Still Gerta was able to put the storm out of the forefront of her mind and savor the lazy walk, the horse on his long lead occasionally dropping his head to graze. He seemed to enjoy the sauntering pace just as much, and at this slow walk her prosthesis didn’t chafe. Pausing as the bay grazed, she let her gaze roam the grounds. Green summer leaves rustled in the occasional breeze. The few yellow ones presaging autumn fell and floated in the air. In the beds surrounding the buildings, pink pentas and purple salvia bloomed. Yellow sulphur butterflies fluttered from blossom to blossom.
Suddenly she felt the horse’s muzzle close to her shoulder. It seemed to be sniffing her hair and blowing on her neck. The wiry whiskers and warm breath on her neck tickled, and she laughed lightly. She stopped and looked over her shoulder, so close that she was almost staring into the horse’s eyes. They were a deep, liquid brown, and for a moment, she was mesmerized as old memories tugged.
Razzmajazz used to blow on her neck when they walked in the field. Horses showed affection for one another by gently blowing into each other’s nostrils. They didn’t usually offer their affection to humans, and never to someone they were not interested in.
“You certainly are a Romeo.”
She turned and began to walk away. He followed, coming close again to nuzzle her neck with his velvety soft muzzle. Then he gave her a little push. She stopped and turned to stare at him. Gerta’s face stilled as she looked into his eyes. This was a game Razzmajazz used to play. No other horse ever had.
What was happening? From deep in the recesses of her brain came a foolish, ridiculous thought. She didn’t want to give it merit. It couldn’t be. Not in the real world. Not in her neat and orderly world. But this horse . . . how could he know the game? Or to blow on her neck? The way he was looking at her, so intently, it was like he was looking into her soul. He seemed to be urging her. Even daring her. Toward courage. Toward faith.
“Razzmajazz?” Her voice quavered on the name.
The horse inhaled quickly, then puffed out a breath through his nostrils so they vibrated and made a loud purring sound. He shook his mane, excited.
Trembling, Gerta stepped closer to the horse. Hesitantly she reached up to run her fingers down the long white blaze on his nose, then back up. She lifted his wiry forelock and sucked in her breath. There was the small white star that had marked Razzmajazz.
Her neat, orderly world spun on its axis. She’d heard people talk about former lives, people who were convinced that their horse or their dog was really the reincarnation of their former pet. She’d scoffed at such nonsense. Who could believe that?
And yet, here she was. With this horse. This Trakehner, like Razzmajazz. Every instinct in her body told her that this was her beloved horse.
“Jazzy?” she asked in a soft voice. “Could it be you?”
In response, the horse lowered his head, bringing it toward her in a sign of complete and utter affection. He was giving her the cue this time.
Gerta lowered her forehead and brought it to rest against the horse’s nose. They seemed to meld into one being. She felt a rush of love flowing through her bloodstream, pumping so hard it was like a deafening drumbeat. So fast and loud that, deep inside, she felt the ice that had formed around her heart all those years ago after her horse’s death crack and splinter at last, filling her with warmth.
THIRTEEN
August 22, 8:20 a.m.
Isle of Palms, South Carolina
Mandatory evacuation warnings for South Carolina coast
Cara and David awoke at dawn. The gray clouds dominated the sky, causing the sun to rise in drab colors over the steely ocean. It was not a morning for leisure. They gulped down coffee and power bars, eager to get the house boarded up as quickly as possible.
Cara led David to the shed beneath the front porch where the metal storm shutters were stored. There was no electricity here and in the dim light they dodged spider webs and stepped over garden pots and tools coated with a thick layer of sand. They moved a few rusting bicycles out and at last got to the shed in the back. David opened the creaking doors and smiled with relief. Cara’s former husband, Brett, had the shutters neatly organized with a map in a plastic cover showing where each shutter should be placed. Each shutter was clearly numbered.
“Brett made this a whole lot easier,” David said. He turned to smile at Cara but his smile fell at seeing her face.
“Honey, are you okay?”
Cara couldn’t respond. Staring at the map, memories of Brett flooded her mind. She’d loved Brett and always would. He had always been her rock, the one sure thing in her life to cling to through storms and life’s vicissitudes. For her, part of the pain of hurricanes was missing Brett. And still mourning him. Boarding up the house, preparing for a storm, brought the memories flooding back like a tidal surge.
Cara put on a brave smile. “I’m fine. All this hurricane stuff.”
“I’m here. You’re not alone. We’ll get this house boarded and be on our way. Okay?”
“Yeah.” She smiled and welcomed his quick kiss.
He picked up the first grouping of shutters. “Let’s go!”
She gripped the sides of a tall steel shutter with leather gloves. It wasn’t terribly heavy but its length was awkward. She made it out of the narrow shed and was carrying it along the grass to the stairs when a familiar voice called her name.
“Cara Rutledge! What in the name of God are you doing back here?”
Cara set the shutter down and turned to see Florence Prescott walking toward her from the house next door. At eighty-one, she was still spry, though her gait was slower. Her white hair was thinner now and not as snowy, but her blue eyes still shone bright. Flo was dressed in her ubiquitous nylon pants and a blue Turtle Team T-shirt.
Behind her, the screen door to the house next door slammed shut and she spied her best friend Emmi coming out, drying her hands on a towel. Her flaming red hair was pulled up on her head in a sloppy bun. She, too, wore the uniform of the turtle team. Emmi’s weight went up and down like a yo-yo. She was in a heavier phase now but what caught Cara’s attention was her wide, Carly Simon grin. Cara couldn’t help but smile back as she slapped the dust from her hands and went to greet her friends.
“Why in the hell did you come back from the mountains?” Flo asked in her usual strident manner.
Emmi put a calming hand on Flo’s shoulder. “Looks to me like she’s putting up shutters. How are you, hon?” she asked and stepped forward to hug Cara.
“Okay. David and I are trying to put these up lickety split so we can head back to the hills. Why are you still here? Your house is all boarded.”
“I know,” Emmi replied and rolled her eyes.
“We’re checking on the last turtle nests,” Flo said with conviction. “We’ve got two that are due to hatch any minute. Both laid the same day. We put them right by each other at Third Avenue. We call them The Twins.”
Emmi looked out to the ocean. “I’d hoped they would have hatched last night, but no luck.”
“I told you we should’ve helped them a bit,” Flo muttered.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Cara told Flo. “Michelle Pate is very firm on that point. We let nature take its course.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Flo shot back, her eyes blazing. “They’re due now! And it’s not like we’d be opening up the nests for our convenience. This is an emergency. If we don’t get them out they may not survive. I don’t know that I could bear that.”