Page 72 of The Sea-Mist Cottage Inn
I couldn’t help but laugh at my ridiculous friend. “Damn. I knew I forgot something.”
I went down the steps, and we met for a hug.
Up close, her bravado quieted. “This really sucks, Lennie. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” I sighed, letting her go after a final squeeze. “Thanks.”
Erin and her father had made their way to us, but Erin didn’t rush up for a hug. So I went to her. When I opened my arms, she didn’t deny me.
“Thank you for being here,” I said in her ear.
“Well, this is all anybody’s talking about. Figured I’d see for myself.”
I took that in the spirit of the friend I’d grown up with. All strong feelings, with the exception of anger, made Erin uncomfortable, so she got dismissive and caustic. That she washere told the truth about her feelings; we weren’t close again yet, but we were on the mend.
I turned and smiled at her dad. “Hi, Daddy Ned.”
Though he didn’t appear to recognize me, he took the hug I went in for and patted my back. “Hello, lass. Was there a storm here?”
“You could say that, yes,” I answered.
“Looks like it made quite a mess. Would you like some help? I think that’s what we came for, so put us to work.”
“Daddy,” Erin said, “I told you, I’m going to help. You can sit up on the porch and supervise.”
“Yousupervise!” he snapped back. “It’s what you do best, bossing people around. I’m damn sick of you telling me what to do, Clare!”
Erin flinched. Clare was her mother, who’d died of a massive stroke less than an hour after giving birth to her. I’d never heard Daddy Ned speak about his wife with anything but love and affection before.
Standing beside Erin, I set my hand on her arm, an instinctual gesture of comfort.
“It’s okay,” she said softly. “That happens a lot these days.”
“How can we help, Len?” Jessie asked.
I looked around. Rosemary and the crew she’d brought were on water detail, going cottage by cottage with a big generator-looking machine on wheels that was essentially a heavy-duty wet vac. Roman and Wyatt and I were working in the main cabin, the guys using big snow shovels I had in the shed and just plowing all of our belongings into piles.
I was gathering up all the rugs to smooth their way, and also maybe to savesomethingfrom the mess. If the rugs dried, they could be cleaned, I hoped.
“Um, Rosemary’s got a bunch of guys from the rez vacuuming water out of the cottages. They probably could usea hand.” I had a thought and said it aloud—“And Daddy Ned, I could really use some help hanging up the rugs on the porch rails.”
“I’m happy to do it, lass.”
Erin gave me a little smile I read as gratitude, and my friends went off to find a way to be useful. I hooked my arm around her father’s and led him onto the porch.
I had the strangest sense of peace right then, standing amidst the mess of my home, the destruction of my livelihood. Somehow, none of that seemed terribly important just then.
TWENTY-NINE: A Raising
By noon, I think all of Bluster was at the Sea-Mist.
Well, that’s a gross exaggeration, but it was like ahundredpeople. Mayor Holt was there. Even kids from Bonfire Night showed up, some of them still in their camp pajamas. Hell, Finn Nyberg, the cranky lighthouse guy, showed up—and immediately grabbed a big bin of flood trash and dumped it in the back of the truck somebody had designated as the refuse receptacle (I hoped it was Stan, the truck’s owner).
Not only did all those people show up, but they all came prepared. Everybody wore waders, or Wellies, or just good boots. They had gloves and goggles. They brought shovels and huge plastic trash bins and bags. They brought tools and generators and wet vacs. Dominica Alvarez, who’d been the meanest mean girl in our high school class, brought her four boys and three girls from where all they now lived in Samoa, on the peninsula in Humboldt Bay.
Samoa was fifty miles away. Apparently, Catherine’s word stretched that far.
Catherine, Bailey, and three servers from the diner had set up three long, folding banquet tables as a buffet line, and two other tables behind them for food prep. Catherine had even brought a generator, so she had two big table-top griddles going, plus a Foreman-style grill. First there were pancakes, fake sausage and bacon, yogurt and fruit, juices, coffee, tea, a huge cooler of ice water. Then they served lunch of her famous grilled cheese (ciabatta bread, brown butter, gruyere, gouda, and cheddar cheese—it will change your life), sweet potato chips, and fresh veggies. Killian Shelley, who owned Bluster Fizz, an artisanal soda company, showed up with a truck full of cases of his fancy flavors.
