Chapter Forty-Three
EMERY
THE BELL OVER the door jingles as we step into Mama T’s General Store. The familiar blast of cold air is a relief from the thick pre-storm humidity outside.
“Hello, you two,” Rosie calls from behind the counter. “Shop fast, this old girl is closing up soon.”
“Hi, Rosie,” I say, grinning at her.
“Hey, Rose.” Reid steps around the counter and plants a kiss on Rosie’s cheek. “We’ll be quick, don’t worry.”
Rosie pats Reid’s bicep and shoots me a wink.
“Good boy,” she teases. “They’re saying this storm is strengthening. It might become a category two hurricane.”
Reid’s brow tightens instantly, the line of his shoulders going rigid. “Where did you hear that?”
“Just a few minutes ago on the radio.” Rosie turns behind her, turning the knob on an old boombox. The speaker hisses with static, and Reid and I share a glance. “It was working a second ago.”
I take my phone out of my pocket and pull up my weather app. A bright red HURRICANE WARNING banner stretches across the top of my screen. “She’s not wrong,” I say, holding the phone up to Reid.
“Shit,” he mutters. “Rosie, who is boarding up your windows?”
“Dale said he’d send one of his guys by,” Rosie says with a casual shrug.
Reid’s whole body bristles, jaw going hard. I can practically feel the irritation rolling off him. “Yeah, no. Fuck Dale. I’ll be by first thing in the morning.”
“Watch your mouth around your lady,” Rosie scolds, though her grin is all mischief.
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, placing a hand on the small of my back and steering me down the first aisle. The warmth of his palm sizzles through my shirt. “Bread, milk, eggs. What else do you need for a hurricane?”
“Beer,” I offer.
“Beer. Right.” His laugh is quick, distracted. We stop in front of the refrigerated cases and peer inside. “What kind?”
“How about that local lager we had before?”
Reid grabs a twelve-pack like it weighs nothing. We toss in snacks, some candles, maybe more comfort food than is strictly necessary, and head back up to Rosie. Dare I say, I’m kind of excited about hunkering down with him.
“You were fast,” Rosie says with approval as she begins scanning our items.
“We don’t want to keep you here any longer than you have to be, Rosie,” Reid replies, bagging the groceries with practiced ease. “You going to be okay through this?”
“Oh yeah.” She waves her hand like this storm is just like every other one she’s seen before. “I’m going to my sister’s on the mainland.”
“Good. How’s she doing?” Reid asks, bagging our groceries.
“She’s great. Thinks I should give up this place and move out there with her though, naturally. But I can’t let it go. It’s the last of our legacy.” Rosie’s voice softens, the humor slipping a little. Her eyes turn glassy.
“Rosie, I had no idea you were Mama T,” I say, digging in my purse for my wallet.
Reid is faster. He slides his card across the counter, and Rosie swipes it before I can protest.
“My mother was Mama T. Her name was Teresa,” Rosie says, turning wistful. “She left me this place. I’ve worked here just about every day since I was fourteen years old. It’s not just a store—it’s a piece of her. I can’t let it go yet.”
“That’s really special,” I say, reaching out to give her hand a squeeze. “We’ll make sure she’s boarded up tight.”
Rosie squeezes back, her eyes crinkling with gratitude. “I like her,” she tells Reid with a pointed nod at me. Then to both of us, “You two be careful.”
“We will,” I promise, heading for the door.
Reid puts his arm around my waist, pulling me close as the wind whistles under the eaves.
“See you on the other side, Rosie,” he calls.
She lifts a hand in farewell. “Y’all stay safe!”
The door swings shut behind us, and the air outside feels heavier than when we came in—charged and expectant, like the whole town is holding its breath.
MORNING COMES QUICKLY, and Maeve is already making herself known by the sounds of the whipping wind outside our windows—its long, low moans, threading through the marsh. The trees rustle outside, and it’s almost as if they’re shivering.
I stumble out of bed and move to the bay window to see gulls crying out over the water, circling before moving inland.
Marsh grass whips in frantic waves, hissing as the blades snap together.
Somewhere out in the early light, an egret shrieks once.
But there is silence too. The early morning chatter of marsh animals seems to be absent.
It’s as if they know what’s coming. No frogs, no crickets, no birds.
Just the whistle of the wind and the tick of the clock on the wall.
The sky hasn’t even darkened yet, but the storm is already here in every sound except rain.
“We’d better get a move on,” Reid murmurs, stepping behind me and pressing a kiss to my temple.
“You’re right. We need to get plywood?” I turn to look at him and for the first time see the concern etched on his features.
“I have a shed full of plywood sheets. I reuse them after every storm. There should be some at Blackbird Cottage too. Then we’ll see what we need for Mama T’s.” Reid moves toward the kitchen. “I’m going to make some coffee.”
“Good idea. We’ll need it.” My phone buzzes in my hand and I glance down to see a text from Kayla. “Kayla’s going to meet us at the research center to help in a couple of hours.”
“She doesn’t need to help. She should stay home and help her mom with her younger siblings,” Reid argues.
“Try telling her that. The girl loves that place. She’ll be upset if you turn her away.” I move to the kitchen, taking the mug of coffee he’s offering me.
“Get dressed in clothes you don’t care about. Some old sneakers. But throw your waders in the truck too, just in case the tide’s high.” Reid slurps his coffee. “The sooner we get this done, the better.”
WE START WITH his cabin. I follow him out to the shed, and he tosses me a pair of work gloves.
“Put these on. I don’t want you to get a splinter,” he says.
He spins the combination lock and the doors pop open.
The shed is deep, filled to the brim with tools.
There are several sheets of plywood leaning against the right-side wall.
“These may feel a little heavy to you. I’ll take one end, you take the other.
We’ll start with the sliding glass door.
” He steps inside and grabs a screw gun. “This will make things go faster.”
We lean each piece of plywood against the front porch railing. Reid has them labeled with where they go on the house, making the process quick and relatively painless. We remove the porch furniture and shove it into the shed where we’ve made some room.
We finish just as the wind starts to pick up, the sky turning a bruised gray color.
“You’d better run in and get a jacket. I have a SEALS wind breaker in my front closet. Get that,” Reid says, coming out of the shed with a few extra pieces of plywood and some bungee cords. “I’m going to load the truck and then we’ll head over to Blackbird Cottage.”
I nod, ducking through the front door. The cabin has shifted into an eerie half-night.
Daylight doesn’t enter so much as leak through the seams in thin stripes across the floor.
The corners of the room go almost black, swallowing everything beyond the reach of the single lamp Reid remembered to switch on.
Shadows stretch in strange shapes, long and crooked, turning familiar things—his boots by the door, a coat hung on a hook—into unsettling silhouettes.
I make quick work of finding the wind breaker, not wanting to linger here too long.
I hear him slam the tailgate on the truck closed as soon as I find the jacket. I throw it on over my head and rush toward the door.
“Do you need anything else from inside?” I call to him.
“Grab us a couple of water bottles,” he replies, sliding into the driver’s seat.
I do as he asks and when I come out, I see Reid has driven my Prius under the carport on the back side of the cabin. The window is still broken but he sealed it up tightly with heavy plastic and duct tape.
“I thought your car would be safer over there,” he says, pointing, when I slide in the passenger seat.
“Thank you,” I say, sucking in a breath. “We have had hurricanes in New Jersey, but this feels intense. Maybe because we’re right on the water.” I glance out the window and see the marsh water has already risen higher since we started boarding the place up. Now it looks choppy and rough.
“We’ll be okay,” Reid murmurs, backing the truck out. “Let’s keep going.”