Beach House Reunion (Beach House #5)(94)
Linnea slipped her arm around her mother.
Palmer staggered across the foyer to the front door and opened it. The wind howled through the room like the cry of a ghost. He turned and looked once more at his wife and daughter.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and stepped out into the storm.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Florida is the most important nesting area in the United States for loggerhead, green, and leatherback turtles. A staggering 80 percent of loggerhead nesting occurs in six Florida counties. A twenty-mile section of coastline from Melbourne Beach to Wabasso Beach comprises the Archie Carr National Wildlife Refuge, the most important nesting area for loggerhead turtles in the western hemisphere. A thousand nests per mile are recorded.
TWO DAYS LATER the storm had passed and the sun rose on a calm but changed shoreline. Cara hovered over news reports, shocked at the photographs of waves crashing the sea wall of Rainbow Row in Charleston, the severe flooding and the battered dunes on Isle of Palms.
As soon as the all-clear for Isle of Palms was declared, she packed the car back up, eager to return to the beach house. David asked her to stay in the mountains longer, but with Cooper in the hospital and Linnea not answering her texts, Cara was anxious to get home.
Her fingers were dancing on the wheel by the time she drove up to Primrose Cottage. Her eyes hungrily devoured it, scanning quickly. There were the usual fallen palm fronds and torn screens on porches, but she blew out a plume of relief at seeing no damage. She realized how very much this house meant to her—no, even more, what the beach house symbolized for her: a strong foundation, grace under pressure, continuance, resilience.
“We’re home!” she called out to Hope.
Moutarde chirped from his travel cage at hearing the joy in her voice.
The front steps were still damp and covered in leaves and mud. The torn front porch screens flapped in the wind and her plants had been knocked over, spilling dirt and geraniums. These she scooped back up as best she could; then she laid a blanket on the front porch for Hope to play on while she unscrewed the aluminum panels covering the front door. It didn’t take too long. Lifting Hope into her arms, she pushed open the front door.
Inside, the house was dark and humid and had that shut-in staleness of an attic. She flicked a light switch. Nothing. So, she thought with dismay, the electricity is out. She couldn’t open a window because of the hurricane shutters. Still, enough light peered through the cracks that she could tour the house with Hope in her arms, searching for any leaks or damage. Her last stop was the rear porch. This had been Brett’s last project. He’d been very proud of the design of the sunroom with a wide deck in back. Cara sighed with relief to see that all was intact. No puddles on the floor.
She settled Moutarde back in his large birdcage, then went outdoors and around to the back to remove the shutters from the sunroom. Her eyes scanned the roof, the trees, and the broad deck that Bo had constructed. Thank God all was unscathed. There was work to be done to get the house opened, but they were blessed.
From around the house she heard the rumble of tires in the driveway next door, followed by car doors slamming, then footfalls in the gravel.
“Hello! Anybody home?”
Cara walked toward the voices. “I’m in the back!”
Emmi rounded the corner of the house first, her mouth stretched across her face in a grin. She looked disheveled and wan, but ran to Cara to embrace her in a sisterly hug. Flo ambled up more slowly, but her arms were strong with emotion. The three women formed a circle, arms around each other, love flowing from one to another.
“We made it through another one!” Flo exclaimed.
Lastly John stepped onto the deck like a knight in shining armor, brandishing not a sword but a battery-operated drill. He grinned, his cheeks shadowed in stubble. “I’ll get those panels down for you in no time.”
While the other women opened their house and John was busy removing shutters, Cara sat on the deck while Hope played and tried to reach Linnea, then Julia, and finally Palmer. But none of the calls went through. She ran her hand through her hair, sick with worry. She’d seen on the news the terrible flooding the city had, especially around the hospital. She could only hope they’d all had the good sense to stay home and wait out the storm. There was some comfort in knowing that Cooper, at least, was safe in the hospital.
Before too long the hurricane shutters were removed, the electricity had been restored, and a fresh pot of steaming coffee was made to bolster the troops. The first thing Cara did was to go from room to room and push open all the windows of the house. The musty odor dissipated as salt-tinged ocean breezes blew through, balmy and fresh. She enjoyed the domesticity of sweeping the deck and walkways, dragging yard debris to the street. There was a serenity to everyday chores, a kind of Zen. Cara laughed as she worked, watching Hope try to keep up with her on her chubby legs. Cara began feeling that peace had been restored at Primrose Cottage.
She was preparing a picnic dinner of food scavenged from the fridge and cabinets when she heard more car wheels in the driveway, followed by the honking of a horn. Who could that be? she wondered as she put down the bread slices and walked to the kitchen window to peer out. Her heart skipped in joy.
“Linnea!” she called out. Cara rushed to pick up Hope from among her toys. “Linnea’s here,” she told her, and scurried out the back door to meet her on the deck.