Heading into the Storm

She knew she wouldn’t go. She had listened to the news, the phone calls, now the coast guard, all urging everyone to leave the island before the storm got worse. She pretended to consider it, but deep down she knew.

Carmen had owned this house for thirty years, almost half her life. When Carl first showed it to her, it was just a fishing cottage, a place to go to get away from the busy city on weekends and vacation. Isolated, peaceful.

Then, as times and fortunes changed, they took early retirements, sold their townhouse and moved out here to this barrier reef to start their life together, really together. They’d made it into their dream home, and she had all she’d ever wanted: a cozy living room with built-in book cases, a stone fireplace, a roomy kitchen, a wide front porch with a swing, a view of the ocean and a man to love her.

In March Carl had been winching up the boat when a rogue wave hit, knocking him headlong into the prow. He’d been airlifted to a trauma center, but he never regained consciousness. She brought him home, where he would want to be, with the sound of the sea at his window, and he died within the week.

Since then she’d seldom left the place, only for necessities and she didn’t need much.

That had been, what, eight months ago? she reflected. It seemed like no time, and a lifetime, both at once. She would just stay put. She didn’t know where else to go but here, or who to go to. It didn’t matter.

She sat at the kitchen table, her head in her hands, and cried. She’d weathered storms before, but always with Carl. He knew how to start up the generator, how to build a fire in the fireplace even when the wood was wet. He knew where the supply of candles was, and had a wall in the boathouse stacked high with bottled water, paper goods and supplies, carefully stored away. She’d manage somehow.

What did she need to do? She’d think it all out and be ready for whatever happened. She called her mind out of its fog to the task.

The power was sure to go out. She gathered candles, lighters and matches and put them in one central place. Then she changed her mind and distributed them to all rooms in the house. That way she’d have them where she needed them, whenever that was.

Flashlights. Okay, there was one on the hearth next to the firewood, so she could see to light a match. There was one in the bedroom and another in the bathroom, and one on the kitchen counter beside the hurricane lamp, and they all worked and had fresh batteries. As for extras, well she’d put them in a basket on the coffee table. Oh, and that funny one that was mounted on a headband. It was probably for wearing when you walked or rode your bike at night, but Carl had given it to her so she could read in bed without her lamp disturbing him. She’d keep that in her pocket.

What else would she need? Food, of course. She’d cooked some extra chicken breasts last night, so she could have those cold. They’d keep in the fridge for a day or two if she kept the door closed, and it never took longer than a couple of days for the power to come back on. Or she could put them in the freezer. In fact, she’d fill up the freezer with those ‘blue ice’ bottles now, so she could keep things cold in there for even longer. Good idea!
And there was always peanut butter and canned fruit. She wouldn’t go hungry. If worse came to worse, she’d eat those sardines Carl had stocked up on.

Water. That’s important. Maybe she should fill some gallon jugs and put them in the freezer instead of the blue ice. Then she could drink it when it melted. That was a better idea! There were some small water bottles in the pantry, she thought, and of course those big 3-liter ones in the boat house. Or was it the shop? She’d have to look, but she surely wouldn’t need that for a day or so, if ever.

Water for washing and flushing. That was a standard hurricane precaution: fill the bathtub. She’d done that in Florida as a young Navy wife. Hard to think there’d ever be a hurricane this far north though. She turned the tap on full force and watched, mesmerized, as the tub filled. How would she dip the water out? She’d never had to. She went to the laundry room and returned with two gallon bleach bottles, one almost empty. She didn’t know why she’d need bleach, but the empty container would work fine to pour water into the top of the toilet tank.

There was so much that just had to come from memory. What had she ever seen or heard about how to prepare? No check lists for what to do to weather the storm.

You were supposed to leave, she thought. But I can’t. It’s all I have left of my life. Of myself, whoever that is.

Boarding up the windows. Oh no. Her heart sank. She’d never done that before, and she didn’t remember Carl doing it either. She didn’t even know where to start to look for material. Helplessness crowded around her, wearying her body and her mind. Maybe it would be enough just to close the shutters and put the crossbars in place, the way they used to do when they only used the cabin occasionally. That would just have to be good enough.

Even that was hard to do, given the mounting winds. Carmen was breathless and exhausted when she came back inside. And cold. What about the cold? She went to Carl’s closet, still just like he’d left it, and pulled out a heavy flannel shirt and put it on. That felt good. She imagined him wearing it, and of herself being hugged, and the tears came again. Why was she having to do all this alone?

She took a warm jacket and his yellow slicker off the pegs and stood with them in her arms. There was a day pack on his shelf, and she took it down too. Maybe she might need these later, especially if she had to go out to the boathouse for supplies. She put them on the railing by the door.

What else was there to do now but wait?

She glanced at her watch. Not quite five. Not time for a drink yet, she thought, but what did that matter? Even though the lights were on, she lit the hurricane lamp and mixed herself a gin and tonic. The glow from the lantern was comforting against the darkening window, and she began to feel her courage flowing back. Liquid courage, isn’t that what they called it?

She was standing in her kitchen when the sounds from the television in the living room stopped abruptly. The refrigerator quit humming. Everything was silent, except for the annoying beep warning her that the power source to her computer had been interrupted. Picking up her drink, she went outside.

It was hard going, walking into the wind, and the waves were definitely higher. She headed to the pier, drawn to the water to see for herself. She was feeling—what was it? Brazen? Defiant? It was so unlike her that she wondered about it even as she stood there, calmly, watching the storm move in. Even when the rain began to pound, she did not feel fear. She felt invigorated! Something was happening. Something was about to happen. She welcomed it.