9. Maggie
Maggie sat at her kitchen counter at seven forty-five on Thursday morning, setting Vivien’s diary to the side to pick up her phone and re-read a text message for the fourth time.
Brick: Sleep tight, Mags. Don’t worry about tomorrow.
She had received the message at eleven the night before, at the bottom of a long, easy back-and-forth “conversation”—if a bunch of words on a screen could be called that—that had started as a thank-you for dinner Tuesday and drifted into…a million other things.
For two old people who’d spent eighty percent of their lives before the advent of smartphones and text messages, they were pretty adept at communicating through that little box.
And for some reason, after that conversation, Maggie had slept well without any hint of a dream about Roger.
She’d shared some highlights of her day, and some lowlights—the stress of the coming storm, the shortage of help for Eli, Jo Ellen’s insane excitement to attend her first hurricane party.
For his part, he told her he’d been to Gator Jack’s and it was boarded and ready, thanks to him and his two grandsons. He talked about those young men for a while—Wyatt and Nick—and their mother, his only daughter, who, according to Brick, had “raised her boys right.”
Fighting a smile over how much she enjoyed the conversation, she set the phone down and got up to refill her coffee, vaguely aware she was humming.
“Someone’s happy,” Jo Ellen called from the balcony. “Basil and I can hear you. I officially named him that.”
“So creative,” Maggie drawled. “Better bring him in before Norman comes or he’ll be…pesto.”
Jo Ellen came back into the kitchen, setting her silver watering can on the counter. “Did you see the news? The cone’s moved east.”
“Is Destin still in it?” Maggie asked.
“Yes, but on the edge. It’s Thursday. Landfall early Saturday. By tomorrow that horrible thing might be all the way off us and we can breathe.”
Maggie took her coffee and glanced at one of the many, many gabbing heads on the Weather Channel, which they’d run continuously, her eyes skimming the graphic to try and process the numbers. Wind speed, barometric pressure, position.
“It could actually be stronger in Crawfordville than here,” she mused, looking at the map.
“I’m not worried,” Jo Ellen said. “We’ll be far inland and plenty of people are evacuating to Tallahassee, which is right there. We’re fine. Are you packed?”
“We’re not moving there,” Maggie said. “I’ll take one change of clothes and some toiletries.”
“Traffic is bad,” Jo Ellen said. “Maybe we should leave today.”
“And spend two nights at Gator Jack’s?” Maggie choked softly. “Don’t push it, Jo.”
Jo went to the sofa, bringing a teacup, while Maggie settled into her chair.
“Who were you texting so frantically?” Jo Ellen asked with a sly smile. “I could see you with your face in the phone like a teenager.”
Maggie shuttered her eyes and prayed for patience with her dear friend.
“I knew it!” Jo tapped her leg. “She’s been hit with a Brick!” She gave a soft hoot at her dumb joke, completely ignoring the look teenaged Vivien had called “the death glare.”
“Our combined age is over 150, so shut it, Jo.”
“Mmm.” It was her best attempt at shutting it.
Maggie pushed up, restless. “We should go see how we can help. Big day for the Summer House today.”
“Meet you down there,” Jo Ellen said. “I sure hope Eli’s holding up. I can’t believe someone else got the plywood he had on hold yesterday.”
“He said he’d have more this morning,” Maggie promised as she walked out. “My son is strong. A cat three storm to the east is not going to faze him.”
But one look at Eli on the back deck in filthy shorts and a filthier T-shirt, staring at enough plywood to build a house, stress on every feature and one hand fisted around his phone, and she knew that he was…fazed.
Beside him, on a stepladder, Jonah was attempting to wrestle a sheet of that wood into a pre-drilled track, battling with the wind that had definitely picked up.
He was, Maggie noted, alone on the ladder.
He was also alone on the entire Gulf-facing side of a house that had… too- many-to-count exposed windows.
Kate was up a level, on the balcony of Vivien’s room, in a baseball cap, hauling a roll of plastic sheeting. Emma was below her holding the bottom of a different ladder with both hands and an expression of teenage gravity. There was nobody else.
“Good morning, dear,” Maggie called.
Eli attempted—and failed—to give her a smile. “Morning, Mom.”
“Eli. This isn’t going to get done before we have to leave.”
“Had to wait for some supplies at Home Depot. Still need more.” He threw her a look. “You shouldn’t be out here. Best to stay inside and with Jo Ellen, but not in the living room because we need to bring the rest of the deck furniture in. We’ll get to the windows in your apartment later. I hope.”
Maggie studied her son, who looked like he hadn’t slept or stopped since last night’s meeting.
