She saw disbelief register on his face. Then disappointment.
“Married?” Karl pointedly looked at her ring finger.
Moira’s face clouded as she darted a look at the white space on her ring finger where her wedding band and engagement ring had so recently been. She self-consciously crossed her arms, hiding her hands. After a pause, she looked at him at last. “Yes.”
Karl’s expression shifted to become impassive. It was a gesture of acceptance laced with pride. “Okay.” He stepped back, widening the space between them.
“Karl, I—”
The sound of an engine interrupted them. Moira turned her head to see a white pickup truck pulling into the square with the emblem of the veterinarian emblazoned on the door. It was with some relief that she moved out of the confined space, and the conversation, to greet the vet.
ELEVEN
August 21, 2:00 p.m.
Interstate 26, South Carolina
Noelle gaining power over warm water to become an “extremely dangerous” Category Five hurricane
Damn.”
Cara swung her head to look at David’s tense face. His brows were furrowed and his lips were tight as he quickly flipped on the turn signal and the hazard lights.
“What’s the matter?”
David didn’t respond. His gaze was flicking back and forth from the rearview mirror to the windshield in deep concentration as he made his way across two lanes to the exit. When he reached the right lane, he slowed down. Fortunately, traffic going south was sparse. Cara’s stomach clenched when she saw the red warning light flashing on the dashboard. David gripped the steering wheel tightly as they pulled off the highway exit ramp. It only took a few minutes, but it felt like forever. Once there, she heard David release a heavy sigh.
“We have a flat tire,” he said.
“I didn’t hear it pop.”
“Nah, it’s a slow leak. We probably ran over a nail or something.”
“Do we have to stop now? Can we change it?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to change a tire on the highway if I can avoid it. Thank God it’s not a blowout. The flat tire acts as a cushion for a short while. There’s a gas station up ahead. We’ll take it slow and we should make it. But this tire’s shot. We’ll have to pray they have a replacement.”
There were a few gas stations right off the exit, and David went to the one that had a service garage connected.
“That’s a damn miracle,” he muttered as he parked the car near the garage.
But all the gas stations near the exit were packed with lines of cars waiting for gas.
“They’re all evacuating,” she said. “A lot of the license plates are from Florida.”
“That storm’s coming,” he said, “and they’re running.”
As they walked to the service station, Cara looked at the lines of cars. Many had two or more people in them, and some had dogs’ heads poking out the windows. All of the cars were full of possessions. Mothers with children walked to and from the station. Folks were buying water, snacks. There would be, she knew, a long line at the women’s restroom.
Inside the garage a television on the wall blared out the weather report. People gathered around it, listening for the latest update on the hurricane’s progress. Earlier in the week the hurricane had wobbled one way and then another, sending people on both the Atlantic and Gulf coasts scrambling. Now the landfall location had been pinpointed to the Atlantic side with relative assuredness. Hurricanes were wily. They remained unpredictable. The question in everyone’s mind was, Where on the coast was this one going to hit? Fear and worry etched the faces of the men and women. Even the children appeared unusually somber, some leaning against a parent’s leg. These travelers were not on vacation. They were running scared.
Inside the garage was filled with cars, most up on lifts, and all the mechanics were working feverishly. The smell of car oil and grease permeated the air. Even the line to simply check in the car was six people deep. David shook his head and glanced at his watch with a frown.
“You might as well get comfortable. This may take a while.”
Cara chewed her lip, knowing that they were already on a tight schedule to make it to the house, board it up, and get off the island before the bridge was closed. Her anxiety bubbled up and she wanted to play the big-city executive, be pushy and get ahead of the line. She took a steadying breath, tamping down her frustration. There was a time to complain and a time to be silent; this, she decided, was a time for the latter. She tightened her lips against the things she wanted to say, nodded, folded her arms across her chest, and prepared to wait.
Twenty minutes later they were at the head of the line. A stout, middle-aged man with greasy brown hair and bushy brows offered a perfunctory smile of greeting. He wore a pale-gray uniform shirt that was stained and worn, but she could still make out that his name was Bobby. He looked up at David and said in a tired voice, “Can I help you?”
David explained what had happened. It was at times like these she appreciated his commanding voice and presence. No matter how much she might know about cars, and no matter how much she might hate it, in truth, in a garage the banter went better man-to-man. She glanced again at her watch. It was already 2:30. Looking at the fatigue on Bobby’s face, she’d bet cash money that he was already working overtime. She glanced behind. Since they’d arrived, four others had joined the queue.
“You’re in luck,” Bobby said, looking at the computer screen. “We have a tire for the Range Rover. We can replace it. But,” he said, again looking at David, “it’ll take time. There are four jobs ahead of you.”
“How much time?” Cara chimed in.
She knew she was beginning to sound a bit desperate. David turned his head to meet Cara’s gaze. She could tell he was worried that she was about to lose her cool.
Bobby shot a look at the shop and all the cars being worked on. When he looked back at them his face wasn’t encouraging. “You don’t happen to live near here? So you can come back and not wait? Maybe tomorrow?”
They shook their heads. “Afraid not,” Cara said.
“Okay then,” he said with a weary sigh. “You can wait in the office.” He gestured toward a small, uninviting room with metal chairs. “It’s air-conditioned.”
“I’ll go grab things out of the car,” David told them.
Bobby wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. The doors to the garage were open and the humidity was thick. As he checked them into the computer, he asked, more out of politeness than any real interest, “Where you guys headed?”
“Isle of Palms,” Cara replied dully.
The man paused and looked at her. “You headed there now?”
She nodded. “I live there.”
“You know what’s coming, right?” he asked in disbelief.
She chuckled, expecting this response. “Yeah, I know. We’re just headed back to board up the house. Then we’ll leave.”
“Missy,” he began in a neighborly tone, “you don’t want to go back there. Look,” he said, indicating the gas pumps at the station. “See that long line of cars waiting for gas? And out there on the highway crawling along? Everybody’s getting the hell out. Believe it or not, the traffic’s only going to get worse. Once panic sets in, it’ll be bumper-to-bumper. No gas. I swear to God, I wonder what would happen to all those folks if the hurricane came sweeping down and they were stuck in traffic! And, lady, they just announced it’s likely going to be a Cat Five. That’s Hugo kind of bad.”