Hannah lifted her head from Angel’s shoulder. “No one ever anticipates this kind of catastrophe,” she said soberly. “I remember when Hurricane Andrew hit.” Hannah released her hold on Angel and took a long sip from her drink. “That was, what? More than twenty years ago.”
“Nineteen ninety-two,” Grace chimed in.
Hannah blew a strand of hair from her face. “Wow. That long ago. I remember it was just about this time of year. I was visiting friends in Miami. I didn’t live in Florida full-time yet.” She shook her head. “No one took the warnings seriously. We were so unprepared. Naïve. I mean, not just me. Everyone! It was my first hurricane, and I was up for it. I didn’t go fleeing back north. Heck no, I wanted to experience it. Imagine that. Not only didn’t I evacuate I was excited. For a Category Five storm. My friends had a hurricane party!” She snorted at their foolishness.
Charles shook his head, finding that mentality hard to believe today. Yet he clearly remembered the country’s shock and disbelief at the repercussions of that giant storm.
“Well, let me tell you, the party ended pretty quickly. We were scared straight,” Hannah continued. “The hurricane intensified so fast. We ended up huddled in the living room, plunged into darkness while objects hit the roof and windows. It was terrifying. The only sounds were of ferocious wind, rain, and the shriek of all those car alarms that were set off. And our crying and praying . . . Some of us hid in the closet. People were grabbing mattresses and hunkering down under them. It’s a miracle the roof didn’t blow off. I’m telling you, I’m never living through one of those things again.” She turned to Grace. Her face was raw with emotion just remembering. “Thank you for letting us come here.”
Grace reached out to place her hand on her shoulder. “Of course. You always have a place to run.” She let her hand drop. “I didn’t know you were in Florida for Hurricane Andrew. That storm was some kind of biblical milestone. Not only Florida. The whole eastern coast changed the way they prepared for hurricanes. Building codes have changed. Today, people know to get prepared for storms.”
“People get out,” Hannah added.
“We learn from every storm,” said Charles. “But not fast enough. Think of Hurricane Katrina. Another Cat Five, but far more people died. More than fifteen hundred. And that was in 2005!”
“I’ll never forget the images of people standing on their roofs, waiting to be rescued.”
“I was in Europe,” Angel said. “And it was big news there too.”
“Most people think only the coast gets hit by hurricanes,” Grace said. “Let me tell you about the shocking damage hurricanes can do inland. Flash flooding, dangerous mudslides, countless fallen trees and power outages. You’re out of the brunt of the storm,” she said to Hannah and Angel, “but we’ll feel it if it comes our way.”
There was a stunned silence. Behind them, the meteorologists were droning on about what to pack for evacuation.
“Let’s turn this off for a while,” Charles suggested, and was met with a chorus of agreement.
He refreshed their drinks, and the group strolled to the cluster of sofas and chairs. Charles cleaned up the bar before joining them. He sank onto the sofa beside Grace, leaning back against the smooth brown suede and sliding his arm around his wife’s shoulders. Bunny jumped into his lap, curled, and settled. Across the room, the giant schnauzer lay at Angel’s feet.
Angel began an animated story about some horse at the Pan American Games. Charles was grateful for his effort at cheer and watched the Venezuelan gesticulate with his arms as he spoke. The man was as entertaining as a court jester, he thought, slightly annoyed at Angel’s skill at storytelling. Though he wasn’t a large man—neither, for that matter, was Charles—Angel had a presence that dominated the room. You couldn’t take your attention from him.
He glanced at his wife, then Hannah. Certainly the women could not. They were utterly enamored of his dark good looks and sharp wit. Charles’s brows rose when Grace burst out with a hearty laugh. Across the room beside Angel, Hannah did the same, leaning into Angel, resting her head on his shoulder. Charles glanced at his wife. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were alive with mirth, and her long, curly hair was slipping out of its clasp, allowing tendrils to slide down her graceful neck. He couldn’t help but smile himself as he looked down into his drink. It had been a long time since she’d laughed like that.
His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of a cell phone. Angel pulled his phone from his shirt pocket and brought it to his ear. The room quieted as he spoke in rapid Spanish. When he lowered the phone, he looked up at Grace, his expression boyish with anticipation.
“They are here! Butterhead has arrived!”
As one, they all set down their glasses and rose from the deep, cushiony sofas.
“Hop in my car,” Charles said as they exited the house. He indicated his white BMW SUV.
“No way—I can’t bear to get back in a car,” Hannah said in a groan. “I’ll walk.”
“Yes. We can walk,” Angel agreed, and, grabbing hold of Hannah’s hand, strode forward in a strong gait.
Charles and Grace shared a commiserating glance. Charles offered his arm.
“Shall we?”
* * *
Grace and Charles arrived at the barn just as a sleek white horse trailer was pulling up the drive. The tires scrunched as it came around the curve. The early evening sun cast golden light and a merciful, cooling breeze gently shook the leaves of the massive trees surrounding the barn. Angel was calling out directions to the driver, waving his arms as he guided the van to park parallel to the barn, narrowly missing a pickup truck. With a shift of gears, the engine halted and went silent.
Grace crossed her arms and stood beside Hannah on the slope of the hill, well out of the way of the commotion. Enclosed in a metal box, naturally the horses were skittish, eager to escape. When they felt the pressure from a butt-bar or strap lessen behind them, they knew that they would be asked to unload—a nerve-racking, tricky maneuver, since horses are blind to objects directly behind them. Some would comply. Others, however, could panic and bolt.
Angel knew his horse and allowed Butterhead the time she needed to settle before disembarking. The groom opened the front door while he did the windows, allowing fresh, moist air to flow through. Angel approached, his attention riveted on his horse, speaking gently to her in a stream of encouragements as he came up behind to unbolt the rear strap. He immediately moved to her head. Patting and giving verbal cues in Spanish, he gently, slowly guided her backward, giving her time to feel her way with her hooves in a halting gait blindly down the ramp. It was a move of mutual trust.
Grace craned her neck to catch sight of the well-known horse as she emerged from the trailer. Butterhead was a beautiful palomino mare, with a thick golden mane and strong, fit muscles. Grace admired the mare’s calm behavior as she backed out of the trailer. Clearly this horse was a pro. She glanced at Charles. He stood with his arms crossed, chin down, watching keenly as the horse reached the tar and gravel surface, shook her head, and got her bearings. Angel began walking her in circles around the open barnyard.
“The stall’s this way,” Charles called out, extending his hand. He guided them toward the barn entrance, Angel leading the horse behind him.