If Wishing Made It So (28 page)

She appeared in the doorway. ‘‘Did you find them?’’

‘‘No. They’re not here. They’re already gone.’’

‘‘What! Jimmy the Bug’s kidnapped them again and I don’t have a wish to get them back!’’ she wailed and looked about ready to cry.

‘‘Hildy, you aren’t making any sense. Why would Jimmy the Bug take your cats?’’

Hildy ran over and ripped the note out of his hands. She looked at it and said, ‘‘Oh! Mrs. Baier took them.’’

When the evacuation order was first given, Hildy’s elderly neighbor looked outside and didn’t see Hildy’s car. Thinking Hildy couldn’t get back to the island, she used the key Hildy had given her to come in and put the two cats in a carrier. They would be safe with her Henry at Mrs. Baier’s sister’s house in Princeton. She had left a phone number where Hildy could reach her.

Hildy’s legs were trembling. She sat down on one of the plastic-covered chairs, hung her head down, and took some deep breaths. ‘‘I was so scared.’’

Mike came over and stooped down next to her so he could see her face. ‘‘I can see that. It’s okay. Your cats are all right. But, Hildy, we’re not. We need to get to higher ground.’’

He stood up. ‘‘Listen to me for a minute. The electricity is still on. I’m going to check the weather on TV and see how much time we have before the storm hits. You get dressed.’’

Hildy nodded. She went over to the closet and started pulling out some clothes.

‘‘I think you better hurry,’’ he said more calmly than he felt and walked into the living room. He switched on the TV. Every channel was covering the storm. The news wasn’t good. The outer rim of the hurricane was not more than fifty miles off the coast, with gusts up to seventy miles an hour. Winds of up to a hundred and twenty miles an hour were expected when the body of the storm hit. People were warned to stay indoors or go to a designated storm shelter. The eye should make landfall somewhere between Long Beach Island and Atlantic City by six p.m.

It was three fifteen.

‘‘I don’t know what we should do,’’ Mike called to Hildy, who was now in the bathroom brushing her teeth. ‘‘I don’t think we can risk going up on the causeway to get off the island. Is there anywhere to take shelter near here?’’

Hildy came into the living room. She had on a shirt, jeans, and sneakers; she carried a clear plastic rain slicker in her hand. ‘‘Here, you take this one. I have another in my backpack. Thunderstorms blow up so quickly off that ocean that I always carry rain gear when I’m out for a ride or hike. We can take a couple of garbage bags with us too. You know, you can make a rain poncho with them.’’

‘‘Okay, but about the shelter. Do you know of any?’’

Hildy looked at him, her eyes clear and unafraid. ‘‘Not near here, no. But I do know where we’ll be safe.’’

‘‘Where’s that?’’

‘‘Old Barney.’’

‘‘The lighthouse?’’ Mike asked.

‘‘Yes. It’s stood for a hundred and fifty years. It can withstand the storm.’’

Mike quickly pointed out to Hildy the problem with her idea. They didn’t have a car. The lighthouse was nearly nine miles away at the tip of the island. They’d never reach it on foot before the wind caught them in the open. They would die out there, if not from the storm surge, then from flying debris.

Hildy shook her head. ‘‘No, we won’t be caught in the open. I figure we can make it to the lighthouse in about twenty minutes, a little bit faster maybe if we really try.’’

‘‘How?’’

‘‘We’ll take the bikes. I bought a new one last week and I still have the rental one I had leased for the summer. We can do it. We’ve done it before.’’

And they had, when they were twelve years old.

Mike smiled for the first time since he had arrived. ‘‘It was nine miles around Harveys Lake.’’

‘‘We did it in—’’

‘‘Nineteen minutes and thirty-five seconds,’’ he said at once. ‘‘This island is as flat as the shore of the lake. We only have to average maybe twenty, twenty-five miles an hour.’’

Hildy thought for a moment. ‘‘But hurricane winds move in a counterclockwise direction and we’re on the front edge. We’ll be pedaling against the wind as the hurricane approaches,’’ she added.

‘‘Shoot, I forgot about that.’’ He looked worried again.

