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Boston is only supposed to get hit with the edge of the storm, it won’t be enough to cause much flooding, and it’ll be so much safer there than here. This house will lose power and I don’t know how long I can stay safe in here, not to mention the piers might get damaged by the storm, preventing ferries from taking people off island for a while. Ten days away from moving into my dorm felt like eternity when I woke up this morning but now it feels like just the right amount of time to spend in Boston before school starts.
Three miserable hours later and I’m back in the house, on the verge of tears and attempting to stay calm. Poorly. I took the bus down to the docks only to find out that the ferry was sold out for the entire day.
The attendant registered the look of sheer panic on my face and managed to wrangle me up a ticket on their last boat out tomorrow. After that, they’re not returning until the storm has passed and the damage is cleaned up––a storm that is expected to ravage the island that very same night.
The island is under complete evacuation orders, even if only those houses down by the water will flood. The Kings’ house is much higher above sea-level, but I’m not willing to risk staying here and getting stuck or hurt. The wealthy people can fly off the island but the rest of us have to go by boat. Only the bravest of islanders will hunker down and wait out the storm inside their homes and businesses.
The bravest or the poorest. I’m not sure which.
I’m not used to this way of living. Maybe other people don’t see this as a big deal, but the ocean scares the shit out of me, even at low tide. Flashes of what it was like to be sinking under the waves have haunted me since I almost drowned. If that seems bad, what will it look like in the middle of a Category 4 hurricane?
Nineteen
Sleep is a sparse thing all night. I wake several times to thoughts of everything that could go wrong. What if there’s nowhere for me to stay in Boston? What if the ferry gets canceled? What if the storm hits earlier than expected and it’s while I’m on the ferry? We could get lost at sea.
Sunlight takes ages to arrive, and when it finally does, the Nantucket blue skies I’ve grown to expect have been replaced with rolling gray storm clouds. It’s a terrifying premonition of what’s coming tonight. It’s going to be choppy as hell out on the water and I’m already dreading getting seasick on the ferry, but I have no other choice.
I force all worries from my mind and get ready. I’m leaving the house as soon as I can, I’d rather wait in the ferry terminal than stay another second in this prison. Since my bedroom window is now boarded up, I have to sneak out the side door for the final time. It might sound an alarm, but I’ll be quick and stay away from cameras. And once I’m in the clear, I’m never coming back.
Forget bucket list, Nantucket is officially on my never-again list.
I finish rinsing the last of the conditioner from my hair, and step from the shower, toweling off. The humid air is doubled from the shower and I reach over to draw a giant smiley face on the bathroom mirror as my parting gift, hoping Mrs. King finds it before a cleaning crew does next spring.
I hurry into the bedroom, humming to myself, at last feeling like things are going to work out . . . and nearly drop my towel. My world, my plans, my fears come crashing down around me.
Sitting on the bed, glaring at me with those cold blue eyes, is none other than Ethan King.
“I thought that was you,” he says evenly, tone unreadable.
My heart is beating a million miles a minute and my mind scrambles for what to do. I could confess, I could yell at him to get out, or I could play dumb. It’s a split second decision, but pretending this is exactly where I’m meant to be is the only chance I’ve got.
“Yes, it’s me,” I say nonchalantly. “In my bedroom. What a surprise.”
He stares at me, unmoving.
“What do you want?” I try again.
And again, I get nothing.
“If you don’t mind, I have to get dressed. I have a ferry to catch.” I nod to the suitcase on the bed next to him, but he doesn’t follow my gaze. He keeps that unnerving steel-blue gaze on me. Can he hear my heart hammering in my chest? Can he tell that my voice sounds strained? Or see the deception behind my eyes?
It’s as if we’re waiting for someone to make the first move. But I’m all out of moves.
“Be my guest,” he says at last. Then he stands and leaves, closing the door behind him with a soft thud.
Mercy…
Have we ever had such a calm interaction? It was almost normal. I release all air from my lungs and double over, letting the weight of his presence hold me down.
He’s really here.
My hands tremble as I hurry to lock the door, then get to dressing myself as quickly as possible. There’s no time for hair or makeup or anything beyond the absolute essentials. Nothing else matters. Ethan is here. In this house. His house. With me. And he knows I’m not supposed to be here. I’m essentially a squatter. Or is it a trespasser? Which one is worse in the eyes of the law? Will my contract mean anything if the police show up? Will they lock me up in a jail cell and make me wait out the hurricane there?
Either way, one phone call and he’ll be able to confirm that I’m not where I’m supposed to be. One phone call and he could have the authorities here. One phone call, and my future could be ruined.
I throw on my travel outfit and an oversized hoodie, comb my tangled mess of hair much faster than the curls appreciate, and brush my teeth in record time. What I should do is go upstairs to explain myself and beg for forgiveness, but what I do instead is sneak upstairs and beeline for the side door.
When I open it, it squeaks and I wince.
