Page 65 of Eye of the Hurricane
Sandbags and boards, now. Text me when you’re home safe.
Katherine
Got it.
Shit, okay. What’s worse than a hurricane barreling toward your cute little beach town? Being wildly unprepared for it.
It’s early in the morning, still. I should be able to get out, get the necessities and be back home before noon. Luckily, I got groceries earlier this week, so I don’t have to worry about that. God knows the bread shelves are empty at every store in a five mile radius already.
I rush into my bedroom and pull a white and blue floral dress over my head, matching white heels to go with. I don’t bother much with my hair, clipping it back.
When I walk back out to the living room, there’s this loud banging noise coming from outside. It’s like a jackhammer, but right outside my window. I poke my head out the front door to see if for some unknown reason they’re doing roadwork on the morning of a hurricane. No one is out front, though.
I step out on to the porch and peak around the side of the house.
There stands Ares with plywood and a hammer. He’s boarding up the windows of my house.
Just like that, I feel less sure of the distance I put between us.
“What are you doing?” I call out to him.
He turns his head to me, sweat slicking his waves to his forehead. He looks fucking good. I never thought the sweaty, handyman thing would do it for me but goddamn.
“What does it look like? I’m boarding your windows,” he says, holding the hammer up for emphasis.
“Okay, smart-ass.Whyare you boarding my windows?” I counter.
“Because I was in the neighborhood last night and noticed you hadn’t done it,” he answers.
“Thank you.” I say, quietly.
“What was that, honey? Speak up,” he says, smiling widely. His tongue glides across his top teeth and I feel it between my thighs.
“I take it back. You’re an ass!” I yell back to him. He just chuckles and goes back to hammering plywood over my windows. I turn the corner of my house and stand next to him.
“Do I need sandbags?” I ask.
“You don’t have sandbags!?” he exclaims, stopping everything he’s doing to face me. I give him a sheepish smile in return.
There’s a feeling of shame that I can’t quite shake. I should have thought of it. I should have handled this.
“Come on, we’re going now,” he says, setting his things down.
“I can handle it,” I argue. A slight smile tugs at his lips.
“I know you can.” He nods firmly. “I’d like to help you anyway,” he admits.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he says, walking to his car. I follow behind him. “You want to drive?” I shake my head, walking around to the passenger side and getting in.
Driving through Doves Harbor today is eerie, to say the least. The streets are mostly empty, but a select few places are busy. The gas stations have sold out signs, grocery stores have lines out the door, and there are sandbag stations filled with hundreds of people.
Seeing a community collectively doing preventative measures fills you with a type of unease I can’t explain. It’s like validations of your fears but in the worst way. Like instead of being told they understand and it’ll be okay, you’re being told they understand that it won’t be.
It takes over an hour for Ares and I to get a parking spot to get our sandbags and carry them to the car.
An overwhelming anxiety is very present for the entire morning. It’s not until we pass a homeless man on the way home with a sign asking for a ride inland that fear sets in.
