Page 63 of The Seascape Between Us

Intellectually, I knew he was right. Whatever had happened to the hotel, whatever time we got there wouldn’t change it.

Part way to the kitchen, I stopped and looked at Grey drinking from his mug. “Wait. How were you able to make coffee without any power?”

“Finn stopped by this morning to loan me his camping stove after they used it.”

Finn had been over? I must have really been out cold to have slept through all of that. “Finn and Alistaircamp? Who knew?”

Grey smirked and shrugged. “They took Will late last summer.”

I couldn’t quite picture Alistair camping. He was stylish and arty, and there was nothing rustic about him.

“How did they get through the storm? Any damage?” I filled the metal kettle, still sitting on the propane stovetop Grey had set up on the counter, from a bottle of water.

“Pretty good.” Grey joined me in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter with his arms folded over his chest. “There was no damage to their house, but that big fir tree on their lawn is leaning into the road. It’s probably going to have to come down.”

I leaned back against the counter facing him, mirroring his stance. “They were lucky. Us too, I guess.”

Grey nodded. “Mostly. There are shingles from the roof all over the backyard. I’ll probably have to have it replaced.”

“Before you sell it.”

“Sure,” he said, frowning. “Are you okay?”

Was I? Probably not. Anxiety pulled everything inside me taut, nerves crawling over my skin like invisible bugs. I was antsy, restless, and the dread I’d woken with seemed to swell inside me like a gathering storm ready to sweep me away. Still, I downplayed it. “Yeah. I’m worried about what we’re going to find though.”

“If anything’s damaged, we’ll fix it,” Grey said, closing the short distance between us. He wrapped his arms around my neck and pulled me into him. I pressed myself flush against his chest, wrapping my arms around his waist and leaning down to tuck my face into the crook of his neck. His lips grazed my ear, and I gripped him tighter.

I realized then what was making me so tense this morning, causing the buzzing under my skin. It wasn’t just the hotel. It was a feeling that all of this—Grey, living in this house, and yes, the hotel too—was coming to an end. That somehow, last night’s storm had rolled through and exposed everything I’d been hiding from since we got back from Portland, forcing me toface an inevitable future where Grey went back to his life and I went back to mine, but if I didn’t even have the hotel, what then?

“You have to relax.” His mouth brushed the side of my head. “Your wound too tight. I mean, if we fixed up the hotel once, we can do it again.”

I hoped he was right.

After a cup of what turned out to be the world’s worst instant coffee, Grey and I dressed and drove my truck to The Square. We followed Oceanwind Lane down the hill and across Shore Drive until we hit the main strip of The Square. Most of the bigger tree branches and other debris that littered the street had been moved off to the side, and anything that hadn’t, we’d been able to steer around.

At the main intersection, power crews were at work cleaning up fallen lines. We drove past them and hit the main strip, getting our first look at the damage the storm wreaked across The Square.

Like the top of the hill, the road was strewn with debris, loose shingles and siding, garbage, and even broken beach furniture. Business owners and residents had started the laborious work of clearing away the mess. A layer of sand buried most of the street, crunching under the tires as I steered towards the hotel. There’d obviously been flooding, and the water must have risen high to have reached the road.

As we drew closer to the hotel, and I got my first look at it, I thought the building didn’t appear too bad, at least from the back. Some of the tension gripping me loosened. I pulled into the parking lot, the sand even thicker than on the road, and that small glimpse of relief dissipated.

“The flooding must have been bad,” Grey said, echoing my thoughts. I looked over at him, but his expression was inscrutable.

I nodded, but didn’t say anything else. I wasn’t sure I could. If the street and the parking lot had flooded, what did that mean for the rooms that faced the ocean?

Wordlessly, Grey and I got out of the truck. We climbed the short set of stairs to the front doors and entered the hotel. As soon as we stepped inside, I could hear the ocean, the hush of the surf and the waves slapping against the sand as if I were standing on the beach. The salty tang of the water teased my nose.

“Shit,” I muttered.

Both Grey and I darted from the lobby into the restaurant. Two of the floor-to-ceiling windows that curved around the dining room were broken out. Jagged glass clung to the edges of the frames like a mouth of sharp teeth.

My legs turned rubbery under me, and I gripped the edge of the nearest table to keep from sinking to the floor. More sand covered the wood floors, which were swollen and bowing in some places. The tables and chairs had all been pushed towards the opening between the lobby and dining room, likely from the waves sweeping inside.

“We’re fucked,” I whispered.

“Everything can be fixed,” Grey said again, sounding less confident than he did before.

“Maybe,” I conceded. “But not in less than a week. How long will it take to replace that glass or the floors? We haven’t even seen the rooms yet.”

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