"What gives?" He rolled away, furious, moving to cover himself.
I had to scoot over on all fours to try to get up. He snatched at my skirt to stop me, and it ripped. I let out a cry that the wind took away.
"Aw, Evie." Wally tucked over himself, trying to zip up his pants. "I didn't mean it."
"I just want to go back."
"Don't tell anyone. I didn't mean it." Wally looked scared.
"I won't tell anyone," I said. "I just want to go back.”
“Sure. Sure. I'll walk you."
I lurched in the sand, walking like a drunk. We were halfway back when I started to cry. Wally walked carefully, trying not to brush me with an arm or a hand, trying not to touch me at all, afraid of what I'd do.
I'd wanted to learn what love was like, but this wasn't what I'd felt with Peter. It was cheap and stupid and it stayed with you. It was animal and mineral, it was a bad taste and a terrible feeling.
"Look, you're a swell girl. I didn't think of you that way. Promise."
I couldn't stop crying, and I didn't know if it was him or thinking of not being with Peter or feeling sick.
"Evie, I've got to leave you here. I'd better not walk you in."
I saw through my tears that we were at the hotel. Wally was nervous and scared and apologetic all at once. He was practically on his toes, ready to run.
"It's okay."
Just then Mr. Forney came out on the steps for a smoke. He gave us a hard look, from my face to my clothes to Wally's pants.
"Wally, I need to see you," he said. "Double-time."
I ran across the parking lot, toward the side door that only the maids were supposed to use.
I hoped it would be the last time I'd ever see Wally. I hoped the hurricane would come so it could blow us all the way back to New York.
They didn't come back at three, or four. They didn't come back by cocktail time. I told Forney, who called Wally's dad and then, when Wally's dad said they weren't back, the Coast Guard. They didn't come back by dinner. As the afternoon wore on, the seas got higher, and a report came in that the hurricane was headed this way. It would not go south or north, it was coming right here.
The wind was blowing like crazy and the rain was starting when the chief of the Palm Beach police came to see me. He had kind eyes, and he looked worried even though he tried not to look worried. The fear I had inside bloomed and spread out through my body. My hands shook.
"Was there an experienced sailor in the group?" he asked.
"Yes. Peter. Peter Coleridge. They said they'd be back in two hours. Something must be wrong."
He exchanged a look with Forney and it was like a comic strip in a newspaper with a bubble over their heads saying "Dumb Tourists!"
"Don't worry, miss. The seas were probably more than they could handle and they put in somewhere. I've got the word out all the way up to Jupiter and down to Fort Lauderdale. We'll find them."
I lay on my bed, not sleeping. Maybe they'd pulled in somewhere, like the man said. Maybe the storm would veer off. Tomorrow morning I was set to evacuate. They'd be back by morning. I knew that. Because if I closed my eyes and thought of them out on that churning sea, I went crazy. Mom. Peter. Joe. On one little boat.
Chapter 24
There were only three others in the lobby before dawn the next morning. The maids had knocked on our doors, waking us up with the news that the island was being evacuated. The other guests had left the night before, Crabby Couple back to Missouri, the others getting in their cars late yesterday afternoon and going home. I'd heard car doors slamming and voices saying, "Hurry up, why don't you," up until ten o'clock last night.
The rain sounded almost friendly, pattering on the windows, but every so often a hard downpour would drown out what we were saying, and we'd all look outside at the palms thrashing around in the wind.
Forney poured tea and coffee and put out plates of doughnuts. Mean Fat Man kept bellowing to Forney that he didn't see why he had to leave the hotel, he'd seen worse storms in Detroit. Honeymoon Couple looked scared, even the husband.
"I told you we should have left yesterday," Honeymoon Wife said in a loud whisper to him. She wore a little blue hat with white flowers, which trembled every time she shook her head at him. Her ankles were crossed, just the way we were taught in Deportment.
"I talked to a fellow who said only tourists were scared of hurricanes," replied Honeymoon Husband. "Down here, they have a cocktail party and ride it out."
"And where's this friend of yours now, Norman?" she whispered. "While I have to evacuate with a bunch of crackers?"
"They'll have sandwiches there, I heard," I said, trying to be helpful.
She gave me a nasty look. Later I found out that crackers meant poor Southerners, not Uneeda Biscuits.
In the little suitcase at my feet was a jumble of things. I didn't know what to pack. I'd gone through Mom's things and Joe's things because I knew they'd want me to. I packed Mom's jewelry and Joe's favorite tie and Mom's new favorite cocktail dress and her blue high heels, everything mixed in together in my suitcase because I was living with panic in my stomach now. I threw in Mom's perfume because if she was gone I'd want to still smell her. I didn't even think that I could walk into any drugstore and buy it for three ninety-five. I needed her half-full bottle.
I rode with Mr. Forney as he led the others in their cars over the Royal Palm Bridge into West Palm Beach. I peered out through the windshield, getting a look at things with every sweep of the wipers. The sky was a greasy yellow and the lake had turned a dark gray. It was moving like a great beast, rolling and crashing against the docks. I could hear the clamor of the sailboat lines hitting the masts. It sounded like bells ringing, warning us something scary was coming.
On the radio there had been instructions for evacuees. Pack food if you have it. Bring diapers for babies and toys for children. Watch out for flying coconuts.
This was how screwball the world had become. My parents and my love were lost at sea. And coconuts were falling from the sky.
"I let Wally go yesterday," Mr. Forney said. "I just want you to know that."
"You fired him?"
"Of course. Fraternizing with hotel guests is cause for dismissal.”
“But —"
"We have high standards for the hotel, Miss Spooner. That includes employees."
"Yeah," I said. "I've seen your high standards up close, Mr. Forney. I think you like rolling in your stinky high standards. Especially when you can kick a couple of guests out of the hotel because they have the wrong last name."
He didn't say another word all the way to the courthouse.
I hadn't been afraid of the hurricane. But then it hit.
I learned that even before it started, the air could be full of danger. Things flew — signs, branches, screen doors. The rain could come down so hard you couldn't hear people talking right next to you. You felt the air and the wind in your belly, like a pressure inside, and putting your hands over your ears only made it worse.
I learned that a roof could fly off a building. That's what we were all afraid of in the courthouse. We sat on the long benches, or lay down, and even the children didn't cry, just the babies. The families stayed tight together, the mothers petting their children like puppy dogs. And I was alone.
Everyone kept talking about their houses and the hurricane of '28 and the thousand people who died out in Pahokee. Wherever that was. People were saying "I remember" and "Did you check on Marylou?" and "We should have stayed with the house." Someone said the winds were over a hundred miles an hour now.
A woman with a plain, strong face brought me a blanket. "Here you go, precious. Don't you worry now. The storm will blow itself out. It always does." I'd seen her talking to a policeman, and he must have told her about me, because she brought me soup, too, so I didn't have to wait in line.