Red Rain

9

With the winds rattling the windows, Lea stood with her phone pressed to her ear. “The connection is lost.” She turned to the Swanns, Martha and James. “I heard Mark, but I don’t think he could hear me.”

An explosion of thunder made all three of them jump.

The lights flickered and went out. “I have plenty of candles,” Martha said. “And a kerosene lantern.”

She had more in common with Martha Stewart than just her first name, Lea thought. She seemed to be a perfect host and homemaker, calm and competent, despite the howling winds that made Lea want to scream.

James was soft-spoken and low-key, too. “No phones, no internet,” he said calmly, like checking off items on a grocery list. “We probably won’t have power for long. We won’t be able to communicate with anyone for days.”

“How can you be so calm about it?” Lea’s voice came out shrill, tight.

James’s slender, lined face flickered into view as Martha got one of the candles glowing. His eyeglasses reflected the orange light. “Martha and I have seen a lot of storms since we moved here.”

“Maybe none like this,” Martha murmured. Another candle flared.

The Swanns had lived in Charlotte, North Carolina, all their lives. James owned three pharmacies there, two of them inherited from his father. But he never really enjoyed running a business. When Walgreens made him an offer he couldn’t refuse, he sold them his stores and retired.

Martha, a photo researcher, freelanced for Reuters and other news agencies. The internet meant that she could work anywhere, so it was no problem for her to move. Ten years ago, the two of them had picked up and moved to Cape Le Chat Noir, just because it seemed the wildest, most unpredictable thing they could do.

A crash outside-shattering metal and glass-made the candlelight flicker.

“Whoa. That sounded like a car. Think this wind is strong enough to pick up cars?” James shook his head.

The oil lamp sent an orange glow over the Swanns’ front room. Long blue-black shadows crept over the floor and walls.

The room had an arching, dark wood cathedral ceiling. Two rows of track lights beamed down on the living room area, all wicker and blue and green aquatic colors, in the front facing the road. A long dining room table, covered in a flowery tablecloth, divided the living room from the kitchen.

Sliding glass doors and an enormous kitchen window revealed a panorama of the beach and ocean inlet out back. James had boarded up the window against the approaching storm. But the glass doors showed the tossing, battling waves, an eerie, unnatural green against the charcoal sky.

The shifting shadows on the walls made Lea think of Halloween. She realized she was still gripping the cell phone and tucked it into a pocket, surprised at how hard her hand was trembling.

She stared through the glass doors at the dark ocean waves raging high, foaming angrily.

“People are going to die,” she said.

The Swanns nodded but didn’t reply. James fiddled with the neck of his black turtleneck sweater. Martha carried a flickering oil lamp to the window ledge in the kitchen.

“Why are you taking that back there?” James called.

“It might light someone’s path,” Martha said.

“I’m worried about Macaw and Pierre at the rooming house,” Lea murmured. “It seems so rickety and frail.”

Martha nodded. “You’re much safer with us, on the west beach. The inlet is protected, Lea. And our house is solid. Not wood. It’s thick Virginia fieldstone. We had it shipped from Charlotte when we built the house. We knew it could withstand hurricanes.”

Lea shivered. “You’re both so nice to take me in tonight. I mean, a total stranger-”

Martha laughed. “I feel like we’re old friends. So many emails.”

“Well, you’re both very sweet,” Lea said. “I don’t know what I would have done. . ” Her voice trailed off. She suddenly pictured Ira and Elena, so far away.

Earlier, Martha had prepared a magnificent dinner. Conch salad and salt oysters fresh from the ocean that morning, followed by a spicy-hot gumbo of rock shrimp, scallops, and lobster. A true feast. Along with a very dry Chardonnay from a winery on Hilton Head Island.

It should have been a delightful, relaxing time. But Lea kept glancing out the back doors at the flocks of birds flying frantically back and forth in the darkening sky, chattering and squawking in a panic, as if they didn’t know where to light.

James was talking about Carolina wineries and how they had to import their grapes from all over. Lea tried to concentrate. He spoke so softly, she had to struggle to hear.

After coffee, they watched the progress of the storm on the Weather Channel until the power went out with a startling pop. Then, in the candlelit darkness, they talked loudly over the roaring winds, straining to pretend all was normal.

“I’m worried about my kids,” Lea said. “And my husband, of course. They won’t know if I’m okay.”

“They’ll get things up and running soon after the storm,” James said. “You’ll be surprised. The army will be here. The national guard. Hurricanes on the Carolina coast. . people have experience with them.”

“Do you have kids?” Lea realized she hardly knew a thing about her two hosts. Her emails with Martha had been all about life on Le Chat Noir.

“We have a son. In Phoenix,” Martha said. “He’s thirty. Not quite a kid.”

Lea squinted at her in the candlelight. “You don’t look old enough to have a thirty-year-old.”

Martha’s dark eyes flashed. “Flattery like that will get you a friend for life.”

“He’s still ‘finding himself,’” James added, making quote marks with his fingers. “A lot of thirty-year-olds are still teenagers these days. He-”

“We’re the teenagers,” Martha interrupted. “Running away from home to a tiny island?”

“I wanted more kids,” Lea said. “I come from a big family. Four brothers and two sisters. I really wanted a houseful of kids. But after Ira was born, the doctor said we couldn’t have any more. I was so disappointed. Heartbroken, really.”

Her words were greeted by silence. Martha and James stared at her, their faces appearing and disappearing in the flickering light.

Too much information.

Rain pounded the house, as loud as thunder. The wind howled like a wild animal. But the house was solid as promised. The ferocious winds tried but couldn’t collapse it. James praised the strength of Virginia fieldstone. Martha spoke calmly about going down to the beach after the last hurricane and watching the incredible waves.

Lea could hear things breaking outside. Cracks and heavy thuds. She fought to hold down a rising feeling of panic. She held her breath, as if she could will it away. Held her breath until her chest ached.

It will be over soon. I think the winds are already slowing.

She screamed at the cracking sound above her head. Plaster snowed down on the three of them from the high cathedral ceiling.

“It’s trying to take the roof,” James said. His eyes were wide behind his glasses. Even in the shadowy light, Lea could see his calm was broken.

Lea pressed herself against the living room wall, praying for the roof to hold, for the winds to stop raging. She shut her eyes tight and thought about Mark. And Ira. And Elena.

Were they thinking of her? Were they horribly scared?

She shuddered again. It could be days before I can reach them and tell them I’m okay. Will I be okay?

Another cracking sound above their heads. Another stream of powdery plaster came floating down. James staggered forward, eyes wide. His mouth dropped open. His knees folded. He started to fall.

Martha grabbed him by the shoulders, struggling to keep him on his feet.

“The roof. .” he breathed. “It’s. . coming down.”

A terrifying craaack. A rumble like approaching thunder. A shower of powdery plaster.

Everything shaking. Everything.

Lea screamed as the world came crashing down on her.