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AFTER A STOP AT HER house, where she’d packed quickly and flung a wadded heap of clothes onto the backseat, Maggie took off down the highway. The drive was calm, but the battle in her mind was colossal. She hated leaving her meteorology team in a crisis, especially heading into a storm she should be monitoring.
Fear engulfed her. Scars, pitted and deep in her heart, gashed open, raining tears down her cheeks, sending prickly shivers across her shoulders and down her arms.
Lord, give me strength. I have to make this trip.
Maggie took a deep gulp of air then blew it out. Trepidation gave way to resignation. What else could she do? She had to go. Cammie was injured. Their great aunt was too elderly to manage, and Dahlia too young to stay alone.
An hour into the trip, Maggie glanced in the rearview mirror to find a pickup truck on her tail.
Sorry, mister.
She accelerated to the speed limit. Yes, her speed had been erratic. Somewhere between mashing the gas pedal almost to the floor and barely coasting along Highway 49, wishing she could turn back north.
Growing up along the Mississippi Sound, she’d savored home, been proud to live in the area where those stately antebellum houses had stood facing the deceptively gentle Gulf waters. But she sickened at the thought of those lots that still stood vacant and deserted more than a decade after the storm. The sidewalks and steps that led to bare concrete slabs—empty foundations that used to be someone’s home or business. Memories flooded her mind. Streets and bridges, buckled and broken. Debris piled high in surreal mounds like something from a Salvador Dali painting. The stench of rotting meat swept out from the bellies of containers at the port competing with the smells of mildew, mold, and death.
Whole towns obliterated.
The seeming stability of her life, crushed like a fragile eggshell under the heel of a beast.
Maggie neared the cutoff toward Ocean Springs and stared at the cumulus clouds. Windy, but no evidence of the huge storm entering the Gulf. What must life have been like before modern prediction systems? How awful it must’ve been to have no warning before a storm hit. She’d read historical accounts of coastal areas being completely wiped out. Another shiver ran across her shoulders.
Palms slick, Maggie wound her way around the low-lying, flat streets of her historic hometown. Vibrant landscaping and trees with long overhanging branches nestled around the charming cottages. The gnarled limbs and trunks of the ancient live oaks had struggled to make their comeback since the deluge. So many of the beautiful trees had been lost in Katrina.
Katrina.
No matter how hard she tried to control herself, she always shuddered at the horror that name brought to mind. The damage and devastation of homes and lives—her home. Her father’s life.
She’d rarely returned since she’d finally made her getaway to Mississippi State University to earn her masters in meteorology. Knowledge and preparation provided security...safety. Her degree had been a place to dump all her froth of emotions and find a way to take a small measure of control. Too bad her sister hadn’t followed suit. Instead, beautiful Cammie had found comfort in the arms of a sweet-talking boy at Tulane. The sorry fellow left her high and dry once he found out about the baby. But Dahlia had been a joy and a blessing for them all. Named after their mother, the darling girl had eased the blow as Mama had battled breast cancer. A battle they’d lost three years ago.
The child owned a piece of Maggie’s heart, either despite the fact Dahlia looked like she could be her younger twin or because of it. Except, fortunately, the child hadn’t inherited the uncontrollable, curly mane.
“Okay, world, I’m back in Ocean Springs.” She parked her Acura in the drive of the old Greek revival home and steeled herself for what she was about to face.
When she stepped out of the car, a muggy gust of wind attacked, slapping her hair across her cheeks. She glanced up at the tottering trees’ creaky branches. Nice welcome. It figured.
Not much had changed at Aunt Ruth’s. White wooden panels, green shutters, and a black roof. Always the same, though it had all been remodeled a few times over the years. How the old home had weathered so many hurricanes didn’t compute. Especially when Mama and Daddy’s home a few blocks away had been ripped from its foundation and strewn in the piles of debris that stretched and littered the earth for miles in every direction.
The front door flew open, and Dahlia ran onto the wooden porch.
