Page 32 of Against the Wind

“—apply for that scholarship I told you about?” I tied off the gauze. “The one for children of commercial fishermen?”

“First thing Monday. Thanks again for telling us about it.”

“Of course.” It had been scholarships that had paid for my education off island. I knew the challenges a lot of people here had in finding ways to pay for college that didn’t involve taking out student loans that wouldn’t be paid off until retirement.

Mrs. Jackson was next, her usually immaculate silver hair disheveled from the night’s stress. Her blood pressure had indeed spiked, but fifteen minutes of quiet conversation about her grandchildren’s recent visit brought it down to more reasonable levels.

Between patients, I caught snippets of storm damage reports—mostly minor flooding and debris, though the pier had taken a beating. At least two boats had broken free of their ties at the marina and were unaccounted for. Half a dozen more were floating in the harbor, and a team was being dispatched to retrieve them. Quite a few folks had lost their stairs down to the beach, and there were missing chunks of roofs all over the island, but it could have been so much worse. The collective relief was palpable.

“Doc?” Justin appeared at my elbow. “Got a sprained ankle over here. Teenager who thought aftermath cleanup was a good time for parkour.”

I suppressed a smile, already knowing which of our local daredevils it would be. Sure enough, Tommy Jensen sat sheepishly on the exam table, his mother standing nearby with her arms crossed.

“So Tommy,” I pulled up a rolling stool. “Want to tell me what happened, or should I guess based on your last two visits?”

I listened to him describing the incident while his poor mom grimaced. I shot her a sympathetic smile. “Tim’s pyrotechnics are seeming pretty same now, aren’t they?” Tommy’s elder brother, grown now, had been on the receiving end of plenty of lectures from Hoyt and the rest of his crew over his teen years. His failed canon experiment still got talked about from time to time.

Mrs. Jensen groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

Holding in a smile, I turned to Tommy. “Next time you decide to practice your stunts, maybe wait until after we’ve cleared all the debris? Your poor mom needs a break.” I finished wrapping Tommy’s ankle and handed his mother an ice pack. “Twenty minutes on, twenty off. And stay off it as much as possible for the next few days.”

“Gabi!” Caroline’s voice cut through the bustle. My sister threaded her way between the cots, dodging volunteers and patients.

I met her halfway, pulling her into a quick hug. “Everything okay at home?”

“The kids are driving me up the wall. They’ve been cooped up too long.” She smoothed back a few wisps of hair that had escaped her ponytail. “Logan’s convinced he’s going to find buried treasure in all the mess the storm washed up, and Aubrey keeps trying to sneak out to help him.”

“Sounds about right.” I grabbed a bottle of water from a nearby table and handed it to her. “Have you been home yet? House make it through okay?”

“Lost a few shingles, but nothing major. Hoyt’s been out since dawn with the emergency crews. They’re focusing on Shore Drive first. Apparently the surge took out a big section of the road.”

That was the road leading to the north end of the island, where Willa and Sawyer had weathered the storm at Sutter House. “You heard anything from Willa or Sawyer?”

“No, but the cell towers are still down. I’m sure they’re fine.” She took a long drink. “The Wilsons lost their deck, and that old boat shed by the marina collapsed. Could’ve been worse, though.” Caroline glanced around the community center. “Need any help here? I could pitch in for a few hours before the kids drive Ibbie completely insane.”

“We’ve got it covered. The team here are rock stars.” I nodded toward where a steady stream of patients with minor injuries was being processed by the EMTs and my nurses. “Go home. Keep my niece and nephew from becoming amateur treasure hunters. Or at least make sure they wear shoes while they’re at it.”

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of faces. Thankfully, none of the injuries required med evac or anything necessitating hospitalization.

I heard Ed’s grumbling before I saw him, his distinctive booming voice carrying across the community center as Bree guided him toward one of the treatment areas.

“It’s just a scratch, Pop,” Bree insisted. “Let the doctor look at it.”

“Damn fool thing to do, trying to clear that branch myself.” Ed dropped onto the exam chair, holding a blood-spotted cloth against his forearm.

I pulled on fresh gloves. “Let me see what we’re dealing with here.”

The cut wasn’t deep, but it was jagged enough to need cleaning. As I worked, Ed updated me on the storm’s impact. “Lost three windows at the brewery. Water got in before we could get them boarded back up.”

“Could’ve been worse,” Bree said. “The equipment’s fine. We’ll need to replace some drywall, but insurance should cover it.”

I dabbed antiseptic on Ed’s arm. “Have you heard anything from Willa? The cell towers are still down.”

“Nothing yet.” Bree shook her head. “But Sutter House was built to handle worse than this. I’m sure they’re fine, just waiting for the roads to clear.”

Ed winced as I started placing butterfly bandages. “That girl picked a hell of a time for her honeymoon.”

“There.” I secured the last bandage. “Keep it clean and dry. Come by the clinic in a few days so I can check it.”

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