Chapter Thirteen
Tug climbed into Paul’s pickup. “Thanks, man. I hope they’ve got the road open by now.”
“Except for the sand, things don’t look too bad.”
“Never seen the sand wash up like this before, though. It’s hard to tell if we’re even on the road.”
“I know.” Paul pointed out damage as they slowly cruised through the area. A twisted canopy, toppled trees, and an overturned trailer.
Tug’s heart pounded. The damage was more significant than he’d feared.
“Oh no. Hey, stop,” Tug called out.
Paul jumped on the brakes, and Tug hopped out of the truck and ran over to the little bar called The Tackle Box.
The force of the sweeping tide had removed an entire wall, leaving the bar exposed. Bottles of liquor lay heaped in a pile between toppled barstools wedged against a stud.
“Is Fisher around?” Paul walked up behind Tug. “This is a mess.”
“I hope he was well insured. I think he used every nickel he had to build this place. Kid refuses to take out a loan for anything. Don’t see too many folks these days do that. He has a good head on his shoulders, despite the kick-back attitude, but this isn’t good.”
“I hope he evacuated,” Paul said. “We’ll check around and be sure he’s not here, then see if we can’t get someone to his house to check on him. Man, I wish I’d thought to touch base with him. You beach guys are hardheaded sometimes.”
“Yep.” Tug wasn’t even going to argue the point. He was glad now that he’d let Paul talk him into weathering the storm at Paws.
“Fisher, can you hear me?” Tug called out. He leaned in, listening, then walked to the other side of the bar. “Are you here?”
They carefully picked through the debris. “Thank goodness there’s no sign of him.”
“I feel so bad for him,” Tug said. “Come on. Let’s get to the diner. Once folks come home, they’re going to want a hot meal. Comfort food might not cure anything, but it helps. At least I can do that.”
“I hope Fisher is okay,” Paul said as they walked back to his truck. “He’s going to be sick when he sees this.”
“I didn’t figure he’d evacuate. I’ll be honest—I’m not sure he’s living in the little place up near the church anymore. Ever since he opened the bar, I think he spends most of his time here.” Tug’s stomach sank at the thought. “I hope I’m wrong and someone talked him into leaving town.”
“We’ll drive by his old place. Maybe he’s there.”
“We’ll track him down,” Tug said. “And then we’ll help him rebuild. Whelk’s Island has been through way worse than this, and this small community always comes together.”
“Absolutely,” Paul said. “You know I’m right there with you.”
Paul gunned the engine to get out of the soft sand. “Thank goodness for four-wheel drive.” The sand crossed the beach road in drifts. “I hope we don’t get stuck. I’m usually the one pulling everyone else out.”
Tug reached for the pillar grab handle to steady himself as they forged ahead, each bump jolting his tired bones. He couldn’t wait to sleep in his own bed tonight.
Paul gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white as he swung wide to go around a row of orange cones and his wheels spun into the sand.
“I don’t know about this, Tug.” He pointed to the right. “Is that the top of a fire hydrant?”
“It can’t be.” Tug peered out the window. “Slow down. Let me look.” He got out of the truck and whisked the sand from the exposed red metal. Sure enough, it was the red nut on the top of a fire hydrant. He stood, barely able to believe it. “We’ve got to be driving on more than two feet of sand here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” Tug dragged in a breath. He pulled on the bill of his ball cap and looked in both directions. “Come on. We better turn around before they run us off.”
But it was too late. A county officer rode up on a four-wheeler.
Paul pulled off his sunglasses. “Good afternoon. Just out trying to assess the situation.”
“Yeah. We’re all still doing that. The water breached the dunes. Can’t let you go any further. The cones are there for a reason.”
Tug climbed back into the truck and stuck his head out the window. “I’ve never seen sand wash in like this before. We’re headed to my diner.”
“You’re going to have to wait until we get clearance from the county that it’s safe.”
Tug lurched forward. “My diner is not even a mile down the road.”
“I understand, but you’re going to have to wait. We can’t get our emergency vehicles down there to assess the situation to determine a timeline for safe reentry for residents yet. Until then, sorry.”
Tug leaned back in the seat with a gnawing sense of dread. He wasn’t sure if it was worry over The Tackle Box or concern that the diner hadn’t fared as well as he’d expected her to.
Paul glanced over at Tug. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s going to be to keep this man from his diner?”
The officer leaned in. “Sorry. If I had more information, I’d tell you. I can take your number and call as soon as I get the all clear. It’s for everyone’s safety. You understand.”
“I do, but I don’t like it,” Tug said.
“Many people are eager to get back to check on their homes.”
“Can I go back up that way?” Paul asked. “I wanted to check on Maeve’s old house. The Shell Collector. My girlfriend, Amanda, owns it now. She and the kids evacuated. I’d love to let her know things are okay.”
“I’ll have to see your identification. We’re keeping track to be sure we don’t run into any looting.”
