Girls of Summer(79)

The wind screamed. Pieces of paper and fragments of plastic flew straight from the water to smash onto the OM office windows. Something feathery, a small bird, crashed into Beth’s leg, making her jump and yell. It fell into the water and was pushed, relentlessly, into the glass window of the office. This was not a hurricane but it was much like the storms that came in the winter, and much more powerful than the ones she remembered as a child. This storm felt like the ocean was angry.

   Glancing to her left, she saw that the flag for Kidding Around had been taken in, and no lights were on. No people walked or tried to drive through the river that had once been a street. She felt terribly alone. She knew enough about water and storms to know she could never trust them. They were powerful and they were uncaring.

The water was at her knees now, slapping against them, shoving her backward.

“Oh, don’t be such a wuss,” she told herself. Stepping away from the building, she walked toward Oak Street. Or tried to walk. It was like wading through molasses, as if the water were thick. Still, she was strong enough. She carried her purse tucked up high under her arm.

A new brick sidewalk had been laid on this section of the street. She knew it was there and tried to stay on it, although no cars were coming down the road that was now a river. It was eerie, the lack of cars or lights or people. She slogged on, almost to the corner, when something hard hit her in the backs of her knees and she fell over, sinking down into the heaving water. She struggled to get her face back into the air, to right herself, to stand, but the strength of the wind and the raging water forced her backward and down.

The waves slammed her against the white picket fence fronting a small lawn and an office. She clawed out for the fence, but she was heaved up by the water and smashed down toward the sidewalk. She screamed, but water filled her mouth.

Was she drowning? That would be ridiculous. A wave sucked her back toward the harbor, tossing her around like a doll. She managed to get her face above water and take a deep breath, and when she did, through her wet eyelashes, she thought she saw Theo.





thirty


Everything happened so quickly.

One moment, she was sitting at the kitchen table, working on her Kazaam website, and the next moment, her mother flew into the house.

Alarmed, Juliet cried, “What’s going on?”

“Bad flooding. Bad storm. We’ve got to pile sandbags at the assisted living facility. The waves are crazy, Juliet, and headed right into the end of the harbor.” As she talked, Lisa was pulling off her shoes and running up the stairs. “Put on sweats and sneakers,” Lisa called. “Brownie Folger is picking us up in five minutes.”

Juliet followed her mother up the stairs. In her bedroom, she pulled on a thick sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers. She could tell from her window that this was a super storm, the kind that would make it ridiculous to wear the green rubber Wellington boots she usually wore when it rained. A surging wave would fill the boots in a flash, making it impossible to walk.

   Downstairs, Juliet pulled on an old blue raincoat, put up the hood, and secured it with ties. Her mother had a plastic bonnet from the hairdresser’s tied around her head, squashing her hair.

Juliet laughed. “Oh, Mom, you’re such a fashion plate!”

“I’ve lost my rain hat…it doesn’t matter. Brownie’s here.”

They ran through the rain to the Department of Public Works truck rumbling in front of the house. Brownie Folger, head of the DPW, was driving, his gnarled old hands clutching the steering wheel as if the wheel was pulling him. Harold McMaster, head of the Anglers’ Club, sat in the passenger seat. Lisa climbed into the back, too, and Juliet squeezed up against her. A tower of sandbags took up most of the backseat and all of the truck’s bed. Even with all the weight inside it, the truck rocked when a 60 mph gust of wind hit it hard.

“I haven’t been this close to you since I gave birth to you,” Lisa whispered, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Up on the dashboard, the VHF marine radio was set to channel 16, the international calling and distress channel. A forty-foot sports fishing boat had headed off earlier today and was getting pushed out to sea and even with its powerful engines, it couldn’t force its way back to the island. On the sound, several sailboats were getting spun around like a goldfish in a dishwasher. One had a cracked mast. One had a sailor who’d hit his head and was unconscious. The Coast Guard boats were out, fighting to rescue the people.

“I tell you, I’ve never seen anything quite like this,” Brownie said.

“None of the forecasters got it right,” Harold told him. “Not the Weather Underground, not the Marine Weather Forecast. This is a rogue storm.”

   “Damn right it is. I’ve lived on this island eighty-six years and I’ve never seen anything like it. Closest I can remember is the No-Name Storm of ’91.”

Juliet’s cell beeped. With difficulty, she managed to slide it out of the pocket of her jeans.

“Juliet, are you all right?”

It was Ryder. She smiled. “I’m all right. How about you?”

As she spoke, a gust of wind hit the side of the truck like an enormous fist.

“I’m okay. Listen. I’ve got a jet on the tarmac to the right of the main airport terminal. Come here as soon as you can and we can get out of here, but you’ve got to hurry.”