day, gone the next. No word, no message, nothing at all. That was
fifteen months, two weeks, and three days ago. She’s listed as a
Missing Person.”
“I’m very sorry,Tyler.”
“Yeah, so am I. So is her son.” He shrugged. “We’re getting by.
It gets better as the time passes.”
What an odd way to put it. Wasn’t Sam his son, too?
“The townspeople are like folk everywhere. They don’t want to believe that Ann just up and left Riptide. They’d rather think I did
her in.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I agree. Now, Becca, don’t worry. Things will get better. I’m an
expert at things eventually getting better, particularly when they
can’t possibly get any worse.”
She sure hoped he was right. They made a date to go to the gym
together the following day. His wife had just walked out–on him
and on her own little boy? That had to be incredibly tough for both
of them. Why did folks want to believe he’d kill her?
Three nights later, on June 26, Becca was watching TV, not to
see if she was still a footnote in Governor Bledsoe’s ongoing story,
but to check in on the weather again. The most violent storm to
hit the Maine coast in nearly fifteen years was surging relentlessly
toward them, bringing with it forecasts of fifty-mile-per-hour
winds, torrential rains, and the probability of immense property
damage. Everyone was warned to go to shelters, which Becca considered
doing for about three minutes. No, she wasn’t about to
leave. Being with other people up close and personal as one would
be in a shelter would put her at greater risk of being recognized.
She didn’t think many of the Mainers would even consider leaving
their homes. They were incredibly tough, only nodding philosophically
when discussing the incoming storm.
Becca paced the widow’s walk as the storm approached, watching
the skies, the now disappearing stars as clouds blanketed them,
the boats in the harbor, bobbing about in the rising waves. Then
the winds suddenly increased and tore through the trees. The air
turned as cold as a morning in January. When the rain finally hit,
crashing down hard and fast, she was driven inside. It was just before
ten o’clock at night.
The lights flickered. Becca had bought candles and matches and
she set them on her bedside table. She paused to listen as the storm
bludgeoned the shoreline. She heard a newscaster predict great destruction
of lobster boats and pleasure craft if they hadn’t been
thoroughly secured. She could imagine what the harbor looked
like now, waves frothing high, whipping against the sides of the
boats, probably sending water crashing over the sides.
She shivered as she pulled on a sweater and snuggled down into
her bed. She kept the TV on nonstop weather coverage and looked
at the light show outside her bedroom window. The thunder was
deafening. The house rattled with the force of it.
The meteorologist on channel 7 said that the winds were
strengthening, nearly up to sixty miles per hour now. He said
people should go to official shelters away from the coast for protection.
Oddly, he sounded excited. Becca still had no intention of
leaving. This old house had doubtless seen its share of comparably
violent storms in its hundred-year history just as the Piper Light
house had up the road. Both had survived. Both would survive another
storm, she didn’t doubt that, although she couldn’t help but
cringe as the house groaned and creaked.
Suddenly, with no warning, thunder boomed, lightning streaked
through the sky, and the lights went out.
Chapter 6
It wasn’t dark for long. The lightning and thunder kept the sky lit
up for a good five minutes, without a break. She could easily read
her clock. It was just after one in the morning. She finally couldn’t
stand it any longer and reached for the phone, to call Tyler, but the
line was dead. She stared at the receiver, then looked out her bedroom
window as a huge streak of lightning lit up the sky. She felt
the thunder deep in her eardrums as it boomed, almost simultaneous
with the flash. It would be all right. It was only a storm.