A squeaky and familiar sound rang out from the baby monitor on the table, making Jonah’s shoulders drop with a grunt.
“Already?” Jonah muttered. “Shortest nap in history.”
“I’ll get him,” Maggie said quickly. “Jo and I will stay out of your way, except to serve up food and cold drinks.”
Eli’s smile was real this time. “Thanks, Mom.”
Just as she turned to go inside, she heard Jonah make a small gasp, a sound every mother knew. The sound of an accident about to happen.
Whipping around, she saw the sheet of plywood had caught a gust of wind and twisted under Jonah’s hands. It tilted out away from the wall and swung sideways, pulling Jonah from the ladder.
Eli got there first. He dropped his phone, ducked under the slipping sheet, and braced it on his back with a shocking amount of strength.
The plywood thudded against his shoulder blade.
He took the impact without a sound. He held it long enough for Jonah to get a hand back on the top edge, and then, carefully, breathing through his nose, he and Jonah eased it back into the track and pinned it.
For a beat, nobody moved.
Eli pressed both hands flat on the ladder, head down, breathing.
“Dad,” Jonah said.
“I’m fine. You?”
“Fine.”
Neither one of them was fine. Maggie watched her son hold himself in place with quiet discipline, and Jonah fight the urge to crumble under the stress. They were both about to break. Kate leaned over the balcony railing, her face pale.
“Are you two okay?”
“Fine,” they said in unison.
“You need help,” she cried.
“I know I need help,” Eli said, frustration in every syllable.
“I have been on the phone since five this morning. There is no help, Kate, there is no one. I have called every guy I know, and the only guys not already working are the guys I wouldn’t trust. Peter’s booked with the sheriff’s office and Connor’s at Lakeside because I need him there.
” He blew out a long breath. “We’ll be fine. We’ll get it done.”
Again, no one spoke for a moment, and even Atlas seemed to stop fussing through the monitor, maybe falling back asleep.
“What’s that noise?” Jonah asked, looking around.
“I don’t…” Eli’s voice faded as a rumble grew louder in the distance, low like thunder, but somehow more like machinery.
“Is that a…”
“Maggie!” Jo Ellen darted through the sliders from the kitchen. “It’s Brick! And Randy and Angel! And a truck full of plywood! With men!”
Maggie stared at her, trying to take this in.
“Brick!” Jo Ellen repeated. “He’s here! Just blew in on his Harley like something out of the movies.”
“Who’s Brick?” Eli demanded.
Maggie squared her shoulders and looked at him. “My friend. And I suppose he and his motorcycle gang have come to help.”
“They’re not a gang!” Jo Ellen exclaimed. “They’re friends who ride motorcycles together.”
“I don’t care what they are,” Eli muttered, already headed into the house. “They’re a gift from God.”
Fighting a little smile and a surprising sting in her eyes, Maggie followed her son inside, through the kitchen and the door to the garage. With each step, the rumble of the mighty engines intensified.
Eli froze at the open garage door as Maggie caught up with him. Side by side, all they could do was stare and listen to the deafening roar as three beefy motorcycles and a muscular truck high on thick treaded wheels lined up in the driveway.
Brick was front and center, in his American flag helmet, his silver beard catching the September sun.
Angel was on his right, his graying ringlets escaping the dirty red bandana he wore like a badge of honor, his big body easy on the bike.
Randy on the left, leaner, with his focused expression, dark eyes searching for the next person who needed help.
“What is happening?” Eli whispered.
“I believe your help has arrived,” she whispered, her heart fluttering as she looked at the seventy-five-year-old widower in faded jeans and a black T-shirt, climbing off his bike.
“Mags!” Brick called. “Brought my posse. Put us to work!”
Eli threw her a look. “You know this guy?”
“Yes.” She scoffed. “I told you, he’s my friend.”
“He’s an angel from heaven!”
“Angel is the guy in the bandana,” Jo Ellen, reaching them, announced. “And Randy is on the other side.”
Maggie peered at the young men climbing out of the truck. “I guess those are his grandsons—”
Eli didn’t wait for an explanation, but marched forward, his hand extended as he picked up speed. By the time he reached Brick, it was both arms and the men hugged like brothers when they met.
“Can you believe this?” Jo Ellen squealed, a little too over-excited.
Jonah, holding Atlas, came out, too, with Kate, Emma, and Vivien.
“So this is the famous Brick,” Kate muttered.
Maggie ignored the flurry of questions and Jo Ellen’s breathless explanation, sounding like a teenage girl backstage at a boy band concert. Instead, she went out to make the formal introductions because, hurricane or not, manners shouldn’t be forgotten.