Bruce had seen this conversation go off the rails before, and he quickly intervened with “Can we toast the new deal, Mercer?”

She smiled and said, “Oh why not? Secrets are hard to keep around here.”

Bruce said, “A new two-book deal with Viking, as of this morning.”

They cheered and took turns congratulating Mercer as Claude removed the bowls. He poured more wine, a cold Chablis, and began serving the next course, a small platter of smoked oysters. A breeze materialized from the east and gently ruffled the thick air.

On his trips to and from the kitchen, Claude kept one eye on the small television near the stove. Leo was still out there, drifting, churning, puzzling the experts, with no apparent destination.

7.

Bruce preferred long dinners with gaps between courses for wine and conversation. After he and Claude cleared the oyster shells, they refilled the wineglasses and announced that the main dish would be blackened redfish, a delicacy that might take some time.

Claude went to the stove, where his cast-iron skillet was already warm. From the fridge he removed a tray of marinated fillets and carefully placed two in the skillet. He covered them with his own recipe of Cajun seasoning—garlic, paprika, onion, salt, and spices. The aroma was pungent, delicious.

He hummed as he cooked, happy as always to be at the stove, and he sipped wine and enjoyed the waves of laughter from the veranda. Dinner parties at Bruce’s were always an event. Great wines and food, interesting guests, no hurries, no worries.

The evening broke up at midnight when Mercer and Thomas finally said good night. Bruce and Claude cleared the table and stacked the dishes on the counter. Someone else would clean up tomorrow. Regardless of how late he went to bed, Bruce was an early riser and walked to the bookstore each morning at seven. As soon as Claude was gone, he locked the house, climbed the stairs, stripped, and fell across his bed. Within minutes he was in a coma.

Around 1:00 a.m., Leo finally made his move.

8.

Nick Sutton was a light sleeper, and once awake in the predawn hours he often read for an hour or two before returning to bed. Out of curiosity, he turned on the television to catch the news and presumed things were quiet. Things were not. The forecasters were alarmed because Leo had suddenly turned due west and its projected path was now aimed directly at Camino Island. It was a Category 3, gaining strength, two hundred miles out there and moving at them at ten miles an hour. Nick flipped channels and the panic was growing by the minute. He began calling and waking friends, some of whom were already glued to the Weather Channel.

At 5:00 a.m., he called Bruce and broke the news. Bruce watched the weather for ten minutes and called Nick back with instructions to round up the troops and meet at the store as soon as possible.

By daybreak, the island was in a frenzy. As a barrier, it was designed to take the brunt of any storm and protect the mainland. It was surrounded by water, flat with a high altitude of only twenty-four feet, and susceptible to a major storm surge, though no one on the island had ever witnessed that kind of water.

At 7:03, the sun peeked above the quiet ocean as if the day would be just another sunny one in paradise. Leo was by then a Category 4 and for the first time seemed determined to trek in one direction without veering left or right. At 7:15, the governor activated full evacuation for the coastal areas north of Jacksonville. “Get out now” was his message, and he hinted strongly that a mandatory evacuation order was forthcoming. “There is no time to prepare,” he said grimly. “Just get out now.”

Forty thousand people lived year-round on the island, with about half in Santa Rosa proper. There were no other towns to speak of. The city limits were not well defined and blurred with the rest of the island. Because it was early August, the tourist season was slower than June and July, but it was estimated that fifty thousand visitors were staying in oceanside hotels and condos. Early in the morning they were asked to leave, and quickly. Some fled immediately but most lingered and watched cable news with their coffee and breakfast. Only one four-lane bridge linked Camino Island to the mainland and by 8:00 a.m. its traffic was heavy. Each day a thousand employees crossed the bridge to work in the island’s hotels, but they were now being turned away. No one was allowed to cross. Everyone was encouraged to head west. Where? It didn’t matter. Just get off the island.

As the minutes passed, the forecasters remained unanimous with their projected paths. Leo’s eye was headed for downtown Santa Rosa.

At 8:15, the governor ordered the mandatory evacuation and activated two National Guard units. The police began going door-to-door. By law, a resident could not be forced to leave. However, for those who chose to remain, the police took phone numbers of their next of kin and informed them that first responders would not try to save them. The two hospitals were evacuated and the critical patients were taken to Jacksonville. The six grocery stores on the island opened early and were flooded with panicked shoppers desperate for bottled water and nonperishables.

Those who planned to stay were warned that there would be little food and water and no electricity for days after the storm. And there would be almost no medical care.

The warnings were blunt and everywhere: Get off the island!

9.

Bay Books had seven employees—three full-time and four by the hour. All hands were on deck as Bruce barked orders and helped them haul books upstairs to the second floor, where they were stacked on the floor. The tables and chairs in the small café were shoved to the side to make room. Two part-timers, both young men, were sent down to Noelle’s store to move her beloved antiques.