‘‘We can do it, Mike. I’m going to fill the thermos and put some food and bottled water in my backpack. You check the air in the bike tires. There’s an air pump on the chassis of the rental if you need it. I’ll put a blanket in a garbage bag. It can go in the bike basket. Then we better get out of here.’’

Five minutes later they were out on Island Beach Boulevard pedaling north. Mike wore the heavily laden backpack and rode the old bike with the basket. Hildy had her new trail bike. At first, the trek was almost fun; then the going got a lot tougher than either of them thought it would be.

Hildy’s rain parka kept tangling around her legs and the hood slipped down over her face so it was hard to see. The rain had intensified and the gusts of wind seemed to come from all directions, which was almost worse than a steady gale. At one point, a strong blast hit Hildy sideways and blew her over. She went down hard into the street. Mike stopped his bike and ran to help. Fortunately, the only damage was her badly scraped hands.

When they pedaled through Harvey Cedars, Hildy felt her first frisson of deep fear. She could actually see the spray of the waves breaking to her right, beyond the houses that lined the beach just a block away.

Nearly forty minutes had passed from the time they left Ship Bottom until they arrived in the town of Barnegat Light. The edge of the storm had arrived, as well. On this exposed point, sitting on Barnegat Inlet and surrounded on three sides by water, the wind was so strong it made it difficult to stand, let alone pedal.

Just ahead was the state park’s parking lot, already covered with water. They had to get off the bikes and push them through the ankle-deep flood. At the far end of the parking lot, they came through some hedges onto an asphalt path leading to the lighthouse. There they got their first real look at the huge waves that were crashing up onto the jetty from the ocean side. Some breakers washed right over the huge black rocks. They were also smashing into the rocks right below the lighthouse with such force that white spray arced up to hit the lighthouse’s sides.

Hildy stopped, reluctant to go on. ‘‘The visitor center is away from the beach, and it’s all concrete block,’’ she said. ‘‘Maybe we should go there.’’

‘‘No, it’s on too low ground,’’ Mike said. ‘‘It won’t wash away, but chances are it will get flooded. We can make it to the lighthouse. The door’s on the side away from the water. As soon as a wave hits and begins to recede we’ll run for it.’’

‘‘What if the door is locked?’’ she asked.

‘‘Then I’ll break it down.’’

Hildy nodded okay, pushing away a terrifying vision of being swept into the roiling sea. Fear wasn’t going to stop her. She steadied her nerves and got ready to push her bicycle hard and run.

Chapter 28

Mike went first, moving quickly toward the lighthouse through the screaming winds and punishing rain. He found the door unlocked. He flung it open and beckoned Hildy to come. She waited for a wave to strike the seawall and fall back into the dark ocean. Then she dashed forward, going as quickly as she could with a bicycle at her side. At the doorway, Mike was waiting to grab the bike and pull her in.

After the din of the roaring sea and unremitting winds, all seemed still, quiet, and safe within the solid brick walls of their sanctuary. The sounds outside had become muted and hushed. Not even the lighthouse’s small windows rattled. The shadows under the stairs were thick; the light was dim. A sense of the sacred overcame Hildy, as if she had entered a cathedral. She felt reverent and immensely thankful for this magnificent structure that now gave them shelter from the storm.

They peeled off their dripping rain gear and hung it over the stair rail. In case the storm surge reached as high as the knoll where the lighthouse stood, they decided to hoist their bikes up the winding stairs to the first landing. They tried a light switch; there was no response. Power must have gone out. They might be left in absolute darkness for hours.

Then they had some discussion about where to wait out the hurricane, whether to wait on another landing or make the long, arduous climb to the top.

Ultimately they decided to do both. They ascended twenty steps to the next landing and sat on the floor. Mike handed over the backpack and Hildy pulled out the thermos of hot coffee, a box of Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls, and two of the ham sandwiches she had packed. They shared the thermos-top cup. They quickly demolished the sandwiches. They gave each other knowing smiles when they downed the Little Debbie snack cakes, since they, like almost every kid in northeast Pennsylvania, had grown up on them. A feast made by Brillat-Savarin could not have tasted better.

