Between Tides & Thunder

Prologue

NINETEEN YEARS AGO

Rain slams against the windows, so loud it seems like the whole house is shaking. What if the glass breaks? Who will fix it? I don’t think Mama knows how. I curl tighter in the closet, knees locked to my chest.

Mama said not to come out. No matter what happens.

No matter what I hear.

Thunder booms again. What if the roof falls in and Mama can’t find me?

Someone’s shouting downstairs, but another crack of thunder swallows the words. The rain pounds harder, like it’s trying to get inside. If I were a baby, I’d think the storm was here for me. But I’m not a baby. I’m six. A big girl. Mama needs me to be a big girl right now.

But a whimper slips out anyway. My legs twitch to run, to find Mama, but I squeeze my arms around my knees and stay put. I promised. I have to keep my promise.

A flash of lightning fills the thin line beneath the door, white and sharp. My knees knock together. Darkness rushes back in. I clutch my carved wooden reindeer—a gift from Father—so hard, its edges bite my palms. Tears sting my eyes.

I might throw up.

I wish Mama were here. She’d rub my back, stroke my hair, let me hide my face in her soft dress until I felt brave.

Between angry thunderclaps, I hear it—boots on the stairs. Heavy. Loud. Too loud to be Mama.

I cover my eyes. My cheeks are wet.

They’re in my room now. Strangers. Bad men. That’s why Mama wanted me to stay hidden. Things crash to the floor. Where’s Mama?

I hold my breath and make myself as small as I can.

It doesn’t help.

The door flies open.

I scream and scream and scream.