Sweet Caroline(74)

During Hugo, Mama went stir-crazy in our boarded-up house. She paced, then sat quietly before organizing a play of Broadway proportions, including set design, singing, and dancing— all to be Fred Astaire perfect. When we showed less-than-stellar enthusiasm, she crawled into bed and stayed there for two days. Daddy plied Henry and me with enormous amounts of junk food.

I stretch my stiff back with a deep arch and think of how that storm was the first time I realized darkness haunted my mama.

“Hey, Caroline, pay attention. No time for a break, girlie,” Andy says with a chuckle, lugging yet another board out of the shed.

I love the many-windowed Café, but I have to confess, I’m a bit bit-ter at the moment. Boarding up is going to take forever. Howard will have come and gone.

Daddy calls as Andy helps me hang the first board using the Tapcons Jones drilled into the walls years ago. Mercy Bea goes behind us, screw-ing on the wing nuts.

“You doing okay, Caroline?” Daddy asks.

“Andy and I are hanging boards.”

“And me.”

“And Mercy Bea.”

Dad hesitates. I’m sure he’s trying to picture the daughter he couldn’t get to hang up her clothes for more than a decade, lugging around plywood. “I’m still on a job. Posey’s waiting for me at home to board up. Come to the house when you can.”

“Thanks, Daddy, but Mercy Bea and I are going to hang out here. I want to open the Café as soon as I can for folks who need food or water.”

“All right. Call if you need anything.”

“See you when it’s over.”

Henry calls a few minutes later. “Cherry and I are helping the boys’ families. Are you okay?”

Huh? I hold out my cell phone to check the number. Yes, it’s Henry.

“I-I’m fine, thanks. You told Cherry about the boys?”

“That night. I realized how stupid I was behaving. Time to grow up.”

That sinks my last doubt. Indeed, there is a God. “Good for you.”

“This time next year, you might be an aunt.”

“Really?”

“Cherry said thanks; she felt your prayers.”

My feeble, fumbling offerings worked? “Tell her hi.”

“She loves the boys too. I’m not just a Big Brother now; we’re more like a big family. So, how’re you sitting there? All good? Need anything?”

I smile. “All good. See you when it’s over.”

A half hour later, Andy and I are halfway through boarding up the Café when his cell goes off. “Caroline, I got to go. The boys are arguing more than working. And Gloria wants me to stop by her mother’s to bring in the outdoor furniture.”

“Go, go, take care of your family.” My arms are stretched to the sides of a large square board. “I can finish up.”

Mercy Bea looks at me. “You don’t figure on me helping with these boards, do you?” She spreads out her fingers. “I already broke a nail and am about to lose another.”

The board slips from my grip and crashes against the Café. “Mercy Bea, why don’t you go home and get your things. Secure the trailer, then come on back.” I flick my wrist at the pile of boards. “Don’t worry here.” If I have to leave this side exposed, the risk will be minimal.

“I like your thinking, Caroline.” She’s off the porch and on her cell phone before I can say, “See you later.” “Allison, thank goodness . . . I need a nail repair pronto.”

A wind gust knocks against me. I lift my eyes to the darkening sky. Mountains of gray clouds loom over Beaufort.

I decide to hang a few more boards, or at least try, then see what I can do at the carriage house. Maybe I should buzz Dad back and beg, “Help.”

Hoisting the board, I aim the drilled board holes at the top Tapcons. The right side hooks onto its industrial-strength screw at an odd angle, and I can’t get it the rest of the way on, or off.

“Stupid board.”

Anchoring it in place with my knee, I spy the hammer on the stool. I reach. The plywood splinters scrape my skin. My fingertips barely capture the hammer’s handle. Finally.

Gripping tight, I whack the board into submission.

“Now what did that board ever do to you?”

I whirl around. “Mitch, hey.”

“Need some help?” He slips his hand over mine, taking the hammer.

I hold his blue gaze. “I thought you were in Nashville.” I haven’t seen him since our so-called date. Seeing him now makes me realize I missed him.

“Seems I arrived home in time for the hurricane fun.” He steps in front of me; I sniff his shirt, yumm. “You should get hurricane shutters. Push of a button, and my place is set.”

“That’ll be a chore for the new owners.”

“You’re selling?” He easily pulls the board free, then hangs it evenly.

“Yep. Buzz Boys, Inc., sent me a letter of intent.” I spin on the wing nuts. “Want to join Mercy Bea and me for a hurricane party?”

He looks over at me. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Midnight. Peeking out the bottom of the front window where the board didn’t quite reach the end, I watch horizontal rain in the light of the street lamp—still glowing, thank God. The live oak limbs battle and twist in the surging wind, and the palmetto branches bend at a right angle.