The words hit like another wave. So they were landlocked... in a very unconventional way. For how long? Her knees wobbled, but she kept moving, following Jack’s lead.
“Have you seen Finn?” she rasped as they kept fighting against the water’s pull.
He turned toward her. “He’s not back.”
Her stomach lurched as she shook her head.
Jack pushed forward, bringing her along. “Let’s get you two safe, and then I’ll go find him.”
Her gaze trailed back behind her, the water surging, a chair floating past.
Oh God, please let him be safe.
Finn had floated with Granny D for a half hour, the current leading them nearer town, from what Granny D said. They’d even picked up a few stragglers along the way sitting on top of their front porch. A mother, her son, and their dog—the latter Rembrandt did not appreciate in the least.
Once the boat reached a safe spot along the creek’s overrun banks, Finn helped the little collection of people onto the soggy earth, and they walked about half an hour before being picked up by a passing fire truck.
Which seemed to be an experience on Granny D’s bucket list.
Either that, or being rescued by a burly and handsome firefighter.
Finn wasn’t sure which one.
Night had started falling by the time they were dropped off at New Hope Church, where Pastor Nate and the ladies from the quilting circle were already setting up cots and passing out dry socks. When Finn had attempted to take Granny D’s arm to help her to a nearby chair, she’d waved him off with “Don’t be an idiot, handsome, I survived the storm of 1962,” which he’d taken as both a blessing and benediction.
At least fifty displaced natives waited inside the church, all waiting for the wind and rain to die down enough to assess the damage.
Because there would be much more to uncover in the light of day.
But hopefully, replaceable things were the only things lost. Not the irreplaceable.
Without phone access, Finn had no way of knowing if Daphne and Lucy were safe and still in Daphne’s apartment. Nate hadn’t heard either. With a flashlight and a backpack of emergency supplies he hoped he wouldn’t need, he jogged down Main Street until he hit water, slowing his pace.
His breath came hard and fast, every window he passed dark, the rising current tugging at his legs like it wanted to pull him under.
The water splashed thigh-high by the time he reached Daphne’s shop—its cheery painted trim now dulled and streaked with grime. Finn’s pub was just downhill from it, built into the same long brick building, connected by a shared wall but cursed with two fewer steps of elevation.
He didn’t want to even consider what waited inside for him. All that money. All that planning for a new business. This place had been his fresh start. His leap of faith. And now...
He shook away the thoughts and made it to Daphne’s door, and with an effort, pushed it open. His flashlight shone into the dingy space. Chairs tipped. Wallpaper curled. The shelf that had once held her prized teapot collection now lay face down in the water.
His chest clenched.
“Daphne!” he shouted, voice hoarse. “Lucy!”
No answer.
He pushed through the water, making it to the stairs up to the apartment. A flicker of white on the door at the top of the stairs drew him the rest of the way. A note was taped to the door. Smudged but legible:
Finn—Water is rising. We’re headed to the town hall or the inn. Stay safe.
Love, D.
He let out a shaky breath and rested his forehead against the note like it might vanish. Safe. They were safe. He closed his eyes and let the words sink in—headed to the town hall or the inn.
With a push back from the door, he raced down the stairs and back into the shop, his flashlight’s glow skimming ahead to light the way. Then he saw it—just above the waterline against the wall.
A teapot.