“Sure. Of course.” He handed his license to the officer. “When things open up or if you see Fisher, the owner of The Tackle Box, could you let me know? We don’t know if he evacuated or not. We think he still lives up at the little house past the church.”
“I know Fisher.” The officer shook his head. “I’ll add him to the list. So far, no casualties. I’m praying to keep it that way.”
“Amen,” Paul said.
“Stay off the beach road, but if you turn around here and go up that way, you shouldn’t have any problem. I drove by that way earlier. Didn’t look like there was much damage at all in that area. And the sand didn’t pile in at that end of the beach.”
“Ten-four,” Paul said. “We’ll stay out of trouble.” He handed the officer his business card. “Until cell service is up, it won’t do you much good, but here’s my information if you can let me know as soon as I can take Tug up to the diner. His house is farther down past that, but one thing at a time.”
“Will do. Y’all take care.” The four-wheeler sputtered off.
Tug let out a sigh and turned his body in the seat. “Well, I guess we wait.”
“Guess so. Sorry. I know it’s difficult. I’d be going crazy.”
“I am. Inside. Let’s check Maeve’s place.”
“Let’s.” Paul turned the truck around, leaving a significant indentation in the wet sand. “Guess we’re lucky we didn’t get stuck.”
Tug had to agree. If they ignored the officer’s order, they could end up in trouble. He’d have to be patient.
As they approached the big blue beach house, Tug’s heart hammered. He missed Maeve so much. Thankfully, the house appeared to have withstood another pounding.
Paul pulled into the driveway and right up to the house. Tug got out and walked through the lower bays.
“Looks fine down here,” he said.
They climbed the stairs to the entrance, and Paul used his key to enter.
Amanda had made the place her own, and there was so much life in the house now. Jesse’s trucks and Hailey’s artwork lay on the floor in the living room.
Tug walked back to Maeve’s favorite room. The room full of windows where she showcased her trove of beach treasures.
Of course, with the windows boarded up for the storm, the usually bright and inviting room was dark, but it held all the treasures Maeve loved. Glass jars and bowls of shells and sea glass still lined the shelves.
“This place is as strong as you always said it was, my friend,” Tug murmured. She’d always bragged about that.
He walked back out to the living room with a smile in his heart.
Paul came down the stairs. “Everything is a-okay on the third floor.”
Tug pulled open the slider and rolled the storm shutter back, then stepped out onto the second-story deck overlooking the expanse of beach below. “You can see how far the water came up.”
“Yeah, and it’s still way higher than it usually is.”
Piles of tangled seaweed, debris, and foamy residue left behind by the receding tide created a winding trail along the beach.
Ever restless, the ocean mirrored the turmoil in Tug’s heart and mind.
The waves crashed so loudly he couldn’t make out what Paul was saying. “Didn’t catch that.”
Paul continued the inspection. “There are a couple limbs down on the big tree, but there’s even some Spanish moss still clinging to it. Jesse will be so happy. He was worried to death about that.”
“Yeah. I see. Those kids sure loved Maeve.”
“They did. They do. She’s very much in everyone’s thoughts here. Yours, too, I know.”
“Oh, yeah.” He patted his heart. Maeve would forever hold the key.
“Too bad the kids aren’t here to see all this sea-foam. It looks like snow,” Paul remarked.
“It does.” But the sea-foam wasn’t unusual after a big storm like this. It was a reaction to the churn of the waves and breakdown of organic matter, and it always carried the pungent aroma of seaweed mingled with musty old crab and oyster shells. Not totally unpleasant to him, after all those years working as a commercial fisherman.
Paul pulled out his phone and took a video and some pictures.
Tug could imagine Maeve walking over the dune toward the house. A hand on her head trying to hold on to one of those huge floppy hats she loved so much, and her skirt swirling and lifting around her ankles. She was always a colorful sight.
Tug bowed his head and closed his eyes.
Please let everything be shipshape at the diner too. Lord, You’ve already taken Maeve. The diner is all I have. I’m feeling very alone right now.
He opened his eyes and stepped back from the railing.
Paul stood nearby, quiet, probably a million of his own worries racing through his mind, and missing Amanda. At least he’d learned from Tug’s mistake. He’d been smart enough to get the girl and hang on to her.
The foreboding feeling taunted Tug.
The raw power of a stormy ocean was dangerous, but he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. A storm or two a year was a small price to pay to be on Whelk’s Island.
“Ready to go?” Paul asked.
Tug nodded and led the way back down to the truck.
They headed south. A few shingles were loose here and there, and a shed had drifted off its foundation and landed in the driveway of one of the beach houses, but all in all, it seemed like this part of the coast had been spared.
By the time Paul and Tug got back to the turnoff toward Paws Town Square, there was a line of utility bucket trucks from the power company setting up along the area where all the power lines had toppled like dominoes.
“Are you okay, Tug?”
