Brick sat across from Maggie, laughing at Jo Ellen’s stories. He also bragged about his grandsons and chuckled as Randy and Angel told stories about his more reckless youth. When everyone was packing up, Eli walked over to Brick at the bottom of the steps.
Maggie, on the boardwalk above them, watched the exchange, although with the wind and surf, she couldn’t hear what they were saying.
Eli reached out his hand. Brick took it. They shook, talked softly, then Eli put a hand on Brick’s shoulder and leaned closer. Both men closed their eyes, while Eli spoke softly.
“They’re praying together,” Jo Ellen whispered, coming up next to Maggie. “What do you think of that?”
She sighed. Old Maggie—before Destin and Jo and Gator Jack’s and years of forced independence she’d never wanted—would have made a sarcastic joke and turned away.
New Maggie blinked away a tear. “I think we were very lucky today.”
Just after sunset, with a route all mapped out, Maggie and Jo climbed into the T-Bird to ride with the truck and bikes out of town. Brick led on his Harley with Angel and Randy following him. The boys in the truck stayed behind the little red sports car, their truck loaded down with the last of the supplies and a cooler.
Since they weren’t going as far, the rest of the family would spend the night here, then leave for their safe house in Rock Hill in the morning.
For a moment, a low-grade fear gripped Maggie as she separated from her people.
“It’s okay,” Jo Ellen assured her, putting a hand on her leg. “It’s our next adventure, Mags, and we’re in good hands.”
As she started the engine, Eli came to the driver’s side window and bent in.
“Mom.”
“Yes.”
“Be safe and stay in touch. As long as you have cell service, call or text frequently.”
“I will,” she promised.
His mouth curled up in a smile. “And have fun, you two.”
“Oh, we will!” Jo Ellen called out, making them all laugh.
As she put the car in gear, Eli looked at her for a long moment with the blue eyes she had been studying since the day he was born. Then he reached in through the window and squeezed hershoulder, and looked up the line at Brick, who tipped his chin once in acknowledgment.
The Harleys started up ahead of her, the truck rumbled, and the caravan eased out onto Gulf Shore Drive, the evening light still soft, the Summer House behind them sealed against whatever was coming.
“Well, Mags,” Jo Ellen said, settling back into the passenger seat with her iced coffee, “we’re running away with a biker gang.”
“We are not running away.”
“Yes, we are.”
“It is a coordinated evacuation, Jo.”
“We’re totally running away.”
She just laughed and looked at her best friend. “Yeah, okay. We’re running away.”
“Woo-hoo!” Jo Ellen cried out. “Hurricane par-tay!”
Maggie rolled her eyes and drove.
Later that night, the Summer House didn’t look like the Summer House anymore.
Showered and done for the day, Kate came down the stairs in sleep pants and a tank top, standing at the landing to take it all in. Every window and the great wall of glass sliders had been boarded to blackness. All the outdoor plants had been hauled in from the deck and crowded into corners and the hall to the laundry.
Deck furniture was stacked like a warehouse and the whole main living area, normally flooded in sunshine by day or softened by Vivien’s “layered lighting,” looked dark and ominous and uninviting.
