To Light the Way Forward

Chapter One

After a week of weather watching and predictions, the storm reached hurricane status and hit a couple of smaller islands in the Caribbean. Following a few bobbles, Hurricane Edwina gathered strength, and now the models were predicting she would follow the coastline right through the Carolinas.

Whelk’s Island hummed with anticipation as residents prepared for the approaching hurricane. Locals were no strangers to the routine.

Messages to past tempests peppered sheets of plywood all around town, reused each year. The spray-painted messages carried a confidence that leaned toward arrogance, almost daring the storms to do their worst. Go away, Hugo. Turn around, Thomas, or else! and Forget you, Freda were some leftover warnings from the past.

No matter how bad the hurricane predictions got, there were always some residents who stayed put, defying evacuation orders with the same stubborn resolve as surfers who refuse to abandon the waves as a storm churns the ocean, threatening to rip them to no tomorrow in a blink.

Tug knew that attitude firsthand. He used to be one of those surfers riding the trickier waves the storm blew in. But with eight decades of experience, he’d grown less cocky. Tug had never evacuated before, but he would at least give it a thought these days. He wasn’t sure if the storms were getting worse or if he was getting wiser, finally.

A man laid a tip on the counter as his family of four left the diner.

Tug gave him a nod of appreciation and wiped down the counter to make room for the next customers.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the anxious chatter coming from the line of people waiting to get in. The storm chugging out in the Atlantic was the topic of the day, and televisions on the wall caught everyone’s attention with each update.

Tug couldn’t shake the uneasiness gnawing at his gut.

Early-August hurricanes were a rarity, and the fiercest ones weren’t usually until late September or October, but this one stirred disquiet in him.

He forced a smile through the ominous warnings, welcoming his customers like it was just another Monday.

In her cage, The Wife stretched her charcoal-gray wings to their full span of eighteen inches, then screeched.

Tug glanced toward her cage on the deck. Beyond the windows that overlooked the beach, the ocean was choppier than it had been earlier.

“Get your sea legs!” The Wife called.

Tug seated the customers, then walked out back to check on The Wife. “Are you okay?”

“Are you okay?” The bird cocked her head.

“I asked you first.”

She jerked her head around. “No!”

He checked her food and water. “What’s got you upset?”

“Get your sea legs. Time to go,” The Wife said.

Tug laughed every time The Wife pulled that phrase out. The first time he’d ever heard her say it was to Willa, the woman he almost married a long, long time ago. Turned out The Wife knew Tug’s taste better than he did, because she’d been telling Willa to go for months before Tug realized it wasn’t going to work. The Wife had loved Maeve, though.

“It’s getting antsy out there,” he said to The Wife. He pointed to the water. “Do you recognize that angry-water dance? Don’t worry. We’ll get you moved to safety in due time.”

She made water droplet sounds, one of her favorite noises, and then snapped her wings tight to her body.

Tug and Maeve had talked about this before.

How the ocean spoke its own language, warning of things to come.

This is my first big storm without you, Maeve. What do you think? Any communication from Maeve would be welcome, but all the wishing and talking to himself couldn’t bring her back. I’m always thinking about you.

Sometimes it felt like Maeve was close by, but that would mean he believed in ghosts—and he didn’t. He believed in angels, though, and Maeve had been the most angelic woman he’d ever known.

Life on Whelk’s Island wasn’t the same without her. He wasn’t the same. He missed her. Every single day, sad moments snuck in. Life would never be the same, and that made it a little less appealing. He sighed.

“I’m just an old man talking to an old bird.”

The Wife scooched close to the bars and lowered her head, insisting on a scratch. Tug slipped his fingers through and gently massaged her head. “Just like a woman, always wanting a shoulder rub.” He reached down into the cabinet and pulled out a dried banana chip. “Here’s a little something to sweeten your afternoon. We’ve still got a lot of work to do today.”

“Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it’s off to work we go,” she sang out.

“Talk to you in a little while.”

“Goodbye. Talk to you later,” The Wife said.

A couple of surfers paddled out along the pier. The restless ocean was producing good waves today. Tug could watch them all day, but he had a diner full of customers. “Keep an eye on the surfers,” he said to The Wife.

She stood on one leg and stretched the other behind her. “Lifeguard on duty.”

As he headed back to the kitchen, more surfers gathered next to the diner’s fancy blue-and-white sign. It had become a traditional meetup spot for surfers when he started the place and was still surfing himself. Big and hand-sandblasted by a local guy, it was worth the years of breakfasts Tug had bartered for it. That sign had lasted all these years with only a few touch-ups. The only thing that had changed was the addition of a smaller swinging sign that read, Surfers Always Welcome, which his surf buddies had given him when he officially hung up his board for good. The lifestyle of a surfer never goes away.

He stepped inside, doing a cha-cha as the servers whisked past him.

Tug washed his hands and plucked the next ticket off the clips. He dropped a basket of clam strips into the fryer just as the local news broke in again on the television show in progress.

The reporter was in a frenzy over the possibility of the hurricane making its way to their area. “And now it looks like this storm could threaten the Outer Banks of North Carolina,” he said. “Residents need to prepare for the damaging winds and potential of a disastrous storm surge. If things keep going the way they are now, this tropical storm is expected to become a Category 2 hurricane by morning.”

Tug looked up. The projections still looked like an enormous bowl of spaghetti. We’re overdue for another big storm. They’d been lucky the last few years with the storms sort of bouncing off the Carolina coast before they got to Whelk’s Island.

He tried to keep his mind on the orders. There was no sense getting worked up about the weather this early in the game. They had at least three days before that needed to happen.

As Tug pushed two orders of their popular octopus-shaped pancakes from the kids’ menu into the pickup window, he noticed it was for the table where Amanda, the newest resident of Whelk’s Island, and her kids usually sat.

He leaned over the counter. Indeed, it was them sitting there. He snatched one of the warm plates of pancakes back to swap with a fresh stack. The diner’s famous octopus pancakes came with blueberry syrup to match the ocean, but Hailey was a strawberry fan. He quickly doctored up a custom version for her. This family was closer than real family to him, and he loved delighting them with the little things.

“I’ll be right back,” Tug called to the cook. “I’ll deliver this order,” he told the server, then carried all three plates over to their table.

“Tug!” Jesse squealed. “Hi! Mom said it was too busy for us to say hello.”

“I’m never too busy for y’all.” He gave Jesse a wink. “How’s my man this morning?”

“Grrreat!”

“Glad to hear it.” Tug set the plates on the table. “Traditional for Jesse with the Atlantic Ocean blueberry syrup, and the strawberry syrup for you, Hailey.”

“Thank you for my special red sea octopus,” Hailey said in appreciation of the strawberry substitution. At eight years old, she was quite confident in her preferences, not hesitating to inform Tug of hers the first time they ordered these pancakes.

“You are welcome, young lady.” It was their special little something, and even though Amanda’s family were still relative newcomers to Whelk’s Island, having moved here a couple of years ago, this family had touched his heart in a way he never knew possible. He imagined this was what being a grandpa felt like. It was the best feeling in the world.

Jesse immediately stabbed his fork into his pancakes. “Mom says we have to leave town for a while because of the storm,” he whined. “It’s not even raining.” He shoved a bite into his mouth.

From the way Amanda looked, the kid was wearing her out this morning.

“Well, Jesse, it’s your mom’s job to keep you safe.” He leaned close enough to whisper. “What’s so bad about leaving town if it’s going to be raining here, anyway? Look.”