Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Breathless, Emily looked up at the beams in the mansion’s vaulted ceiling. Is this house strong enough to survive this storm, sitting right on the coast? Surely it had made it through others, right?
As if reading her mind, Patrick spoke up.
“The house is equipped with extra power and electric hurricane shutters. The owner and I had a conversation about it once. I’ll find the smart system and see if I can figure out how to initiate the storm protection.
If not, the glass is hurricane resistant, so a tropical storm should be no problem. ”
Emily took a step toward him, trying to remain strong but trembling. “Will we be safe here?”
He turned to the now-raging wind outside and then looked down at her. She didn’t like the deliberation on his face.
His jaw clenched. “Are you all packed up?”
“All but a few things of Sienna’s,” Blair said from behind her.
His entire focus locked on Emily, and then softened, as if he wanted to ease her worry. “Get your bags, and I’ll take you all to my sister’s. I’ve gotten her house and mine secure for a storm already, and she lives farthest inland—about twenty minutes away.”
“They said we only have thirty,” Emily said, frightened.
“Should we just stay here and try to wait it out?” Sienna asked.
“The storm surge and coastal winds will be insane if this thing becomes a hurricane. And hurricanes can spin off tornadoes. They’re worse the closer you are to the shore. You’ll be safest inland.”
“Do we need to do anything here?” She peered outside. The grounds crew had already stacked the outside chairs, the wind pushing against them. “They could fly through the air,” Emily said.
“I’m sure they’ve secured the furniture as best they can, but there aren’t any guarantees when Mother Nature is involved. Get your things.” Patrick flew out of the room, rushing through the house, looking for the system. When he found it, he searched the buttons.
As Emily, Sienna, and Blair retrieved their suitcases from upstairs, the hum of the shutters rolling down the windows made Emily’s stomach drop. Suddenly, the house was dark. A couple of emergency lights popped on along the stairs, giving the house an eerie feeling.
They dragged their bags to the front door as Patrick met them.
Through the wild wind and rain, he loaded his cooking equipment and supplies into his truck.
When he’d finished, he grabbed their suitcases, lumped them into the bed of the vehicle, and pulled a retractable cover over them to keep them dry. Sienna locked up.
He opened the door to a roomy backseat and Blair and Sienna climbed inside. Emily opened the front door and jumped in to ride shotgun. She brushed her soaking clothes, not making any headway in getting rid of the water.
The trees swayed precariously over them, the wind rocking the vehicle. Emily looked back at her friends’ terrified faces.
Patrick started the engine, put the truck in gear, and then flew down the drive.
At the end, the road was jam-packed with cars weaving in and out of line, all frantically trying to get to safety in the short amount of time before the storm hit. Patrick’s hand tightened around the steering wheel.
“The main roads are jammed,” he said. “If we want to outrun the storm, we’re going to have to take back roads.” His voice was still cool and calm, despite his assessment of the calamity outside. “Y’all make sure your seatbelts are on.”
He pushed the front bumper of his truck out into traffic, causing a few horns to sound in response.
Ignoring their warning, he pushed into the mass and maneuvered around the cars, inching through several lanes.
Emily closed her eyes. They did not need to get into a fender bender in this.
But she opened them when he took a wide turn, bumped over the curb, and headed down a dirt path on the other side of the road at top speed.
Emily grabbed the door handle to steady herself as they bounded through the woods like an off-road speed-racer. Had anyone driven on this before? It looked more like a bike path. “This is a back road?” she asked.
Patrick swerved to miss a tree stump and then hit the gas. “It is today.”
Through the blur of sheeting rain, an eerie green cast had fallen over everything.
The truck jolted over debris, the woods on either side a blur through the deluge.
They were all completely silent under the howling of the wind and the hammering rain.
The windshield wipers smacked back and forth, but did little to clear the view.
Patrick moved with agile speed, taking turns with ease, as if he drove through the woods in a tropical storm on a regular basis.
How the rain managed to still douse them through the thick canopy of swaying trees, Emily had no idea.
The limbs arched and bent over the truck and then away like a nimble stalk of sea grass.
The trees looked as though they could fall over at any minute, pinning the truck to the path.
