around the bar and into the kitchen, found the icebox. He
took a bottle of beer out, then hesitated and withdrew two more.
When
he came back, he set a bottle down in front of Paul, then in front of Rebecca
Cady. Both of them looked at him like he was crazy, and he shrugged. The wind
shrieked around the house, and Paul reached out tentatively and touched his
beer, then moved his hand away when Rebecca Cady shifted her eyes to him.
"Go
on," Arlen said, "just one ain't going to bite you. It's a hurricane,
son. If that isn't a special occasion, what is?"
It
wasn't strong stuff, but it was enough to settle Arlen's stomach and ease his
headache. Paul let the bottle sit untouched in front of him for a few minutes
and then lifted it and took a small swallow.
About
ten minutes went by, and then there came a crash and a tearing from the back
porch. Arlen and Paul got to their feet and went to the small exposed portion
of glass to look out. One of the porch railings had ripped free and blown into
the back wall, and the corresponding roof support had buckled. The porch roof
was still standing, but on just three legs now.
"That
porch is almost finished," Paul whispered. "I wonder what's happening
to that dock and the boathouse up in the inlet."
Before
Arlen could answer, there was another crash, this one far louder and on the
southern side of the house, out of sight at their angle. The entire building
trembled with impact, and then the lights went out. There wasn't so much as a
flicker; they simply snapped off. The electric fan whirled down to a crawl and
then a stop, and now there were no sounds but the storm.
Arlen
led the way back, picking past chairs and tables that existed as shadows.
Rebecca Cady was where they'd left her, and though she hadn't said a word, she
was moving in the darkness. It took Arlen a minute to realize that she'd begun
to drink the beer.
----
Chapter 13
It
went on through the afternoon and into the evening—wind and rain and the sounds
of the house threatening to break up around them. One of the back windows
splintered from the squeezing and shifting of the frame, then fell to the floor
in shards when another gust shook the house. Paul and Arlen set to work
cleaning up the glass and waiting on the rest of the windows to go, but they
never did. The storm surge covered the beach and reached the porch and sloshed
under the house. They could hear it moving beneath the floor, and Rebecca Cady
kept her eyes downcast for at least an hour, looking for signs of it, expecting
the water to begin seeping through. It didn't rise high enough, though. Now and
then a particularly inspired wave would splash up onto the edge of the porch,
but it never made the door.
The
three of them went out onto the front porch once, with the building offering
shelter between them and the wind, and took in the yard. Everything was awash
with water, the sea moving all around them, as if they stood aboard a ship
rather than a porch. The heavy Cypress House sign banged on its iron chains.
Up
the hill, the trees bent almost to the earth and the undergrowth had been
picked clean by the wind. The air was thick with spray and sand, peppering the
trees.
"You
ever seen one like this before?" Paul shouted in Rebecca Cady's ear, his
hand cupped to the side of her face. She shook her head.
It
didn't begin to lessen until evening, and then it was subtle — the wind shriek
losing its voice just a bit, as if its lungs were worn from the day's ravings.
An hour later it was noticeably calmer, and the rain had faded to an ordinary,
steady summer shower as the ocean mustered a slow retreat, as if displeased
with the results of its reconnaissance mission on land. Maybe it would invade
sometime, but it wouldn't be now and wouldn't be here.
As
the storm eased away, real darkness settled in, and Rebecca lit more oil lamps.
She had
took a bottle of beer out, then hesitated and withdrew two more.
When
he came back, he set a bottle down in front of Paul, then in front of Rebecca
Cady. Both of them looked at him like he was crazy, and he shrugged. The wind
shrieked around the house, and Paul reached out tentatively and touched his
beer, then moved his hand away when Rebecca Cady shifted her eyes to him.
"Go
on," Arlen said, "just one ain't going to bite you. It's a hurricane,
son. If that isn't a special occasion, what is?"
It
wasn't strong stuff, but it was enough to settle Arlen's stomach and ease his
headache. Paul let the bottle sit untouched in front of him for a few minutes
and then lifted it and took a small swallow.
About
ten minutes went by, and then there came a crash and a tearing from the back
porch. Arlen and Paul got to their feet and went to the small exposed portion
of glass to look out. One of the porch railings had ripped free and blown into
the back wall, and the corresponding roof support had buckled. The porch roof
was still standing, but on just three legs now.
"That
porch is almost finished," Paul whispered. "I wonder what's happening
to that dock and the boathouse up in the inlet."
Before
Arlen could answer, there was another crash, this one far louder and on the
southern side of the house, out of sight at their angle. The entire building
trembled with impact, and then the lights went out. There wasn't so much as a
flicker; they simply snapped off. The electric fan whirled down to a crawl and
then a stop, and now there were no sounds but the storm.
Arlen
led the way back, picking past chairs and tables that existed as shadows.
Rebecca Cady was where they'd left her, and though she hadn't said a word, she
was moving in the darkness. It took Arlen a minute to realize that she'd begun
to drink the beer.
----
Chapter 13
It
went on through the afternoon and into the evening—wind and rain and the sounds
of the house threatening to break up around them. One of the back windows
splintered from the squeezing and shifting of the frame, then fell to the floor
in shards when another gust shook the house. Paul and Arlen set to work
cleaning up the glass and waiting on the rest of the windows to go, but they
never did. The storm surge covered the beach and reached the porch and sloshed
under the house. They could hear it moving beneath the floor, and Rebecca Cady
kept her eyes downcast for at least an hour, looking for signs of it, expecting
the water to begin seeping through. It didn't rise high enough, though. Now and
then a particularly inspired wave would splash up onto the edge of the porch,
but it never made the door.
The
three of them went out onto the front porch once, with the building offering
shelter between them and the wind, and took in the yard. Everything was awash
with water, the sea moving all around them, as if they stood aboard a ship
rather than a porch. The heavy Cypress House sign banged on its iron chains.
Up
the hill, the trees bent almost to the earth and the undergrowth had been
picked clean by the wind. The air was thick with spray and sand, peppering the
trees.
"You
ever seen one like this before?" Paul shouted in Rebecca Cady's ear, his
hand cupped to the side of her face. She shook her head.
It
didn't begin to lessen until evening, and then it was subtle — the wind shriek
losing its voice just a bit, as if its lungs were worn from the day's ravings.
An hour later it was noticeably calmer, and the rain had faded to an ordinary,
steady summer shower as the ocean mustered a slow retreat, as if displeased
with the results of its reconnaissance mission on land. Maybe it would invade
sometime, but it wouldn't be now and wouldn't be here.
As
the storm eased away, real darkness settled in, and Rebecca lit more oil lamps.
She had
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