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incredibly dry right now.” She held up a strand of wet hair for him to inspect. “Fortunately, I don’t melt. Do you?”
    “I work the flats. Let’s go.” With that, Rid flung open his door. He’d made it almost around the truck as Caroline was still getting out of her side and he grabbed her elbow and tried to slam her door hard, as he had his, but the wind fought him for it until he used two hands and the weight of his body to lever it. He shouldered a half-step ahead of her into open beach and hammering rain. Sometimes the wind pinned them in place or lurched them backward. Rid grabbed her hand as they pressed on, heads down. Once he jerked her sharply to the side to avoid a long chunk of driftwood. Flocks of debris had taken to the air, as beach grass flattened under the torrent. Rid tripped. “Watch it,” he yelled as he caught his balance. The umbrella of pines and hardwoods only slightly dulled the density of the rain once they crossed the lane, where Caroline splashed calf deep into a dirt pothole, another spill of water into one of Eleanor’s boots, and were on the brief pine straw path. The darkness was primal, the edges of the house utterly obscured. Caroline pitched forward when she miscalculated where the first step should be, her feet slogging in waterlogged shoes inside waterlogged boots. She dumped both on the front porch.
    Inside, they were both gasping. “Whooie,” Rid said. “Nasty night.”
    Caroline felt for furniture edges and walls, making her way to the corner cabinet drawer handle, her feet cold in wet socks. Yes. Still there, a supply of candles and matches. There were flashlights in the emergency box in the basement, and a Coleman stove and lantern, but she wanted the candles. She struck a match and used its small circle of amber light to find a wick that in turn made a bigger circle. “Hold this.” She handed the first candle to Rid while she used its light to gather up holders. She took back the lit candle and used it to light five more, finally setting up the one she held and distributing them about the room. Self-conscious, she tried to finger-fluff her hair, but it was too wet. She imagined it, drab and flat, and was glad for the darkness. She shivered and clung briefly to her own elbows, feeling gangly and uncomfortable in her skin and clothes.
    “I gotta get out of these,” Rid said. He unhooked the suspenders of his waders and peeled them down, stepping out of them. “I’m sorry about the mess,” he said, pointing with his head toward the wet spots around him.
    “Forget it. I did at least as much damage as you. Wet floors are the least of our problems.”
    “Hmmm. What’s the most of them?”
    Caroline opened the refrigerator door. “Food. Everything I’ve got is, um, let’s see…applesauce…ice cream…mashed potatoes…you’ll love the contents of my refrigerator if you’re a hospice patient. Ah ha. Now we’re making some progress.” She pulled out a block of cheddar cheese. “I can’t believe we don’t have any oysters. How derelict of you!” She closed the refrigerator and started opening cupboards. “But look! Hospice comes through again—saltines. And the true bonanza , which I can’t say is hospice fare, but actually caregiver fare.” She lifted a bottle of cabernet sauvignon over her head triumphantly. “This stuff may have been here since 1980, but hey, it all improves with age, right?”
    “Of course. Like the lady.”
    “You sweet talker you.”
    Caroline handed him the bottle and an opener. “You may do the honors, sir. I’ll fix us emergency rations.”
    “You got it, sweetheart.” It was a bad imitation of some movie star she couldn’t identify, but Caroline smiled. “Not only that, I’ll get a fire going. Where’s your wood?”
    “Ah, well. Didn’t get around to that yet.”
    Rid shrugged. “I guess you haven’t been back that long. Sure your Mom doesn’t have any?”
    “No wood. We can set the couch on fire if you want.