Chapter 2

“I took both of them back over to my house and fed her cookies and found the number for that former teacher of hers, that Glen, Gary, Dale? Is that it? Dave Crowley, that’s it. He came and got her.”

We walked outside, together. “You keep an eye on that weather, you hear? It’s fixing to blow up a big one, soon. Remember last time we had gale force nine winds? Blew down those ugly beach shacks and some of the shingles off my house! But even so, our houses are only two blocks up from the waterfront, and a tidal swell or a storm surge could easily come up here.”

“I remember how drunk my dad got,” I replied. “He kept calling me Beaufort Nine and telling me to shut up and stop blowing, and then he’d laugh, and Mom would tell him not around the children.” It was not a happy memory, but, then, few from my childhood were.

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