Authors: R. L. Stine
It worked. They had always been close. Their parents had been so absent, they had to cling together from the time they were little, and that habit stuck. Now here she was with the black eye and the trembling chin, holding back her tears with all her strength.
Her boyfriend, Axl’s father, had left and taken her car and her savings.
Lea said, “The guesthouse in back is empty. Why don’t you live there for a while, Roz, while you’re getting yourself together? Ira and Elena will love having Axl around.”
“Only if I can do something to earn my rent.” From Roz. “You know. If I can help out somehow?”
Which is how she got to be the nanny. And damned good timing, too, since Lea and Mark were traveling so much lately. The kids didn’t take long at all to adjust to little cousin Axl. Now age two, he was so cute and so preposterously curious. How could anyone resist him?
“What that mean?”
“Why?”
“What you doing? Why you doing that?”
It was so interesting to see the little guy’s brain churning away. Ira and Elena didn’t question much. They seemed to accept everything as it was. They had always seemed too into themselves to be explorers.
Roz seemed happy in the little guesthouse with its single bedroom and bath. In fact, Mark had never seen her so consistently cheerful. She had her straight black hair cut short and bought some young-looking clothes.
She found a part-time job doing office work for some real estate lawyers in Sag Harbor. And she proved to be an efficient and loving nanny. The kids quickly learned to laugh at her sarcasm and sharp insults. They ate all their meals together at the long wooden table in the kitchen. One big happy family.
Of course, Mark was wary. He always began to feel wary whenever things began to go right for his sister. He knew that a new boyfriend on the scene could change it all.
He wanted Roz to have a real life of her own. Actually, he felt the house was a little crowded with the two of them always there, and it was harder to spend quiet time with Lea or with Ira and Elena. He didn’t want to keep her there forever as a kind of indentured servant. But he knew Roz needed time to heal before heading off to the next chapter of her life.
All these thoughts while sailing his small BMW through the
dark waves of Route 114, squinting through the rain-washed windshield. The rapid
smack-smack-smack
of the wipers the only sound except for the splash of rain waves off the sides of the car.
No phone. No phone ringing.
Lea, where are you?
And then a sharp turn through the opening in the low brick wall. The crunch of the gravel driveway beneath the tires. Mark eased the car to the side door. Cut the lights. Turned off the engine. Watched the wipers settle down into place.
Then he pulled the raincoat over his head and burst out of the car. To the door on the run. Shoes skidding on the wet gravel.
He reached for the knob but the door swung open. A sliding rectangle of light revealed Roz in jeans and a long, baggy brown sweater. Her eyes were red-rimmed. He smelled alcohol on her breath.
“Oh, Mark.”
“Roz, hi. Have you heard from Lea? Has she called here?”
Roz gazed at him for a long moment. “I don’t think she can,” she said finally, her voice a whisper.
W
ith the winds rattling the windows, Lea stood with her phone pressed to her ear. “The connection is lost.” She turned to the Swanns, Martha and James. “I heard Mark, but I don’t think he could hear me.”
An explosion of thunder made all three of them jump.
The lights flickered and went out. “I have plenty of candles,” Martha said. “And a kerosene lantern.”
She had more in common with Martha Stewart than just her first name, Lea thought. She seemed to be a perfect host and homemaker, calm and competent, despite the howling winds that made Lea want to scream.
James was soft-spoken and low-key, too. “No phones, no internet,” he said calmly, like checking off items on a grocery list. “We probably won’t have power for long. We won’t be able to communicate with anyone for days.”
“How can you be so calm about it?” Lea’s voice came out shrill, tight.
James’s slender, lined face flickered into view as Martha got one of the candles glowing. His eyeglasses reflected the orange light. “Martha and I have seen a lot of storms since we moved here.”
“Maybe none like this,” Martha murmured. Another candle flared.
The Swanns had lived in Charlotte, North Carolina, all their lives. James owned three pharmacies there, two of them inherited from his father. But he never really enjoyed running a business. When Walgreens made him an offer he couldn’t refuse, he sold them his stores and retired.
