Page 49 of Nineteen Seventy-Six

Maureen kissed him back and then pulled away. “Soren, God Bless America! Can you tell me what you’re on about already?”

“Francine!”

“Who the hell is Francine?”

“Oh, Maureen.” Soren hugged her. “You don’t watch the news at all?”

“That’s Edouard’s job.”

Soren squeezed her tighter, pressing his hands into her mane of thick hair. “The hurricane, Maureen. It turned.”

Maureen spun out of his arms. “There’s a hurricane? Coming here?”

“It wasn’t supposed to turn. They said it was headed out the Gulf, toward Texas, and maybe Mexico. I don’t know.” Soren went back to pacing. “They said it’s too late for evacuations. That they didn’t detect the change quick enough. If we go now, we’ll be stuck on the roads when it passes through. That’s what they said. This is all such a mess.”

“But how?” Maureen clutched her purse tight to her chest. She was still wearing her thin jacket as well. Her mind was in multiple places, and she didn’t know where to settle her thoughts.

“I’m sure the governor will make a lovely statement about it later, explaining away any responsibility in this horrific display of incompetence,” Soren replied with an eye roll. “But they don’t know how it was missed. They just… missed it.”

“They? Who is they?”

“The news… the meteorologists… who knows? Does it matter?”

Maureen looked away, thinking. “No, I suppose not.” Her eyes flashed wide in horror. “Olivia!”

Soren stopped her from racing out the door. “No, it’s too late to drive all the way back to New Orleans. Didn’t you notice the wind on the drive out? The color of the sky?”

She had noticed, sort of. But this was the tail end of the storm season, and she’d been more concerned with getting to Soren as quickly as possible. She had things she wanted to say to him, and if she didn’t get them out, she might burst.

“There has to be time,” she insisted, ripping herself away, reaching for the door. “She can’t be there, alone, without me!”

Soren gently put one hand on the door. “Maureen. Do you trust me?”

“Yes, but—”

Soren kissed her. “There’s not time. Call home. Let Edouard know you’re stuck somewhere, and that he needs to get Olivia to a safe spot in the house to ride out the storm. I know he’s not a very good husband, but he will do right by his daughter. I know he will. He’s a native, and an architect. He’ll know precisely where to take her. He’ll know what to do.”

“You’re serious. You’re really serious. There’s a hurricane, coming toward us. Now.”

Soren nodded. “Category 4, the last the news reported. We can only pray it weakened when it hit land, but it’s here.” He slipped her hand into his and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll be safe here. There’s a study that sits dead center of the house, at the top of the stairs. No windows. I already grabbed the blankets and the rest of the hurricane kit, so all we can do now is… wait. See what happens.”

Outside, the wind screamed as it ripped through the row of oaks lining the long drive.

Maureen burst into tears.

Charles called, just as Connor arrived with Irish Colleen. Just as Elizabeth declared everything was in the attic now, and it was time for them to go.

“My son,” Charles managed. His voice was hardly recognizable. It had an edge to it, an edge with cracks.

“I have him, Huck. He’s safe here. We’re going to the attic,” Augustus said. A harsh, powerful whistle moved against the house, passing hard through the flora. Elizabeth mouthed from the stairs, we don’t have time for this.

“I need to talk to him.”

“We don’t have time—”

“Go get him, Augustus!”

Glass shattered in the kitchen. If he didn’t get to Ana now, he’d lose it, and there’d be no returning from wherever he went this time. “I have to go. When the roads clear, I’ll bring him back to you. I promise.”

---