Tug brushed his hand across his forehead as he nodded, not wanting to worry Paul. He was sweating, and his heart was racing. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he was having a heart attack or panic attack, but the wave of depression left him with only one thought in his mind.
Who cares?
They made their way back, and the Paws lobby became a hub of activity as people gathered to partake in a spaghetti lunch for anyone who could make it. The aroma of garlic filled the air, emanating from the large basket of knots lovingly prepared by Tug to accompany the meal.
Paul had done a good job spreading the word. Everyone shared what they knew with neighbors, from the police chief to guys still wearing their safety vests after pushing back sand with the big loaders.
That was the thing about a natural disaster—it brought people to the same level, no matter where they started out. Laughter and conversation flowed as everyone settled in, savoring the food and the company and a sense of relief that things might soon get back to normal.
The chatter subsided as folks’ appetites took priority. Then suddenly the room filled with a chorus of beeps, buzzes, chirps, and rings as cell service was restored, sparking excitement and anticipation as everyone grabbed for their phone, eager to reconnect with concerned family and friends.
Chairs screeched as people clamored to contact loved ones. The table sat nearly empty of people and full of half-eaten plates of spaghetti. In that moment, Tug felt alone. No one to call. Every single message to his phone had been a missed call from Amanda, and she’d surely been trying to reach Paul.
Paul stood over by the tables of food, a toothy grin on his face as he spoke on his phone. Tug could imagine the chatter of Amanda’s kids and the excitement they must feel after being out of touch for a couple of days.
Chase jogged over, waving his arms to get Paul’s attention. “Sorry, man. Someone’s up front looking for you. I think it’s important.”
Paul nodded, lifting a hand to show he’d be right there.
Tug got up to cover the serving plates. No sense in the food getting dried out. He’d just wiped down one table when Paul walked over, looking worried.
“Everything okay?” Tug asked.
“Chase will finish this up,” Paul said. “We need to go.”
“Where are we going? Is everything okay with Amanda and the kids?”
“They’re fine. Look, the road to the diner is still closed, but there’s a city worker here to take us down there.”
Sure, Tug knew a lot of people on Whelk’s Island—even considered them good friends—but this was more than just someone being helpful. His thoughts swirled as if he was being pulled under by them, halting his ability to speak. He simply nodded and fell in step behind Paul.
At the entrance stood the same young officer who’d stopped them on the beach road earlier.
“Hello. Y’all ready?” It was rhetorical. He didn’t even wait for an answer, just turned and led the way to the city vehicle, which was a weathered Jeep that had seen better days.
Rust crunched under Tug’s shoe as he stepped up to get into the back seat next to Paul. Despite the warm temperature, he suddenly felt chilled and queasy.
The officer pulled out of the parking lot. “When I told the chief that I spoke to you two earlier, he told me this road won’t be open for general use for another day or so, but he gave me special permission to take you down.”
“The chief and I go way back,” Tug said.
“Apparently everyone knows you but me. I’m new to Whelk’s Island. My name’s Jason. I just transferred up here from down on the Georgia coast. They took a beating too.”
“This storm couldn’t make up her mind,” Paul said. “I really thought when she made landfall down there in Georgia, she’d fizzle out. I was surprised when she turned around and came back ashore up here.”
“Yeah. It was ridiculous. It surprised a lot of folks. I think fewer people evacuated for that same reason. They thought it would die out or head out.”
Tug swallowed hard when they drove by The Tackle Box. They still hadn’t made contact with Fisher. Now that the phones were working, he’d try to call him.
Jason drove past the cones where he’d stopped Tug and Paul earlier.
Tug glanced at the fire hydrant, which someone had now exposed completely, as were the next ones they passed.
One thing at a time. The fire department must have had their teams out with the road workers all day.
As they approached the familiar stretch of road that led to the diner, Tug’s heart sank like a stone in his chest. The expanse that had once been full of sea oats and a well-established dune was nearly leveled. Debris littered the area, and Tug was pretty sure the bright blue hunk of metal was from his roof, still a quarter mile up the road.
“Oh no,” Paul said.
It was like a punch to the gut. Tug’s once-thriving diner, the very heart and soul of his existence for the past forty years, now lay in ruins.
“I’m sorry. Chief said the pier probably went first, and that’s what slammed into the diner. Between the pier debris and the tide…”
Tug held up a hand. He couldn’t even listen. He got out of the Jeep and walked toward what used to be the side entrance to the gazebo and outdoor dining.
The storm had been merciless, leaving nothing unscathed.
The building he’d poured his blood, sweat, and tears into was now little more than a pile of rubble that needed to be hauled away before it littered the ocean.
Its walls splintered and its roof torn away, the diner looked like a giant had peeled it back in search of a snack. Decor, old surfboards, and those plywood sheets with the storm warnings were strewn in pieces. The barstools, which had been mounted to the floor, lay like dead soldiers.