“Please. Don’t worry about it,” says Kara. She doesn’t say,That’s the least of our worries,but they’re all thinking it. The house shakes from the wind.
Caspian puts his thumb in his mouth and looks at the ceiling. “He’s ready for his nap,” says Natalie. “Should I take him in the other room?”
“Let’s all stay here,” says Calvin.
Then Austin does something surprising. He lies down next to Caspian and sings to him, without compunction or embarrassment, a lullaby about sleeping critters and rolling tumbleweeds and long nights under a bright full moon. It’smesmerizing,and for several moments they all forget they’re in the middle of a coastal storm, and they feel like they’re on the ranch or the range.
And then it comes. The ocean comes toward them, and the beach that is normally so wonderfully big, the beach that, sometimes when the Shipman girls were small, seemed so endless it felt impossible to cross, disappears altogether, and all they can see is water. The ocean isso loud.
The lights flicker, then hold, then flicker again.
Calvin goes out to the deck again and comes back in immediately, saying, “It’s over the wall.”
“Maybe it’s stopping at the patio,” says Mae optimistically.
“I don’t think so,” says Jordan. “Water doesn’t usually respect boundaries.”
The lights go out.
When they go downstairs an hour later, when the rain has started to slow, they can’t quite comprehend what they’re seeing. They stand there, taking it in. In the Shipman living room, the water is several inches high, inches over the baseboard. It’s a foot of water or more. Probably more.
“This house has been here for more than sixty years, and there’s never been water in it,” says Calvin, the first to speak. He crouches down to inspect the walls, and the water sloshes around his pants. He says, “It’s starting to recede. But the waterline? It was over the outlets. See that? Those will have to be replaced. Evangeline and Scarlett, don’t touch anything.”
“Everythingwill have to be replaced,” says Jordan. “Look at the furniture! All of Mom’s things.” There’s water halfway up the legs of the coffee table, and past the legs of the couch, and soaking part of the end tables, the plant stand, the cord for the standing lamp.
“Probably the refrigerator and dishwasher too,” says Austin from the kitchen. “If the insulation got wet, you’re not going to be able to repair.”
“And the cabinets,” says Kara. “These are oak, right?” Calvin nods.
“I’m going to see how our neighbors did,” says Calvin. He goes outside and comes back fifteen minutes later with a full report. The Zimmerman house next door is newer, built to code and FEMA regulations, set higher, with a raised deck instead of a patio. No water. On the other side of them, the Prescotts had gone to see their grandchildren in Maine, inadvertently leaving their slider open by two inches. It’s even worse at the Prescotts’. Many of the homes have rocks flung upon the lawns, patio furniture that has blown over.
Calvin’s phone rings. It’s Nikoletta, on FaceTime. She wants to see how the house is. Calvin walks around with the phone, showing her. “Oh, no. Oh, no,” Nikoletta says as Calvin makes the rounds. They hear her say things likerotandwood floorsandimmediate mold remediation. “We can’t sell this,” the girls hear her say, and they look at each other, eyes wide. “We cannot sell this home right now. Calvin, while you talk to your insurance, I’m going to make some calls. I’ll be in touch.” As quickly as she appeared on the screen, she is gone.
“We never finished the storage room,” says Mae.
“You never started the storage room,” points out Jordan. “Natalie and I did it all.”
“True,” says Mae, remorselessly.
The Shipman girls troop out to the garage to look at all of the things they had dragged out and organized and never finished dealing with. The three carefully separated piles are now one wet sloppypile. There will be no donating and no keeping. It will all have to go. Everything will have to go.
The rain stops. The tide recedes, as it always does eventually. Instead of spending Saturday evening eating dinner out so they can keep the house tidy for the open house, the Shipman family spends early Saturday evening eating dinner out because the first floor still has water in it and they have no power and Calvin has been on hold with the insurance company for what feels like years. Finally he is able to leave a message and is waiting for a call back.
They gate the dogs in the dry upstairs and take two separate cars to Flatbread in Portsmouth, where there is power, and where they order way more pizza than they need, and also the salads with the secret dressing, and beer for Calvin and Kara and Austin, and wine for Jordan, Natalie, and Mae. They order the organic sodas for Scarlett and Evangeline, avery rare treat indeed. Caspian has his own sippy cup with the last of the Hillside Haven milk. The mood is somber, but laced with giddy relief. They are all okay; they are here, together, a family without a structure, which is infinitely preferable to a structure without a family.
While they’re waiting for their food Calvin’s phone rings and he goes outside to take the call. When he returns, he gives them the update. The flood insurance adjusters will be out as soon as possible to assess the damage, but in the meantime the Shipmans should begin the process of throwing out ruined rugs and furniture, removing the wet drywall. “Looking on the bright side, we already have a dumpster.”
“A layperson can remove drywall?” Jordan asks. “I can’t imagine doing anything in my place, I just call the super.”
“Of course,” says Natalie. “Drywall isn’t a big deal. Right, Austin?” She and Austin have done many things to their house in Hillside Haven over the years (videos available for viewing with the proper search terms). “You just cut it out a foot above the waterline.”
“I can’t believe you know that,” says Jordan. “You are such an enigma!”
Natalie shrugs and takes another piece of pizza.
Calvin pops his new glasses on top of his head and rubs his temples. “We’ll have to get contractors in for the floors and the baseboards,” he says. “And electrical. And haul out the appliances. It’s a lot.” He looks tired and a little bit old, sitting in front of his pizza, his beer mostly untouched. “I’m not sure how I’ll manage this from Lenox. I’m teaching the summer social sciences program, and Kara is due back at work.”
“Maybe I could stay—” Mae begins.
