CHAPTER FIVE
It took a lot to make my father angry. Usually, he was the most easygoing person around, but when his temper did flare up, he got stone-cold quiet. Once, he’d seen someone dumping garbage onto the beach and he’d been so furious, he’d hollered at them. After they’d driven away, he hadn’t said a word for two hours straight.
Tonight, he didn’t speak until we’d made it back home. Our power was out and the house was dark, but I could still make out Dad’s angry expression in the dim light.
“So,” he said at last, “I’ve been able to piece together some of the story thanks to Ana. You weren’t allowed to go to the author shindig, but instead of going to Pop’s Café like she told you to, you snuck back into the library. I’m guessing that’s where you met that boy?”
I nodded.
“Was it his idea to go wandering around town?”
Maybe I could’ve lied right then, but Dad and I didn’t lie to each other. We were a team, and that meant telling the truth.
“No. It was my fault,” I admitted. “I kind of tricked him into going out, and then once he’d done it, I had to make him come back, so I followed after him. But then . . .”
My voice trailed off and Dad frowned.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll do anything to make things right.”
“Yes, you will,” Dad agreed. “I’m not sure what that will look like, but we’re both going to sleep on it and come up with something in the morning. Understood?”
I nodded.
“All right,” Dad said. “Head on up and get out of that silly dress. We’ll have to get it dry-cleaned before we return it to Violet. And that cost, along with the cost of buying Kitty a new dress, will come out of your allowance.”
“Okay.” I knew Kitty would forgive me for ruining her dress, especially if it gave her an excuse to shop for a new one.
I moved toward the stairs, but Dad reached out and pulled me close once more. He pressed his cheek against my hair. “Lord almighty, I was scared, Jane. If I ever lost you . . .”
Dad’s whole body trembled, and I held him tight.
“You won’t lose me,” I promised. “I won’t ever let that happen.”
Dad breathed in. “You better not,” he said. “’Cause I love you more than lobster, and that’s saying a lot.”
I laughed a small, tired laugh. “Yeah, but do you love me more than plankton?”
This time Dad made a face. “Whoa, now that’s asking too much!”
“Dad,” I complained.
He gave me a shove toward the staircase. I was halfway up before he said, “I love you more than everything.”
Upstairs in my tiny bedroom with the sloping ceiling, I peeled out of Granny V’s dress with the food stains down the front. I took off the necklace Ana had given me and set it carefully on my dresser, and then I got into my oldest, softest pajamas, and wrapped myself in my worn patchwork quilt. I had a chill I couldn’t shake, and the noise of the hurricane was loud and unrelenting.
I tossed and turned. Sometime later a branch smacked hard against my window and I jolted upright. Our entire house groaned in protest.
Dad and I live in a house we call the B&B. It dates back to 1896, and it’s crooked and sprawling—two stories, three bathrooms, and five bedrooms—and everyone who visits says the exact same thing: “You should turn this place into a bed and breakfast!”
They’re right, except for two glaring problems. First, Whickett Harbor has a population of 876 and hardly anyone visits. Second, Dad would make the world’s worst host. Bed? Sure, you’re welcome to stay, so long as you don’t mind unwashed sheets. Breakfast? You mean we’re out of milk, bread, and cereal, again? Oh well. Help yourself to anything you can find, just don’t open any little glass jars!
So far, our house had lasted over a hundred years, but that night it didn’t seem sturdy enough to withstand the storm. I was used to the creaking floorboards and the cracks in the walls, but now the frame groaned and the wind battered the house so hard, I thought it might collapse.
It was hours before I finally fell asleep.
When I woke up to sunlight streaming through my window, I felt as if someone had torn away a veil. The world was bright and vivid again, and the hurricane seemed like a distant memory. Devon’s mad dash to the breakwater. The tree falling across the road. Josh bursting into the library. None of that seemed real on this perfect blue-sky morning in Maine.
Only my impending talk with Dad made the night’s events seem like more than a dream. My father’s usual idea of discipline was to take me for a ride in his old truck and to say in his most somber voice, “Jane, I am mighty disappointed in you.” Some people might think there ought to be more to it than that—but for me, Dad’s mighty disappointment was consequence enough.
Just as I’d expected, as soon as we were done with breakfast, Dad said, “Jane, let’s go for a ride.”