Twigs dropped onto the windshield, but the wipers brushed them away.
Emily’s shoulders tightened in response.
Sienna’s weather alerts pinged from her phone in her handbag, but no one paid any attention to the updates.
The branches cracking around them sounded like gunshots from all angles.
The truck splashed through pooled water in low-lying areas, but just as Emily would worry that they were too deep, they’d bump up to higher ground again.
Through it all, she stole glances at Patrick. He was laser-focused on the path ahead of them, his face showing neither fear nor ease. He just drove, his large hands gripping the wheel, the whites of his knuckles the only indication that he was anything other than calm.
Thumps from debris hitting the top of the truck made Emily jump.
When he finally pulled onto an actual road, they were the only ones out there—at least it seemed like it. The pavement ahead of them was barely visible from all the precipitation. Emily couldn’t tell where the sky ended and the ground began. How could Patrick even see where he was going?
He pulled out his phone and voice texted his sister. “I’ve got three people with me. Have the door ready.” He dropped the phone into the console and grabbed hold of the steering wheel once more.
They finally reached a rustic-brown clapboard rancher in the woods. The windows were stormproofed with plywood, the front porch stripped bare. Through the gray haze, a faint yellow glow from inside was the only indication the front door was ajar.
Patrick pulled right up to the front. With the engine still running, he slid open the cover on the bed of his truck, and darted back and forth, throwing suitcases and cooking equipment onto the porch. “Go inside,” he called.
Emily, Blair, and Sienna ran up to the door as he drove into the tightly packed garage.
A petite blonde with Patrick’s eyes leaned out the doorway while she yanked Sienna’s suitcase into the house. “Y’all get in!”
They clawed at their bags, tugging and pushing them to safety. What they didn’t get in the first trip, Patrick snatched, along with his cooking equipment, in one haul, shutting the door and locking it behind him. Another crack of a limb outside had them all on edge.
Inside, the small house smelled of sage and vanilla.
“Uncle Patrick!” Winston ran over and wrapped his little arms around Patrick’s soaking shirt.
Patrick tickled the boy’s sides as if he hadn’t just rescued Emily and her friends.
“This is Emily, Blair, and Sienna,” he said.
Julia slipped her hands into the back pockets of her denim shorts and smiled curiously at Blair before addressing them. “Hi, y’all.” She turned to Winston. “Let’s get everybody towels.”
“I got ’em!” Winston ran out of the room.
Patrick went into the kitchen.
Emily, Blair, and Sienna tried to move their suitcases out of the way, but they struggled to find a good spot for them in the tight space.
Patrick returned with a handful of dish towels and started wiping down his equipment and checking things over, his hands steady and strong. Then he wiped down their suitcases.
“Holy cow, Patrick,” Julia said. “The storm came up on us fast. I was so worried.”
“Yeah, it’s chaos out there.”
Winston came back in, handing each of them a fluffy bath towel.
“Thank you,” Emily said.
The boy offered a proud puff of his chest.
“Y’all dry off, and I’ll find you a place to put your stuff. I know you wanna get out of those wet clothes,” Julia said. “Winston, why don’t we let them stay on a couple air mattresses in your room? You can sleep with me, and Uncle Patrick can take the couch.”
“Okay,” Winston replied. “I’ll show ’em.”
Patrick pushed the last of his tools against the wall as the storm raged outside. “Where are the air mattresses?”
Julia nodded toward the hall. “In the closet.”
“I should probably call the homeowner and let him know what’s going on as a courtesy. Even if I just leave a message,” Sienna said, digging in her handbag.
While Sienna dialed the owner’s number, Winston took Emily’s hand and led her and Blair down the short hallway to his room.
“Somebody can sleep here.” He motioned under the wood-covered window, where a twin bed with a dinosaur comforter and shams was nestled between two green toy chests.
Patrick walked in, his arms full with two deflated mattresses, pillows, blankets, sheets, and an air pump.
“We’d better get these blown up while we still have power.
We’re bound to lose it if this thing turns into a hurricane.
” He tossed the sheets over on the bed and dropped the mattresses.
Then he picked up Winston’s art table, folding the legs in and leaning it against the wall.