“Bree!” Nevaeh called from the pullout couch in the living room. “You’re missing it!”

I dragged myself away from the window and joined the girls, though my head—and heart—were elsewhere.

Chapter Eighteen

Landlines and satellite phones can be a valuable resource when power and cell towers fail. It can help to invest in one or more of these if you live in a hurricane-prone area.

I woke to the ringing of my phone.

But that was impossible. When I’d gone to sleep the night before, there’d been no cell service.

Maybe service had been restored overnight. Why not? The storm was clearly over. The walls were no longer creaking, and I could see sunlight peeping in through the slats of the shutters over the library window.

I rolled over on the air mattress—disturbing Gary, who’d been curled up comfortably in his customary position against my legs—and grabbed my cell, squinting at it in the morning light.

But no. The screen was black. And my cell wasn’t ringing. Something else very near me was.

I sat up, looked around, and realized that the source of the ringing was an old-fashioned telephone sitting on a pedestal table beside the pink-cushioned chair. I hadn’t noticed it before, although beside the phone was, of all things, an old-fashioned answering machine, like Rachel and Monica had had on the television show Friends.

A moment later the answering machine switched on, and I heard Lucy Hartwell’s cheerful voice say, “Hello, you’ve reached the Hartwells! We can’t come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name, number, and a message, we’ll get right ba—”

I heard a click, and then evidently the line was picked up on an extension in another part of the house.

“Hello?” Lucy Hartwell asked.

“Hello? Lucy?” A woman’s voice came on over the machine.

“Oh, Joanne!” Mrs. Hartwell sounded excited to hear from her friend. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, we’re fine, fine. No damage at all, except we lost a few trees. You?”

“Same here. That was quite a storm last night, though, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, terrible, just terrible. Though not as bad as they were saying it was going to be.”

“Oh, nowhere near.” Joanne and Mrs. Hartwell seemed to have no idea that their voices were being recorded, or that I could hear every word they were saying.

“Though my sister Gail called from Chicago. She says on the news, they’re reporting that Little Bridge has been wiped off the face of the map.”

“No!”

“Oh, of course. But not based on any actual reporting, since they never bothered to send any journalists here, before or after the storm. So how would they even know?”

Mrs. Hartwell’s tone was indignant. “Fake news. Was there even any flooding?”

“Well, the lobby of the Cascabel. But it always floods. How is the Mermaid?”

“Ed went down to check on it at first light. Sandbags kept the water out.”

“Well, that’s a relief!”

“Yes. What about Sandy Point?” Mrs. Hartwell’s voice was elaborately casual. “Any news?”

“No, sorry, hon.” Joanne’s tone was gentle. “No one can get near it—the roads are too bad. But have you heard about the bridge?”

“Which bridge?”

“The one from the island to the highway to the mainland. Gone.”

“No!”

“They’re saying a yacht from the Little Bridge Yacht Club got loose from its moorings and floated free and struck the pilings in just the right place.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake!”

“No one is going to be able to get on or off the island, possibly for weeks, depending on how long it takes them to shore it up. Which means everyone who evacuated is stuck wherever they are.”

“Those poor souls!”

“Anyway, would it be all right if I dropped off some of Carl’s insulin to keep in your fridge? We have it in a cooler for now, but who knows how long we’ll be able to keep getting ice.”

“Oh, of course, Joanne. Come over anytime. And we’ve got plenty of hot food and cold beer.”

“Lu, you’re an angel. See you soon.”

The two women hung up. I looked at Gary, who was happily kneading my thigh. Wow, I mouthed.

I grabbed some fresh clothes and jumped into the shower, bathing and dressing in record time. Then I followed the smell of coffee into the kitchen, where I found Mrs. Hartwell whisking what looked like the contents of an entire carton of eggs in a red plastic bowl.

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully. She, like me, was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, only her T-shirt was overlarge whereas mine was slightly too small. Both, however, had Mermaid Café written on them. “Did you sleep all right?”

“I did, thank you so much.” It seemed incredible to me that anyone could sleep through a hurricane, but the monotonous roar of the wind and pounding rain—or maybe the extremely low barometric pressure—had eventually knocked me out. I’d slept as soundly as a baby. “Would you like some help with that?”

“I’ve got bread toasting. You can help butter them when they pop up. There’s coffee in the machine, just grab a cup from the shelf there and press the silver button. The girls aren’t up yet, but when they are I’ll have them set the table.”

“Great.” I didn’t want to say that I’d overheard her phone call, but I wanted to ask for more details about the storm damage. I also wanted to know if she’d heard from Drew. I tried for a general “So, have you heard anything about . . . the storm?”

“Well, it’s not as bad around here as they were saying it was going to be.” She set down her bowl to add salt and pepper to it. “Mostly wind damage, no flooding except for where you’d expect it. But I understand that farther up the Keys, it’s quite a disaster. And the bridge that connects us to the highway to the mainland is out.”

I widened my eyes, feigning surprise. “No!”

“Yes. And it could be for quite a while. So anyone who evacuated won’t be able to get back for a bit.”

“That’s terrible.” I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask: “And have you heard from your nephew?”

Mrs. Hartwell’s cheerful smile wavered only slightly. “Not yet. And since he doesn’t have a landline, and cell service is still out, we can’t call. But I’m sure he’ll show up here soon.”

I tried to keep my tone light, to match hers. “And you can’t drive over there and check?”

It was the wrong thing to say. The smile collapsed. “Haven’t you looked outside?”

Of course I hadn’t. I’d seen the sun shining through the shutters and assumed all was well—except for the bridge, of course.

Mrs. Hartwell, seeing my puzzled expression, took me by the elbow and steered me from the kitchen, down the hallway, through the dining room, past the sleeping girls in the living room, past my own room, and to the front door.

“Look,” she said, and threw the door open.

I gasped. I couldn’t help it.

The Hartwells’ beautifully landscaped front yard was gone.