beneath the building’s overhang. He stopped and turned as he heard the vehicle approach.
Jesse pulled into the drive. “I’m going to check to see if he’s seen a bunch of teenagers riding by. I’ll be right back.” He jumped out of the Bronco and sprinted across the drive.
The rain pelted the windshield. If the boys were down here, Amy doubted they were still surfing. The winds were too high, the waves so powerful that even the most experienced surfers would risk injury. She scanned the shore, trying to see past the storm for something, anything that would lead them to the boys. She saw Jesse point toward the boardwalk. He had removed his hat so he wouldn’t lose it. The wind swept his hair away from his forehead, exposing a clean profile, an intense, grim gaze. The man shook his head. They spoke a few seconds more. Again the man shook his head. Jesse offered his hand before leaving. He clasped the man on the shoulder as they shook.
When he came back into the van, he smelled of rain and wind and dampness. His shirt clung to his chest, outlining firm muscle that must have taken years of intense, painful workouts to restore after his obviously serious accident. She stared at his chest and found herself wondering how long it had taken for medical science and sheer will to put this man back together.
He turned and reached in the back for his hat. He pushed back his damp, dark hair, made even blacker by the rain, before he settled the hat on his head, shadowing his features and whatever emotions they might expose.
“Did he see anything?”
“Said he saw a car with surfboards on the roof earlier today. It was headed in the direction of the point.”
“Did he see the boys come back through?”
“No, but he says that doesn’t mean they didn’t. He was in and out all afternoon, boarding up the motel. The boys could easily have passed by again without him seeing them.” Jesse turned the vehicle toward the Point.
“Has the man heard any recent reports on the storm?”
Jesse shook his head. “Storm took electricity out about an hour ago. Last the man heard, the storm was still heading north, past Corpus Christi.”
“The reports we heard sounded as if it had weakened, turned south.”
“Without radio contact, it’s hard to know.”
Amy looked over her shoulder and saw the man wave to them as they pulled away. “I’m surprised he’s still here.”
“He’s not planning on going anywhere. Tried to talk him into heading up to Turning Point. Told him about the shelter at the school, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Said he’d never left yet, and he wasn’t about to start. Said the beach was his home. He’s seen four hurricanes already and lived to tell about them. Said he and a few others even had a party the night Hurricane Harriet rolled in.”
“Foolishness obviously doesn’t end with the teenage years,” Amy noted.
“Amen.” Jesse watched the road, scanning the surroundings as he drove. Amy did the same. “He’s probably not the only one down here who ignored the evacuation order. He said there’s a drive-in a few miles south on the bay that generally remains open for the residents who stay behind and the plain curious who sneak in to see the storm. The boys might have stopped there to get something to eat.”
Most of the buildings they passed were boarded with plywood. The houses on the beach stood on stilts, towering optimistically above the sea’s surge. Decks had been cleared, but the odd wicker chaise and bamboo rocker flew by, thrown about by the wind. The trees bent low, threatening to break.
They came to the drive-in. The neon lights trimming its flat roof were dark. As the man had predicted, several vehicles were parked in the lot. The picnic tables were chained, their umbrellas removed. A half dozen people clustered under the drive-in’s overhang, facing the sea, sharing a twelve-pack of beer. They turned toward the Bronco as Jesse pulled into the lot. Theirgazes narrowed as
Jesse pulled into the drive. “I’m going to check to see if he’s seen a bunch of teenagers riding by. I’ll be right back.” He jumped out of the Bronco and sprinted across the drive.
The rain pelted the windshield. If the boys were down here, Amy doubted they were still surfing. The winds were too high, the waves so powerful that even the most experienced surfers would risk injury. She scanned the shore, trying to see past the storm for something, anything that would lead them to the boys. She saw Jesse point toward the boardwalk. He had removed his hat so he wouldn’t lose it. The wind swept his hair away from his forehead, exposing a clean profile, an intense, grim gaze. The man shook his head. They spoke a few seconds more. Again the man shook his head. Jesse offered his hand before leaving. He clasped the man on the shoulder as they shook.
When he came back into the van, he smelled of rain and wind and dampness. His shirt clung to his chest, outlining firm muscle that must have taken years of intense, painful workouts to restore after his obviously serious accident. She stared at his chest and found herself wondering how long it had taken for medical science and sheer will to put this man back together.
He turned and reached in the back for his hat. He pushed back his damp, dark hair, made even blacker by the rain, before he settled the hat on his head, shadowing his features and whatever emotions they might expose.
“Did he see anything?”
“Said he saw a car with surfboards on the roof earlier today. It was headed in the direction of the point.”
“Did he see the boys come back through?”
“No, but he says that doesn’t mean they didn’t. He was in and out all afternoon, boarding up the motel. The boys could easily have passed by again without him seeing them.” Jesse turned the vehicle toward the Point.
“Has the man heard any recent reports on the storm?”
Jesse shook his head. “Storm took electricity out about an hour ago. Last the man heard, the storm was still heading north, past Corpus Christi.”
“The reports we heard sounded as if it had weakened, turned south.”
“Without radio contact, it’s hard to know.”
Amy looked over her shoulder and saw the man wave to them as they pulled away. “I’m surprised he’s still here.”
“He’s not planning on going anywhere. Tried to talk him into heading up to Turning Point. Told him about the shelter at the school, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Said he’d never left yet, and he wasn’t about to start. Said the beach was his home. He’s seen four hurricanes already and lived to tell about them. Said he and a few others even had a party the night Hurricane Harriet rolled in.”
“Foolishness obviously doesn’t end with the teenage years,” Amy noted.
“Amen.” Jesse watched the road, scanning the surroundings as he drove. Amy did the same. “He’s probably not the only one down here who ignored the evacuation order. He said there’s a drive-in a few miles south on the bay that generally remains open for the residents who stay behind and the plain curious who sneak in to see the storm. The boys might have stopped there to get something to eat.”
Most of the buildings they passed were boarded with plywood. The houses on the beach stood on stilts, towering optimistically above the sea’s surge. Decks had been cleared, but the odd wicker chaise and bamboo rocker flew by, thrown about by the wind. The trees bent low, threatening to break.
They came to the drive-in. The neon lights trimming its flat roof were dark. As the man had predicted, several vehicles were parked in the lot. The picnic tables were chained, their umbrellas removed. A half dozen people clustered under the drive-in’s overhang, facing the sea, sharing a twelve-pack of beer. They turned toward the Bronco as Jesse pulled into the lot. Theirgazes narrowed as
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