Caretakers, Dionis reflected as she ran toward the darkroom, knew way too much.
“There’s weather coming,” he told Ash as he dropped down the gangway from the flybridge onto the main deck.
She was reading a paperback in the comfortable lounge area, and made a point of ignoring him. She’d said little to either of them since they’d frog-marched her back to Shytown. As though if she couldn’t scream or run, she didn’t have to exist for them in this moment either.
“Ash,” he said urgently, “you’ve got to listen. The storm could be serious, and Matt won’t risk going into port. He’s afraid you’ll try to leave.”
Her lips curved slightly, a secret pleasure. “Party’s got to end sometime.”
“Matt thinks he can outrun a hurricane.” He grasped her shoulders, willing her to look at him. She flinched, and redoubled her focus on the book. But her whole body had stiffened, as though she were waiting for a blow.
Filled with self-hatred, he released her.
“Ash. When the storm hits, stay close to me.”
Finally, she lifted her eyes. Finally, he knew she was listening.
“Anything can happen in a hurricane,” he said. “Anyone can go overboard.”
“Even Matt?” she asked.
And gave him that same secret smile.
Chapter Four
“Peter!”
He stepped into the comforting glow of the hallway after nine hours of heavy labor, closing the front door of the Cliff Road house firmly behind him to shut out the gusting wind. For a second, he thought he was hearing things. “George?”
And there she was—his sister, with her shining cap of dark hair and her expressive hands, moving like a whirlwind from her perch on the sofa to throw her arms around him.
“You came early!” he crowed.
“I’m not stubborn, like our mother,” she retorted, stepping back to study his face. “I want to be here to see you get married—and by Thursday, planes and ferries could be canceled. I changed all our flights yesterday and pulled the kids out of school. They’re ecstatic. How are you? Nervous? Excited?”
“Exhausted,” he said. “It’s a bitch trying to secure a cranberry bog from a hurricane.” He and Rafe had managed to find the last stray sheep by two o’clock that afternoon, then spent the remaining hours of daylight flooding the bog so they could wet-harvest cranberries. A partially filled container truckload of fruit now sat securely in the main barn. If the weather allowed, they’d harvest some more tomorrow. Small victories, Peter thought.
“This storm’s timing is dreadful,” Georgiana murmured sympathetically. “You have help at the farm, yes?”
“I do.” There was no point in trying to explain how he’d spent the past few days; Georgiana managed four children’s complex lives and schedules. She was the master of her own multitasking and had no sympathy to spare for other people’s.
“Hey, Uncle Pete,” Trey Whitney called out from the kitchen. Trey was the eldest of George’s four kids, a freshman in high school, far too cool to hug Peter. He wore shorts and an Emirates soccer jersey and appeared not to have cut his hair since they’d last met in August. A fistful of chips and a container of salsa were clutched in Trey’s hands. “Merry’s ordered pizza for dinner!”
I’m sure she has, Peter thought with sudden amusement. Arriving home from work to find six more people in the Cliff Road house, Merry would have scrambled on the food front. George had clearly forgotten to telegraph the change in the Whitney travel plans before she landed on Nantucket. Peter wondered if there were any sheets on the guest beds yet. Never mind, he chided himself. George knew where everything was kept; she spent six weeks in the house every summer. Maybe she’d even get the kids to make their own beds, in exchange for the extra days off from school.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, throwing his arm around his sister. “It feels like a party. I take it Mother refused to change flights?”
“Of course.” George squeezed his waist and led him toward the kitchen. “I tried to persuade her. A full ten minutes on the phone. She’s balking at paying change fees, if you can believe. Sniffed about how tiresome it is to be forced to fly commercial. Come say hello to Hale. He’s opening a bottle of something red that goes with pizza.”
“I got the Radleigh boys to help us tomorrow after school,” Jack told Dionis as she joined him in the kitchen.
Ryan and Jake Radleigh, sixteen and eighteen, were native Nantucketers and the Mathers’ summer help.
“Tell them to skip school entirely,” she suggested, accepting a bowl of Jack’s beef stew. “They can board up windows while we transport people.”
Dionis had showered and changed and her hair was freshly washed; her tired muscles ached less now that she’d run gallons of scalding water over them. She sat down at the table, famished and grateful for the shared house and her father’s cooking.
“We’ve got sixteen folks, by my count, to ferry over here tomorrow.” Jack took his usual chair across the table. “If you handle one skiff and I take the other, we should be able to get everybody and their luggage off by early afternoon.”
Spoon in hand, Dionis did a mental headcount. Seven Tuckernuck houses still had people in them, and Jack was right—the total number to evacuate was about sixteen. The skiffs could each handle four or five passengers with all their luggage. Round trip between Madaket and Tuckernuck would take an hour, with rising surf.
“We can head back in the afternoon, if the weather holds, with another load of plywood,” her father persisted, “and finish the windows as long as the daylight lasts. Current landfall forecast is late tomorrow night, early hours of Thursday. But the location has shifted north. It’s headed straight for us, and it’ll be a Cat Three when it arrives.”
She choked on a lump of beef and stared at him, struggling to clear her throat. Cat Three. Insane winds and huge storm surge and damage to every bit of housing all over the island—nobody would escape, nobody would be safe. There were only degrees of danger now. Anxiety washed from the back of her neck to her groin in a warm wave.
“The rain will start by morning.” Jack shoved his bowl away distractedly, his mind elsewhere. Then he rubbed his left bicep again. He had been up on three different roofs with power tools and a hammer that afternoon.
“Do you want some ice for your arm?” Dionis asked.
“Nah. I’m just out of ibuprofen.”
“I’ll run to The Rotary and get you some.”
“It’ll pass,” he said irritably. He hated her fussing. “Relax. You’ve done enough today.”