Beach House Reunion (Beach House #5)(91)

“I’m glad you like it. I hoped you would.” There passed a quiet communication between them that it was also important to him that she liked it. “Let’s get you inside. Those clouds promise rain.”

On cue, the wind gusted, tossing leaves and bits of dirt into the air. Cara looked out over the mountains toward the sea. An armada of clouds was traveling north. She said a quick prayer that her brother and the family would hunker down and be safe. The storm was upon them.



HURRICANE IRMA’S PREDICTED path shifted again in what the meteorologists called a wobble. The storm no longer had the Charleston coast in its sights and there was hope there’d be fewer calamities than predicted.

At least weather-wise.

It was late morning when Linnea and her mother walked the few short blocks from the hospital to the Institute of Psychiatry. The skies were overcast, the winds were blowing hard, and rain had started falling. But they weren’t afraid. It seemed like any other serious thunderstorm.

The streets were deserted. Charlestonians were staying indoors as directed, hunkering down for the oncoming storm. Once in the psychiatric hospital, the two women stoically sat in the waiting room until Cooper was admitted. Julia needed to see for herself that her son was in good hands. When they were allowed, they met Cooper in the dayroom where he would spend most of his day under observation. This was an airy, brightly lit community room with two-story windows. Cooper appeared calmer now but more despondent. The doctors assured them that this was normal as he began to comprehend the ramifications of his actions.

Linnea was exhausted and emotionally drained. She’d awoken at two in the morning. It was almost eleven. She needed to sleep. And so did her mother.

“Mama, there’s nothing more we can do for him. And he’s currently getting a lot more sleep than you and I combined.”

“I’m not leaving him,” Julia said stubbornly, shaking her head.

“I get it. But we have to take care of ourselves if we hope to help him. Let’s go home, just for a little while. We can shower, grab some food, and pack a bag. Then we’ll come back.”

Her mother stared at her, numb with indecision.

“Please, Mama.”

“Yes, fine,” Julia said wearily. She clutched her purse close to her chest as she looked longingly over her shoulder at the dayroom. “But I do so hate to leave him here.”

Linnea looked at her mother with almost maternal tenderness. She’d never seen her so disheveled. Not in public. Her usually impeccable appearance was altered—her ashen face was void of makeup, her hair in a haphazard ponytail, and she was wearing a lived-in sweater and jeans. Linnea was shocked to see she’d aged, too. Her face sagged with grief.

They walked the short distance from the Institute of Psychiatry back to the hospital garage. Linnea was stunned by the increased power of the storm as it moved closer. The wind was blowing so hard they had to raise their voices to be heard. When they reached the garage they decided to leave Linnea’s Mini Cooper and drive Julia’s substantial Mercedes. It was clearly the better choice to navigate Charleston’s flooded streets.

“I’ll drive,” Linnea said, and she slipped in behind the wheel of the car. Julia offered no argument and slumped into the passenger seat. The garage was deserted as they drove to the exit.

The security guard looked at them like they were crazy. “You’re not going out in that?”

“Not far,” Linnea called out.

“We’re coming back,” her mother felt compelled to tell him.

“Be careful, ladies, and get home quick. And stay put. The storm may not be hitting us directly, but a king tide is predicted to combine with the storm surge. They’re expecting a four-to six-foot surge. That means we’re going to have some serious flooding, the worst since Hurricane Hugo. Yes, ma’am. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to get stuck in this hospital. It’ll be a lake out there.”

“Thank you,” Linnea called out as they exited, feeling her heart rate accelerate with the engine.

Leaving the garage, they entered a storm whipping the air, stirring up debris. Rain began to beat the roof like a tom-tom. Neither woman spoke as Linnea crawled south along Rutledge Avenue toward Tradd. The water of Colonial Lake appeared as dark as steel.

The mile-long trip took twenty minutes. Linnea parked the car in the driveway and they scurried to the front door, ducking their heads and pushing through the squall. Once inside, they both sighed audibly when they closed the door against the tempest. The house was dim and quiet. Not a light was on. The storm made the skies as dark as dusk. They removed their damp shoes at the door and slipped from their raincoats without speaking, tacitly understanding that neither of them wanted to disturb Palmer. Linnea felt her eyelids drooping with fatigue as she wiped a damp lock of hair from her forehead.

“You’re back.”

Linnea startled at the sound of her father’s voice and spun around. She didn’t see him and was momentarily confused. Across the foyer, the living room was dark. Nonplussed, she looked to her mother. Julia was putting her purse on the small Hepplewhite table in the foyer. Her hand stilled and her face hardened at Palmer’s voice.

“Where are you?” Linnea called to her father.

“Let him be,” her mother hissed as she lifted her hands to her rain hat. She shook the water off with brusque, angry strokes.