Then, refreshed, they made their way up the seemingly endless winding staircase to the small round room at the very top of the lighthouse. A murky twilight had fallen outside the windows that encircled the room. Rain lashed the reinforced glass. But the tower didn’t sway or tremble or acknowledge the winds except with a faint rattling of the small door that led to the widow’s walk.

Hildy and Mike made a nest of sorts on the wooden floor. They took off their wet shoes and Hildy hung her sodden socks on a railing. No matter how bad the storm outside, Hildy had never been happier. She took out the small battery-powered radio she had included with their supplies. She turned it on and found a weather broadcast— and the news was good.

While the outer edge of the storm still battered the Atlantic coast, Angie itself had zigzagged once more and changed course. It was moving away, not toward them, heading northeast. The hurricane might endanger the Hamptons at the end of Long Island, but South Jersey had been spared from a direct hit. Once power was restored and damage assessed, people would be allowed to return to their homes, even as soon as the coming morning.

Immediately Hildy tried to use her cell phone, wanting to tell Corrine she was okay. The OUT OF SERVICE notice continued to appear on the screen. The call, like so many other things, would have to wait. But neither Mike nor Hildy minded their seclusion. One kiss led to two, and two kisses led to other things.

During the hours that followed, they had all the time in the world to enjoy each other’s company, explore each other’s bodies, whisper of the past, and spin scenarios of their future. And as Hildy learned to her satisfaction and delight, the second and third times making love with Mike far surpassed the first.

The second time they made love, which was the first time on this night, Mike took his time and took advantage of this private, secluded place, which was theirs alone. He kissed Hildy and stroked her; then he asked her what she liked. She giggled and said she didn’t know. He laughed and said he’d give her some options. After she tried them, he said, she could tell him what gave her the most pleasure.

Hildy soon discovered there wasn’t anything she didn’t like. Mike made her squeal, he made her moan, he made her squirm. But she finally told him, as she lay on her back, her hands buried in his auburn hair, her legs spread wide, her voice very low, and her breath coming fast, that she thought she liked what he was doing with his tongue at that moment the best.

The third time, which was the second time as the storm raged outside and the rain sent water cascading down the windows, started out with Hildy asking Mike what
he
liked. Even if he had to show her how to do it, she insisted she really wanted to please him. He laughed again and said he appreciated her attitude, and he’d be glad to be her tutor in the art of love.

So for the next half hour, he gave her some lessons that she would never forget, although she did tell him she was looking forward to more practice in using her hands and her mouth, her teeth, and her tongue. But she was very glad he seemed to like the position the French call
soixante-neuf
the best, because she did too. So they did it for as long as they could before neither of them could hold back, and Hildy cried out in pleasure again and again.

Then happily sated with each other, they drank the bottled water. They snacked on trail mix and bananas. They finished off two more sandwiches, and finally, Mike being especially tired, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Bright sunlight woke them shortly after dawn. Looking through the windows, they could see the sea was green, flat, and calm. White seabirds wheeled around in an aquamarine sky. The rhythms of everyday life had returned.

They picked up their things, ran down the steps, and burst out the door into a world washed clean and filled with promise. They found the park’s rest-rooms open and usable. They came back to the lighthouse and lowered their bikes down the stairs. Making sure they left Old Barney tidy, they began the ride back to Ship Bottom, avoiding debris and drifted sand, but seeing only minor damage to homes.

When they approached the Dark Star Café, they were surprised to see Chef Salzarulo outside setting up tables with carafes of coffee and trays of pastries. The café’s jovial owner waved to Mike and Hildy, more shocked at their appearance than they were at his.

They stopped their bikes and told their story. He shook his head, and then winked. The lighthouse would have more secrets to keep now, he said.

As for him, he had left with everyone else, but as soon as the winds died down during the night, he had come back to the island on a motorbike. He had slipped past the barricades before the utility workers and cleanup crews came across the bridge, but they were on the island now.

He shrugged. He had his wood oven going. He could boil water without electric power. People needed their morning coffee, right? Hildy, who didn’t function well without caffeine, agreed and thankfully took the take-out cups he offered to her and Mike.