More water, and Reece tossed the bowl of chips off the bed and grabbed me forcefully, pulling me close against his chest. I was alarmed at his rapid heartbeat, but then I reminded myself that Reece had never ridden out a hurricane in a house that was collecting more and more water by the minute. One and a half feet. Fucking one-story house. Fucking beach. Why the fuck did I live by the beach? I placed my hand over his heart, willing it to slow, trying to convey without words that I’d never let anything happen to him. He was frightened. I was angry. He thought about catastrophe. I thought about cost.
Silence. Dead, dark silence. It settled in an instant. Eerie. Still. We were all boarded up. I couldn’t see the sun shine, but I knew she was shining. And I knew not to trust her. I could relay some good news, though. Maybe ease the tension. But Reece beat me to it.
“Look, honey,” he said, pointing to the water. It was no longer rising. “Worst of it is over.”
I peered over the side of the bed.
“Really?” I asked, playing dumb. And just like that, we switched roles. I let him do all the encouraging and comforting because he’s a man, and men need to feel like men from time to time.
“Yep. Just keep watching the water. You’ll see it go down some.”
I nodded.
“We’re in the eye,” he explained, and I smiled against his chest. “Don’t let it fool you. We’ve still got the other side of the storm to deal with, but we’re gonna be okay.”
“I trust you,” I said.
He held me tighter as the wind picked up again, whistling at first. Then it turned into a mournful cry. And then it graduated to a howling scream. I listened for his rapid heartbeat, but it was slow and steady instead, beating out confidence, not fear. We stared at the water, watching it hover at one and a half feet before it went down a fraction—barely noticeable. But we saw.
“Thank God,” I whispered.
Elevation. Storm surge. Wind speed. You can know all these things in your head, but when you’re watching the water rise higher and higher in your house, knowledge doesn’t matter. I won’t pretend that I wasn’t frightened that the water might keep on climbing. I won’t pretend I didn’t think about an escape plan—scrambling to the roof if necessary. How we would stay safe exposed to the wind that beat about the trees like they were flower stems.
The water receded another inch or so before it stayed level. There was nothing for us to do but go to sleep. My bed was safe, dry, and warm, and at the moment, it was all that mattered.
***
I looked out onto my back yard, standing in two feet of water, tears streaming. Reece walked up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
I wiped my face. “I sh-shouldn’t be c-crying. I kn-knew to expect it.”
“Why shouldn’t you cry? This is your oasis,” Reece replied.
It was my oasis. Now it was just a junk heap of cracked pavers, shredded plants, and splintered wood. My pergola split in two—the one I built with Dad. My outdoor furniture was spared because we’d moved it into the garage before the storm. The stuff we couldn’t move? Annihilated.
“P-people d—” I took a deep breath and tried again. “People died. I sh-shouldn’t cry over my p-plants.”
Reece turned me gently to face him. “Hey, they’re not just plants, Bailey. They’re a part of you. They represent your hard work, your nurturing spirit. They represent all the time you spent planning and creating something beautiful. Don’t discount them. Don’t trivialize them. Yes, people died. Yes, people lost their houses. Yes, this town has been destroyed, but what happened to you matters, too.”
I nodded.
“Everyone’s pain is different,” Reece went on. “I don’t like when people compare. I don’t like when people marginalize their feelings because they think they’re not allowed to have them. Someone will always have a tougher go than you. Does that mean you’re not allowed to feel hurt? To be sad?”
He kissed my forehead and walked to the shed. Or what was left of it.
“What are you doing?” I croaked.
“Seeing what’s salvageable,” he replied.
“Everything’s destroyed,” I argued.
He fished around in the debris and held up a shovel. The handle was missing, but it could still work.
“Not everything.”
There wasn’t much we could do until the water receded. We picked through what we could and set everything up on tables to dry out. Wilmington stood still for a week. No school. No work. In several parts of the city, people navigated schooners and canoes down the streets. All was quiet. The traffic lights didn’t work, but no one drove anywhere. Storm debris floated down the roads like driftwood: plastic bags, food containers, dirty diapers. A dead cat. I cried all over again when I saw the cat. Reece and I discovered it on a walk to Ace Hardware. We took a chance it was open only to learn that no one was home.
The phone companies were quick to put us all back in touch, and I called my parents to see how they fared. House still standing. Minimal flooding. Everyone fine.
“Please come over,” Dad pleaded. “I want us all together.”
“Dad, we can’t even drive,” I said into the phone.
“I’ll come get you,” he offered. He had a small paddle boat.
“No, we’ll be fine. I promise we’ll be over as soon as the water recedes,” I replied.
“Do you need anything?” he asked.
I shook my head. “We’re okay.”
“All right, Puddin’ Pop,” Dad replied. “Be safe.”
I smiled and told him I loved him before hanging up.
My dad was always like this right after a major storm. He wanted his family right by his side. I already knew to pack a bag for myself and Reece once we were able to visit my parents’ place. We wouldn’t be returning home the same day. Or the day after. Dad would make us stay. Dad would make us all hang out and play board games and watch TV together and anything else he could think of that required us to be in the same room at the same time. Nicki wouldn’t argue. Neither would Mom. And that’s because secretly we wanted to be together. Secretly, we were all fine with it.