Chapter 10: The Midnight Gale
The storm hit just past midnight, rattling the large beach-facing windows with sudden, violent gusts of wind that made the wooden frame of the house groan in protest. I woke up instantly to the sound of rain drumming a chaotic tattoo against the glass and the deep, hollow roar of the surf surging high up the beach.
A second later, the overhead lights flickered twice and died completely, plunging the bedroom into total darkness except for the pale, ghostly luminescence of whitecaps crashing against the shore in the moonlight.
I threw off the heavy quilt, grabbed my phone from the nightstand—its battery sitting stubbornly at twelve percent—and stepped out into the upstairs hallway. Before I could call out, a door clicked open down the hall, and my mother appeared in the dim light, wrapping her white cardigan tightly around her shoulders over her flannel pajamas.
"Power's out," she stated calmly, her voice steady despite the howling wind outside.
"Fuse box or district grid?" I asked, walking over to the top of the stairs.
"Grid, by the sound of it. The whole stretch of highway must have gone dark." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, heavy-duty metal flashlight, clicking it on to cast a steady beam against the white-paneled wall. "Come on. Let's make sure the sliding door latches are secure before the wind catches them."
We descended the stairs together, the beam of the flashlight cutting long, dramatic shadows across the coastal dining room. The wind pressed hard against the massive front windows, making the glass bow inward ever so slightly under the pressure. Together, we checked the heavy iron latches on the French doors, throwing the deadbolts to lock the frames firmly into place against the gale.
Once the house was secure, we retreated to the kitchen. My mother found a thick beeswax candle in the pantry, lighting the wick with a long match. The warm, flickering flame cast a soft, amber glow over our faces, softening the harsh angles of the room and throwing long, dancing shadows across the wooden table.
May you like
"Well," she murmured, setting the candle down on a small ceramic saucer in the center of the table. "It looks like we're properly snowed in—or, I suppose, blown in."
I pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her, watching the flame sway slightly in the draft. The storm raged outside, a fierce and relentless wall of water and wind, but inside, within the tight circle of candlelight, the world had shrunk down to just the two of us. We didn't try to sleep. Instead, we sat across from each other in the dim, intimate quiet, talking in low voices as the hours ticked past, waiting for the dawn to break over a washed-away shore.