Poor baby. Maggie’s heart lurched, and she took quick steps toward her niece. The ten-year-old had grown taller and slimmer since their last visit a few months ago. Hair still hung straight like her mother’s. Luckily. And she was holding...a smaller child? Maggie blinked hard to confirm what she was seeing. Why would Dahlia have what looked to be a three-year-old boy?
“Hey, sweetie.” Maggie climbed the four steps to the porch and wrapped Dahlia in an embrace. “I’ve missed you. Who’s this?” Maggie studied the boy’s enormous blue eyes gazing up at her.
Oddly familiar blue eyes.
“His name’s J.D., and he’s getting heavy.” Dahlia held him toward Maggie, and his freckled cheeks spread in a tentative smile.
She scooped the child into her arms and onto her hip, studying him closer.
“That’s why I needed your help.” Dahlia coughed and wiped her dimpled cheeks, her eyes red from crying. “I should be able to stay by myself, even though Mama never lets me, but he’s a handful. Usually the three of us tag team, but when Mama...” Her niece’s voice quivered.
“Come on. Let’s go inside.” Maggie laced her free arm across Dahlia’s thin shoulders. “I’ll take care of everything.” Or die trying.
“What’s wrong with your hair?” J.D. grabbed a chunk of her curls into his fist. "It’s all bent up.”
The question she’d asked her entire life. “I inherited these unruly coils from my Cajun grandmother, Delphine Boudreaux.” Too bad she’d inherited her hips from Grandma Marovich. She followed Dahlia through the entrance hall into the living room, which was more like an antique store itself, and they took a seat on the red camelback couch. So many memories surrounded her. The Flow Blue china collection on every flat surface. Ornate gold frames displaying pictures of her and Cammie, more of Mom and Dad. She breathed in the smell of home and let it settle deep inside her chest, where it wound through shadows and emotions she’d bound up over a decade ago.
“What’s ’herited?” The boy’s voice reeled her back as he twirled her hair round and round on his index finger.
“It’s when you look like your mom or dad.”
His big eyes widened. “I look like Daddy.”
Talking to the boy was sweet, but she needed to get the scoop on her sister’s accident and take action. Maggie glanced at her niece. “Speaking of, where are J.D.’s parents, and what’s happened to your mom? Where’s Aunt Ruth? Why were you out of school so early?”
Tears welled up and leaked out onto Dahlia’s cheeks. “Mama checked me out of school to watch J.D.’s Thanksgiving play. She let us come back to the store with her afterward. We were doing a puzzle behind the counter while she went to the delivery entrance. A truck backed into Mama outside the store. An ambulance came, and Aunt Ruth sent me home so she could follow them in the car. I put the Closed sign in the window and walked here with J.D.”
Aunt Ruth drove? The eighty-five-year old couldn’t see a yacht in a baby pool. And she let Dahlia walk home with a three-year old? Ten wasn’t old enough to stay alone in the first place, despite Dahlia’s ideas to the contrary. Of course, her little family didn’t have anyone else nearby—all of their cousins lived in Louisiana. But a customer or friend might’ve helped. Aunt Ruth couldn’t have been thinking clearly.
Maggie sighed. At least the house was only two blocks from the store.
“What hospital? Have you heard anything?”
“Mama might need surgery on her back. I...I can’t remember...”
Cold fear rooted and took hold in Maggie’s chest. Back injuries could be serious. Would she be able to evacuate them all with Cammie injured? Another tug on her hair brought her gaze down to J.D. Who’d take care of this child? And why were they keeping him in the first place?
Maggie pasted on a calm expression. “Don’t worry. I’ll find her.” But Aunt Ruth must’ve had her phone on silent again. Maggie had tried to get her a dozen times since Dahlia first called. “What time does J.D. get picked up?”
“Not until Mr. Josh comes in from the ship.”
Josh?
J.D.
Not as in Joshua David Bergeron?