Martha, a photo researcher, freelanced for Reuters and other news agencies. The internet meant that she could work anywhere, so it was no problem for her to move. Ten years ago, the two of them had picked up and moved to Cape Le Chat Noir, just because it seemed the wildest, most unpredictable thing they could do.
A crash outside—shattering metal and glass—made the candlelight flicker.
“Whoa. That sounded like a car. Think this wind is strong enough to pick up cars?” James shook his head.
The oil lamp sent an orange glow over the Swanns’ front room. Long blue-black shadows crept over the floor and walls.
The room had an arching, dark wood cathedral ceiling. Two rows of track lights beamed down on the living room area, all wicker and blue and green aquatic colors, in the front facing the road. A long dining room table, covered in a flowery tablecloth, divided the living room from the kitchen.
Sliding glass doors and an enormous kitchen window revealed a panorama of the beach and ocean inlet out back. James had boarded up the window against the approaching storm. But the glass doors showed the tossing, battling waves, an eerie, unnatural green against the charcoal sky.
The shifting shadows on the walls made Lea think of Halloween. She realized she was still gripping the cell phone and tucked it into a pocket, surprised at how hard her hand was trembling.
She stared through the glass doors at the dark ocean waves raging high, foaming angrily.
“People are going to die,” she said.
The Swanns nodded but didn’t reply. James fiddled with the neck of his black turtleneck sweater. Martha carried a flickering oil lamp to the window ledge in the kitchen.
“Why are you taking that back there?” James called.
“It might light someone’s path,” Martha said.
“I’m worried about Macaw and Pierre at the rooming house,” Lea murmured. “It seems so rickety and frail.”
Martha nodded. “You’re much safer with us, on the west beach. The inlet is protected, Lea. And our house is solid. Not wood. It’s thick Virginia fieldstone. We had it shipped from Charlotte when we built the house. We knew it could withstand hurricanes.”
Lea shivered. “You’re both so nice to take me in tonight. I mean, a total stranger—”
Martha laughed. “I feel like we’re old friends. So many emails.”
“Well, you’re both very sweet,” Lea said. “I don’t know what I would have done. . . .” Her voice trailed off. She suddenly pictured Ira and Elena, so far away.
Earlier, Martha had prepared a magnificent dinner. Conch salad and salt oysters fresh from the ocean that morning, followed by a spicy-hot gumbo of rock shrimp, scallops, and lobster. A true feast. Along with a very dry Chardonnay from a winery on Hilton Head Island.
It should have been a delightful, relaxing time. But Lea kept glancing out the back doors at the flocks of birds flying frantically back and forth in the darkening sky, chattering and squawking in a panic, as if they didn’t know where to light.
James was talking about Carolina wineries and how they had to import their grapes from all over. Lea tried to concentrate. He spoke so softly, she had to struggle to hear.
After coffee, they watched the progress of the storm on the Weather Channel until the power went out with a startling
pop
. Then, in the candlelit darkness, they talked loudly over the roaring winds, straining to pretend all was normal.
“I’m worried about my kids,” Lea said. “And my husband, of course. They won’t know if I’m okay.”
“They’ll get things up and running soon after the storm,” James said. “You’ll be surprised. The army will be here. The national guard. Hurricanes on the Carolina coast . . . people have experience with them.”
“Do you have kids?” Lea realized she hardly knew a thing about her two hosts. Her emails with Martha had been all about life on Le Chat Noir.
“We have a son. In Phoenix,” Martha said. “He’s thirty. Not quite a kid.”
Lea squinted at her in the candlelight. “You don’t look old enough to have a thirty-year-old.”
Martha’s dark eyes flashed. “Flattery like that will get you a friend for life.”
“He’s still ‘finding himself,’” James added, making quote marks with his fingers. “A lot of thirty-year-olds are still teenagers these days. He—”
“
We’re
the teenagers,” Martha interrupted. “Running away from home to a tiny island?”
“I wanted more kids,” Lea said. “I come from a big family. Four brothers and two sisters. I really wanted a houseful of kids. But after Ira was born, the doctor said we couldn’t have any more. I was so disappointed. Heartbroken, really.”
Her words were greeted by silence. Martha and James stared at her, their faces appearing and disappearing in the flickering light.
