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as the pungent nectar of morning perks nearby. Some fresh strawberries are waiting in a bowl. I don’t know if they are for us or not, but I help myself.
    I wait for the brewing to finish and for Mom to take in the requisite amount of coffee before I bring up the obvious. “We need to get on the road this morning.”
    Mom is drumming her fingernails on her cup. Ching, ching, chang. Chang-chang. Ching-ching-ching. That’s not a good sign. “She won’t listen. She’s being ridiculous. It’s insanity.” Mom squints toward the back window. I gather that Mrs. Insanity has indeed gotten up early and escaped for her walk. “And I’m not the only one who thinks so either. That woman who owns the ice cream stand down the road, that Teresa person , she agrees with me. Not only was she sending her own elderly mother to the mainland to stay with relatives, she agrees that Sandra Kay is in no shape to be riding out a storm here, and especially not by herself.” She’s calling my aunt by first and middle name this morning, adding a parental tone to the battle. She is Big Sister Sharon now, and big sister knows best.
    “Well, she’s done it before. They’ve been here for years, Mom. Surely she knows what she’s getting into.” I’d noticed my mother canvassing the crowd at the hurricane party, soliciting opinions, support, or information—or all three. She pulled Teresa aside again yesterday, when Teresa stopped by the Shell Shop to check on us. We were out back, packing up supplies in the glassmaking shop. Aunt Sandy was sweating like crazy, despite the fact that the day was seasonably cool.
    On the one hand, I realize that what my mother has been doing, she’s been doing with the best intentions. Mom is not a mean person. She’s worried about her sister. On the other hand, I hate it when she does this to me. And I’m not unaware that in these months since her retirement, she has been nosing around in my life.
    “Mom, I think you’re just going to have to let this . . .”
    Her glare could fry an egg at thirty paces. “They all agree with me, Elizabeth. