Sam sucks in a deep, ragged breath, his expression hooded. He sweeps my hair over my shoulder, skimming the line of my chin, a tremor in his touch.

“Elizabeth.”

My name sounds like the loveliest thing of all falling from his lips.

Triumph surges through me, and I tilt my head into his embrace, relishing the gentleness of the caress of his fingertips against my cheek.

I’ve been carrying other people for so long. Since when has someone touched me like this? As though I was something breakable to be cherished or protected?

Billy certainly never did.

With him, I was expected to be the one to lead, as though I was Delilah to his Samson.

But here, Sam has taken over with the assurance of a man set about getting what he wants, and a thrill runs through me at the notion that I am the one being pursued rather than the one doing the pursuing.

Sam leans forward, closer, closer, his mouth inches from mine, his breath against my chin, pulling me toward him, my skin on fire, our lips about to meet—

A loud buzzing noise sounds overhead.

I jerk in his arms. “What’s that?”

Sam moves quickly, stepping in front of me, our embrace broken, and I see a flash of the man who was once a soldier and is now a federal agent.

He tenses. “It’s a plane.”

A moment later, the little object comes into view, dancing between the clouds, something fluttering behind it.

We both glance up at the sky as the plane glides past us, the words printed on the banner trailing after it fully coming into view:

Hurricane Warning.

“It’s probably one of the Coast Guard’s planes,” Sam says.

“Should we be worried?”

He’s quiet for a beat too long, the silence dragging out between us, a damper on the moment between us earlier.

“I don’t know.”

I see what it costs him to be filled with indecision, to not have an answer.

It’s the same expression he wore a few minutes earlier when he nearly kissed me.

Something that might be regret.

Coldness fills me, the water no longer welcoming, everything wrong suddenly.

And like that, with those two ominous words flitting in the sky above us, this little stretch of beach is no longer paradise.

Fourteen

Helen

It’s nearly four in the afternoon when the ferry finally arrives on Matecumbe Key, the trip taking three hours longer than it should have due to the broken propeller. The seas were rough, the weather bad, an utterly interminable journey, my stomach unsettled.

Is Tom out fishing in this weather? Or is he in our cottage in Key West realizing I am not coming home? Or is he already on his way after me?

The ferry landing is connected to a small harbor where fishing boats are docked. A chill slides down my spine as my gaze runs over the dilapidated vessels, as I stand next to John, waiting to disembark, and scan the boats, searching for the Helen.

A line of cars is parked at the landing, passengers trying to board the ferry.

“Will they be able to get out?” I ask John.

“Between the propeller and the weather, not likely.”

“Do you really think the storm will hit us?” I can’t forget Tom’s earlier conviction that we’d be fine. For all his flaws, he’s always known the sea.

“I don’t know. But for everyone’s sake, I hope they’re cautious about it. They’ve been pumping men into the camps these past few months, and many of them have no idea what it’s like down here, have never been through a hurricane. Hell, even rainstorms flood the camps.”

“What will they do with all of you if the storm hits?”

“There’s supposed to be a train that will take us north.”

His tone makes his thoughts on the matter clear.

“You don’t think it will work?”

“It’ll be a disaster. Any semblance of order in the camps is difficult on a good day. In a crisis, it will be impossible. Not to mention, if you can’t get people out of the Keys entirely, where would they go? There’s no high ground here. Just the water.” He hesitates. “If it gets bad, promise me you’ll head north. Go to Miami or farther up. In your condition, you don’t want to take the risk of getting caught in one of these storms. At least you’re closer to the mainland than you would have been in Key West.”

“I will,” I reply. “Hopefully, the storm will miss us entirely.” I understand his concern, and the baby certainly changes things, but it’s hard to explain to someone who isn’t from here what it’s like. You develop a healthy respect for Mother Nature—after all, you coexist mostly peacefully, and she directs your fortunes more often than you’d care to admit—but life goes on down here in fair weather or foul. When you’re trying to survive, you don’t have the luxury to leave when things are difficult. You dig in and make the best of it.

But I have left.

I’m still not sure of what to make of it. It’s as though someone else got into the car, and onto the ferry, and sailed away from her husband, baby in tow.

What will I tell my child when it asks how I could have left? What would I have told my child if it asked how I could have stayed?

I give John directions to my aunt’s inn, the wind from the open car window alleviating some of the nausea in my stomach as we drive down the highway. Motion never used to make me sick like this—another gift pregnancy has bestowed upon me.

The ferry landing is at the southwest end of the island next to the camp where John says he lives. We drive north, the highway and railroad covering the length of Lower and Upper Matecumbe Key. I haven’t been up here since I was a little girl, but I have fond memories of playing in the water with my aunt, catching fish, chasing lizards, and building castles in the sand.

“It’s not quite what I expected when they said there were jobs available down in the Florida Keys,” John comments.

“What did you expect?” I ask.

“An island paradise, I suppose. A place to get lost, certainly. But nothing so desolate, so wild, so stark. There’s no pretense to it, and while there are moments of beauty, there’s also a deadly edge that sort of overshadows all else—the weather, the water. I can’t decide if I like it or not.”

“I can see what you mean. When I was a child, it felt like paradise because there was so much open space and it wasn’t as busy as Key West. You could go a whole day without seeing another soul if you wanted.”