The Rest of the Story(107)

Which did not explain why I felt such a loss. I swallowed, then said, “I need to return it to you. Although I’m not sure how to get it over there.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he said. “The last thing I need is you in trouble again because of me. Just bring it to the dinner.”

The album meant so much to me, though: I could only imagine he felt the same way, even if he knew it by heart. Also, I didn’t want to have to explain it to my dad or anyone else. “How about this. I’ll leave it at the desk, like you did with the sparklers.”

“Saylor. You really don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” I said. “I’ll take it down right now. And then when you pick it up—”

“I will grab it and run before I bump into your dad,” he finished for me.

“I was going to say I’d meet you in the lobby.”

“No way.” He was firm. “I’ll see you at the dinner, when it’s authorized. Until then, it’s just the—Yes, ma’am, we do offer a ten-year guarantee on any work we do as well as all windows!”

And that was that. Now that the storm was building, suddenly people were very interested in home window protection. The phones were ringing so constantly that Roo was kept on even after Kenyatta returned from Barbados. He’d been so busy, in fact, that we’d barely talked other than him letting me know he got the album and confirming the dinner that night. But all that mattered was that I would finally see him.

“Well, it should be a nice evening,” my dad said now as I got up, folding my paper. “Six, right?”

“That’s right,” Nana said. “We’ll have a lovely time.”

I hoped she was right. I had so much riding on this dinner, if only as a way to bring these two sides of the family, and the lake, together. Would drinks, appetizers, a salad, entrees, then dessert and coffee be enough to start to mend the tear of my mom’s problems, the divorce, and the past? Maybe with oysters, and special forks, the answer was yes.

“I don’t know,” Bailey said about an hour later, as I put on my bathing suit to go down to the pool with Tracy. “I have a bad feeling.”

“What?” Everyone on my end had been so positive, I was surprised. “Why?”

“This storm is a lot like Richard,” she replied. “Same path in the Atlantic, same general size, same place it’s supposed to come in. And it almost leveled us.”

“But here at the Tides, they’re saying it’s nothing.”

“They don’t know anything!” She sighed. “That place was still under construction two years ago, and most of the people there aren’t from the lake anyway. I’ve been watching my dad, and he’s worried. So I’m really worried.”

I got chill bumps suddenly, springing up along my arms. “Really?”

“Yep.” She was quiet for a moment. “Listen to me, okay? Don’t wait for them to tell you guys to take cover. Do it when the sky starts to darken. Get low and inside and away from doorways and windows.”

I looked outside again. It was sunny and bright, with a breeze that was ruffling the awnings of the restaurant downstairs. Motorboats dotted the water.

“If it comes, I’ll be careful,” I told Bailey. “Although it’s gorgeous now, so I’m pretty sure I’ll be seeing you and everyone else at six.”

“Hopefully,” she replied, sounding anything but. “But for now, I’ve got to go help put plywood over the windows and drag in all the outside furniture.”

Now I sighed. “I wish I could help.”

“Don’t. Wish for the storm to miss us. And then wish it again.”

She sounded so serious. “Okay. I will. See you later?”

“Yeah.” A pause. “Be careful, Saylor.”

After hanging up, I sat there a second, then turned on the small TV in my room, flipping from an infomercial for a slow cooker to the local news. A guy in a windbreaker was reporting from Colby, a beach town about two hours to the southeast, where it was also still sunny, although the waves were starting to build behind him in the live shot. When a bullet list of Smart Storm Prep appeared, I turned it off.

As Tracy and I headed to the pool, there was little to no sign of any weather concerns other than a pile of sandbags that had appeared on the back patio. When I eyed them, a girl behind the outdoor bar in a Tides Golf shirt was quick to reassure us.

“Standard operating procedure,” she said. “The Tides is more prepared for this storm than any other place on the lake, if it even comes. For now, can I get you a cool beverage?”

I declined, taking my bag to two chairs over by the far corner of the pool. When Tracy joined me a moment later, she had a tall pink drink in a frosted glass, a little yellow umbrella poking out of it. “To the storm,” she said, holding it up. I did the same with my bottled water. “Let it stay far away.”

“Amen,” I said. We clinked, then drank.

About an hour later, my phone rang, the Defender Windows’ familiar toll-free number popping up on the screen. I answered, readying myself for whatever pitch I would get this time. But when Roo spoke, it wasn’t to some fake customer about credit checks. Just me.

“Saylor?”

“Hi,” I said. “How’s work? Still really busy with the—”