Too much information.
Rain pounded the house, as loud as thunder. The wind howled like a wild animal. But the house was solid as promised. The ferocious winds tried but couldn’t collapse it. James praised the strength of Virginia fieldstone. Martha spoke calmly about going down to the beach after the last hurricane and watching the incredible waves.
Lea could hear things breaking outside. Cracks and heavy thuds. She fought to hold down a rising feeling of panic. She held her breath, as if she could will it away. Held her breath until her chest ached.
It will be over soon. I think the winds are already slowing.
She screamed at the cracking sound above her head. Plaster snowed down on the three of them from the high cathedral ceiling.
“It’s trying to take the roof,” James said. His eyes were wide behind his glasses. Even in the shadowy light, Lea could see his calm was broken.
Lea pressed herself against the living room wall, praying for the roof to hold, for the winds to stop raging. She shut her eyes tight and thought about Mark. And Ira. And Elena.
Were they thinking of her? Were they horribly scared?
She shuddered again. It could be
days
before I can reach them and tell them I’m okay.
Will I be okay?
Another cracking sound above their heads. Another stream of powdery plaster came floating down. James staggered forward, eyes wide. His mouth dropped open. His knees folded. He started to fall.
Martha grabbed him by the shoulders, struggling to keep him on his feet.
“The roof . . .” he breathed. “It’s . . . coming down.”
A terrifying
craaack
. A rumble like approaching thunder. A shower of powdery plaster.
Everything shaking. Everything.
Lea screamed as the world came crashing down on her.
L
ea struggled to pull herself up from the ringing darkness. Her head throbbed as if about to explode. Waves of pain rolled down her back, her arms and legs. Blinking in the gray light, still unable to focus, she gazed up.
“Oh my God!”
The sky appeared so close, glaring through the jagged hole in the ceiling. She raised her head, feeling dizzy. Underwater, her clothing soaked and the couch beneath her like a furry wet animal. She brushed shingles off the couch. Still struggling to focus, she saw jagged pieces of the ceiling strewn over the room.
Martha and James bent over her. Their faces were tight with concern, ghostly pale in the heavy gray light washing down from above.
“Lea? You’re coming to? Are you okay?” Martha looked twenty years older. Her hair hung in damp tangles over her forehead. Her eyes were red-rimmed and wet.
Lea pulled herself to a sitting position. The room spun around her. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry.
She squinted at the shards of wood and broken shingles scattered crazily around the couch. Piles of wet plaster on the carpet. Like cake flour. A snowstorm blanketing the furniture.
“The roof—”
Martha gripped her hand. “Take it slow, Lea. Just breathe. Don’t try to get up yet.”
“What happened?” Martha and James slid in and out of focus. Lea smoothed a hand over her hair, trying to rub away the pain.
“Part of the roof fell in,” James said, gazing up at the sky. “You got hit by some slate shingles. It knocked you out.”
“We were so worried.” Martha squeezed Lea’s hand. “It just came crashing down on you. We put you on the couch and—”
Lea shuddered. “I . . . think I’m okay. Just a headache. The dizziness is going away.”
“Oh, thank God,” Martha said.
“We all got soaked,” James said, his voice hoarse, croaky. “But we were lucky.” He glanced away, as if trying to force down some heavy emotion. Despite his attempt, a sob escaped his throat.
Martha held on to Lea’s hand. “So glad y’all are okay. We were scared. You were totally out. Look. You might have a bump on your head, but it didn’t even break the skin.”
Lea brushed back her dark hair with both hands. “Wow. Guess I’m lucky. I feel okay. Really.”
“It’s morning. The rain stopped a few hours ago,” Martha said. “The winds—”
James motioned toward the broken ceiling. “The rain. It soaked everything. The house will never dry out.”
“But it’s still standing.” Martha turned to her husband. “I think we may be the fortunate ones. I . . . I’m afraid to look outside.”
James shivered. “I need dry clothes.” He started toward the bedroom. His shoes squished on the carpet.
Martha followed him. She turned back to Lea, her face almost apologetic. “We’ve been up all night. Maybe James and I should catch a few hours sleep. Before . . . before we face what’s out there.”