Maggie’s pulse throbbed in her ears as she stared at J.D. No wonder she recognized those eyes. They were the exact sky-blue color eyes of the boy she’d grown up with, fallen in love with...and tried to forget. The stubborn man had insisted on following in her father’s footsteps to become a river bar pilot, even after the storm. Nothing would change his mind. And she wouldn’t change her mind about being with someone she’d likely lose to the Gulf. She refused to relive that agony.
“How long have you been babysitting J.D.?” Cammie hadn’t bothered to mention this new development the last time they’d talked.
“Since they moved in next door...like six months ago. We keep him every two weeks. Mama was gonna tell you, but she kept putting it off. Aunt Ruth said she needed to hurry up.”
A rather huge omission. And next door? “Next door, as in they live in the house beside this one?”
“Duh, Aunt Maggie. That’s what next door is.”
Already a smart aleck at ten. She and her niece grew more and more alike.
But where was J.D.’s mother? And why wasn’t she keeping her own child? Maggie’s chest tightened. Now she’d be forced to call him. So maddening. They hadn’t spoken since their breakup. And she’d hoped to keep it that way.
First she’d check on Cammie, though. She stared at the little boy beside her.
Lord, help me if I have to see Josh. Seeing his child is tough enough.
Despite over a decade of trying to forget the man, Josh still haunted the vacant corners of her heart.
~~~
ONCE HE’D FINISHED the delivery of the ship and made it safely back to his own boat, Josh sank into a seat in the center of the passenger area and closed his eyes while his partner, Graham, piloted them back to base. The waves still rocked the smaller vessel, but not nearly as much as they had earlier in the day. He’d had a close call.
Thank you, Lord, for keeping me safe.
His hand slipped to his pocket, and he switched his phone back on. It chirped over and over. He stared at it. Cammie’s number. Tendrils of anxiety roped around his midsection. Was something wrong with J.D.? She rarely called him until the evenings when she let J.D. talk to him. Josh touched the contact number to call back.
“Hello, Josh.” The voice slammed him like a punch to his stomach. Not Cammie.
This tone was low and strong, yet sultry. The slight Cajun accent. Maggie. That voice that could gut him from miles away, even after all this time.
Words froze in his throat.
“Are you going to say anything?”
“Why do you have Cammie’s phone?”
“We’re in a crisis, and you need to get back here ASAP.”
Fear clawed at him now, shredding his composure. “Is J.D. okay? What’s happened?” His voice cracked.
“Your son is fine.” Her tone softened for half a second. “Cammie’s injured her vertebrae. Some delivery guy wasn’t paying attention and hit reverse instead of drive. Knocked into her hard.”
“Oh, Maggie. I’m sorry.” Though thankful J.D was safe, his stomach still sank. Maggie’s family had been through too much already. Lost so much already. His gaze traveled to the window, past the American flag whipping in the wind, to the gales rocking the murky water before them. Somewhere in the depths, her father had been buried.
“Yeah. Me, too.” A wistfulness carried over the distance, snagging his heart. “Is there someone else here who could pick up J.D.?”
Apparently she didn’t keep up with his personal life. Which, given the way his ex-wife had dumped him, maybe was best. It was embarrassing enough looking like a failure to the people who knew. “I’ll leave as soon as we reach Venice.” Too bad they weren’t already back.
“Really?” The sharpness returned. “They’ve still got y’all out in this wind? And there’s a hurricane entering the Gulf as we speak.”
“We’re fine, Maggie. That storm’s days away.” He could picture the fire in those chocolate eyes framed with the longest black lashes he’d ever seen, wild curls falling down her shoulders.
“Right.” A dramatic sigh crossed the airwaves. “So, a few hours?”
As fast as he could. Did the woman want him to jump ship and start swimming that way? He shook his head and held in the sarcasm. He wouldn’t dare say something like that to her. “Yes, ma’am. See you in a few. Promise.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Joshua Bergeron.”
Abruptly, the call ended. A lot like the way their relationship had ended years before.