We piled into the truck and he was quiet again, staring out the window. We drove around Whickett Harbor surveying the damage, and I knew he wanted me to understand how close Devon and I had come to getting seriously hurt. Several fishing boats had been cast on shore, trees were down all around town, the roof of the Lobster Wharf had blown off, and some of the other shops had broken windows. Debris was scattered everywhere.
When we rounded the corner onto Moxie Lane, we saw Ana out with the volunteer firehouse crew, cutting up a fallen pine. Ana was petite, but today she looked even smaller than usual compared to the huge tree in front of her. She was dressed in leg protectors and a flannel shirt with thick, elbow-length leather gloves, and her long blond hair was pulled back under a kerchief. When she saw Dad’s truck she set down the chain saw and stood with her hands on her hips.
Dad pulled over and we both got out. I waited to see how angry Ana would be on a scale of one to ten, but the very first thing she did was hug me so hard, I thought I might pop.
“Jane Brannen,” she said, “you really outdid yourself this time. Do you know how worried we were? You told me you’d go to Pop’s Café, but you lied. We. Do. Not. Lie. To. Each. Other.” Ana gestured between me and her and Dad. “You know better, and if it were up to me, I’d say you shouldn’t be allowed near that library for a solid month.”
She meant that as a hint to Dad. Ana had a habit of suggesting things in a way that would allow my father to think it had been his idea. I swallowed hard. We didn’t have enough money for me to buy books online, and there wasn’t a bookstore for miles around, so the library was my reading lifeline. What would I do without any new books for an entire month?
I knew that I deserved whatever punishment I got. I glanced at Dad to see whether he’d take the bait, but he was looking at Ana the way he did sometimes, kind of half shy and half confused, like he was thinking about something he couldn’t make up his mind about.
Ana sighed. “I’m so glad she’s safe, Emmett.” She reached out and gave my father’s hand a small squeeze.
“I’ll make sure Jane earns the money to pay for that window,” Dad said, not quite taking Ana up on her idea. But for Dad, that was still pretty strict.
“I’ll pay back every penny,” I said. “I promise.”
“And you’ll write an apology letter to the library staff,” Ana said. This time it wasn’t a suggestion.
I nodded. “I will. A good one. The best letter they’ve ever gotten.”
Ana laughed. “Don’t get carried away, Jane,” she said. “This doesn’t need to be some sweeping, dramatic tome. You just need to write a letter. A sincere one.”
“I’ll write the most sincere letter those librarians have ever read.”
Ana turned to my father. “Did you get in touch with Susan?”
Susan is my mom. Dad winced. “No. I tried to call this morning as soon as we got power, but I got her voicemail. I’ll try again,” Dad offered. He pulled out his cell phone and frowned. “Aaanny minute now.”
Ana kicked him with the steel toe of her boot. “Don’t be a coward, Emmett Brannen.” She shook her head and picked up the chain saw. “I better get back to work. Lots of trees are still down. See you two later.”
“Bye, Ana.” I waved, then climbed into the truck cab. I knew Dad was itching to get to the lab to check on his samples, but it would be a while before the roads were entirely cleared. Now if only cell phone service weren’t available . . .
He handed me his phone and raised one eyebrow.
“Fine.” I dialed Mom’s number as Dad pulled back onto the road. I hit the speaker button and the sound of her voicemail message filled the truck. Mom had a special I’m-so-cool-you-bore-me tone she used with her colleagues in the movie business. Her message sounded as if receiving a call was a huge imposition.
“This is Susan. Leave a message if you must.”
I looked at Dad. “Must I?” He chuckled under his breath.
I spoke after the beep. “Hi Mom. It’s Jane. Just trying again to reach you. Wanted to let you know that I’m perfectly fine. Really great. Call me back and we can . . . talk about how great I am.”
Okay. So that hadn’t come out exactly right. I ended the call and Dad snorted.
“How great are you?” he teased.
“I’m so great, even I want to be me,” I boasted.
“Oh yeah? Well, I’m so great, I’m jealous of myself.”
“Really?” I shot back. “I’m so great, I eat soup with chopsticks.”
Dad snorted. “I’m so great that when I cross the street, the cars look both ways.”
We both cracked up. They were all stupid Chuck Norris jokes that Dad had found on the Internet one rainy afternoon, but we never got tired of quoting them. We traded I’m so great lines right up until the moment we pulled up to our house.
And then we stopped laughing.
My mother was waiting in the driveway.