Thunder rumbles somewhere out over the water. I don’t care. I just feel sick and lightheaded. But I feel like I’m home. I didn’t know I could be homesick for this place. For him.
The storm is already rolling in when Cal’s truck pulls up. Wind whips sand across the driveway. The sky is dark and swollen with rain. Thunder rumbles low and steady.
He jumps out before the engine even fully cuts off. I barely have time to shut the car door before he’s in front of me.
He pulls me into him so hard my breath leaves my lungs. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he says into my hair.
“Me, too,” I whisper, sinking into him.
Wilby goes to Birdie’s and gets settled and we wave to him.
Cal’s arms wrap protectively around me. “This storm’s supposed to be a bad one.”
“I know,” I whisper.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. Rain starts to fall in thick drops. “You shouldn’t have flown in this. I was so worried.”
“I missed you,” I murmur.
Something shifts in his expression at that. He cups my face and kisses me. The wind pushes against us. The rain starts harder.
“Come on,” he says, grabbing my hand. “Let’s get inside.”
The storm hits full force within the night. Rain pounds the roof.Lightning flashes white across the windows. The power flickers twice before stabilizing.
The next morning, I stand on Cal’s porch with a cup of coffee in both hands and look out at the cottages. A few shingles are missing. One of the patio chairs is upside down in the sand. It could have been so much worse.
Cal is already down checking on the Bees and Carly with Jonah. His T-shirt is damp and clinging to his back, hair still messy from the wind, and there is something tight in his shoulders that was not there yesterday. He has always worn responsibility like a second skin for his mother and Jonah, but today he is on high alert, looking stressed.
I head to Carly’s house before I talk myself out of it. I’ve missed her, and we need to catch up. And I could use a friend. She answers the door after a long minute. Her eyes look tired but clearer than they usually are. The house smells like lemon cleaner and coffee.
“Hi, sweetie,” she says softly. “You made it through the storm.”
“We did,” I tell her, stepping inside. “How are you?”
She shrugs and wraps her cardigan tighter around herself. “A little shaken. But I’m alright. I don’t love that the reporters have been camped out all over.”
“I know,” I say with a sigh. “I’m really sorry about that.”
“It’s scary feeling trapped like that.”
“Actually,” I say as I take her hands in mine. “I was thinking about that. How you can take back some control. When I go back to New York, I could help set you up with telehealth for therapy. We can find someone who can help. I know a few firms that work with executive mental health, and they’re discreet. You wouldn’t have to leave the house to do it, but maybe one day you’d be able to leave again with the right therapy.”
“That sounds like a dream, but I don’t know.” Her eyes flicker with something hopeful and fear all at once. “You’d do that to help me?”
“Of course I would,” I say. “And if you ever want to visit New York, even just for a week, you could stay with us. With me and Cal. We’d make it work.”
“That feels so scary.” She squeezes my fingers. “But thank you for thinking of me.”
I notice she feels more anxious, and I hate that. Maybe I was too forward. But I had to try.
When I leave, Cal is waiting at the end of the walkway. He must have seen me go in.
“What were you talking to my mom about?” he asks, his voice steady but edged.
“I offered to help her find a telehealth therapist,” I say carefully. “And I told her she could come to New York sometime if she wanted.”
His jaw tightens. “Silvie, you don’t need to do that.”
