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in her arms moments before the photo was taken. How young we all were then! Young and hopeful. Dad still himself, in spite of his frustrating memory lapses, and Mom still strong and proud—always wanting the best for all of us. My Farrah Fawcett hairstyle, newly acquired at the only beauty salon in Hatteras, curling around my beaming face.
    In the right background of the photo, Leigh noticed the lower part of someone’s jean-clad leg. Spencer’s, she realized. Of course, he’d crashed the ceremony. She recalled the disapproving looks from the teachers and dignitaries—people who’d had enough of Spencer McKay’s shenanigans.
    Leigh closed the album. All water under the bridge now, as the saying went. It was long past midnight and she was exhausted. She pushed the albums under the bed with her feet and felt them bump against something. She reached over and raised the edge of the mattress sham. The object appeared to be a small. leather suitcase. She had to use the handle of the broom she’d been cleaning up with to slide it toward her.
    Leigh couldn’t recall ever seeing the suitcase before. It was worn, decorated with faded travel stickers partially peeled away. She clicked open the brass fittings and found the case stuffed with a stack of papers, notebooks and receipt books. Also something wrapped in tissue paper. She raised one corner to expose part of a knitted baby sweater. Well, no buried treasure here. She closed the suitcase, pushed it back under the bed and decided to call it a night.

CHAPTER THREE
    L EIGH SHOT UP, gasping for air. Her nightie clung damply to her. For a terrifying moment she thought she was underwater, then the blackness abated and she could see the pale folds of curtain rustling in the faint night breeze. Her bedroom. Home.
    She lay back against the headboard, forcing long slow inhalations of breath to calm muscles and nerves. She hadn’t had the dream in years—not since the weeks following prom night. But her mother had coached her well, calmly teaching her the strategies needed to battle the terrors that haunted her nights.
    Amazing, she thought, how vivid the dream still was after all this time. Even after awakening, she could see the faces of the gang etched spookily against the arc of their flashlights as they’d stood in a semicircle around her. There were seven of them in all, half the graduating class from Ocracoke School. When the prom had wrapped up, they’d changed clothes and sneaked into two boats for a midnight picnic on deserted Portsmouth Island, two miles from Silver Lake Harbor in the middle of Ocracoke Sound. A storm had come up while they’d partied.
    “You’re crazy,” Jeff had muttered at her suggestion they wait out the storm on Portsmouth. All night, if necessary.
    But Leigh had persisted, knowing that because the others had consumed a case of beer, hers was the only voice of reason. “The wind is too strong. You know what the Sound can be like in a storm. Look! You can hardly see the lighthouse at Silver Lake.”
    They’d all turned as one to follow her pointing hand. A pinprick of light flickered in the darkness across Ocracoke Sound.
    But after a moment Laura had whined, “I’m not staying here all night. This place is creepy, with all those empty houses and shacks. There’re probably rats in them—or even worse!”
    Her outburst had clenched the argument. “So we’re going back, right?” Jeff had said, turning to face the others. They’d all agreed.
    When they were finally under way, the small aluminum craft Leigh had shared with Laura, Jeff and Tony following the other boat, Leigh had rummaged frantically for the life jackets, recalling too late how they’d taken them ashore for cushions. She’d dropped her face into her hands and hadn’t looked up again until she’d heard Laura’s scream. The biggest wave she’d ever seen was heading directly for them....
    Leigh brought the edge of the sheet up to wipe her face and neck, already feeling