
I’m done with it. I’m telling you it needs to stop, or so help me…
” I trail off when I realize what I’ve just admitted.
I didn’t mean to say them, but the minute the words are hanging in the air, I realize they’re true.
I love my husband.
A burning starts in my chest and radiates outward.
I love this man so much, I want to deck him.
I’ve been massaged, hypnotized, bamboozled.
Boiled alive. I should’ve thought this through before I blurted out the words I can’t take back.
Maybe he didn’t hear them, since I mixed them in with a bunch of threats. My fingers are crossed.
“You love me.” Ike straightens. It’s not a question, and the wonder in his eyes undoes me.
“Technically, yes.” I nod. I’m all seriousness on the outside, but I’m hyperventilating on the inside.
His brow furrows. “Technically?”
“Technically. I find your personality and face extremely attractive. I think about you almost constantly. You’re charming and fun. Irresistible. I think that means I love you.” I clear my throat. “But don’t read into it too much.” Back away from the pot of boiling water, Ike.
Can I chime in here? Tom Selleck’s rumbly voice pops into my head.
No, you may not. I need to be levelheaded. Ike is making it difficult enough with the sad eyes.
I shove his shoulder. “Don’t you dare with those eyes. Stop that right now.”
“I’m just confused.”
“I'm going to let you be confused, because I’m confused, too.” I lean against him. “I haven’t figured anything out.”
I shiver, hunching my shoulders against the chill in the room. Ike’s stolen sweatshirt isn’t helping much. I want him to build a fire for us, but sleeping downstairs isn’t an option.
“Let’s wrap you up.” Ike stands, stretching and arching his back. “It’s going to be a long night if we don’t stay warm.” He steps to the darkening window, peering out at the storm. “Um. I don’t want to alarm you, but out of an abundance of caution, we should move to higher ground.”
My heart drops. “Why do you sound like a text message from the National Weather Service?” I laugh nervously, following him to the window to get a look.
It’s mostly dark, and I can’t quite see the outline of the shore.
Then lightning flashes and I realize why: The shore is under water.
Waves are crashing a dozen feet away from our porch steps, so close they’re almost spraying against the house.
I freeze, blinking at the water below. This can’t be real.
“Breathe, Di.” Ike pulls me against him.
“We’re going to be fine. I’m only being cautious.
I can’t let anything…” he shakes his head, then I feel his lips against my forehead, holding there while he breathes me in.
“I just want to keep us safe. Let’s go.” He starts stripping the starfish quilt off my bed, bunching it under his arm.
“Grab whatever you don’t want to get wet,” he says with a wince.
I nod, following his instructions robotically. I grab some pillows, my laptop, and a few odds and ends, and we rush through the dark house into the lighthouse tower. Lightning flashes through the narrow windows as we climb the stairs, and thunder rattles the whole building.
Usually, I enjoy thunder. I love a cozy, dark day, reading under a blanket while a storm rumbles in the distance. This is different. Zeus and Poseidon are taking turns pummelling our little island with both fists.
We reach the lantern room, and it’s so much scarier up here with a three-hundred-and-sixty degree view of the storm.
But even as the wind and rain clash against the salt-crusted windows, logically I know we’re safe.
This thing has been standing for over a hundred years.
She’s not going anywhere tonight, especially after the work we’ve done.
On week one I had the tower inspected by a specialized engineer who assured me that the structure and foundation were solid before I had the staircase replaced.
Built to endure, he had said. Like a lighthouse.
My beautiful hardwood floors, though? Those might be toast after tonight.
I sigh shakily, setting my stuff on the floor while Ike looks out the window, scratching his beard. He still has my blanket bunched under his arm. I tug it free, wrapping it around my shoulders on one side and offering the other side to Ike.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, distracted by the chaos outside. He curls his side around himself, and we stand at the window, wrapped in my blanket. All we can do is watch as the ocean closes in on Cape Georgeana.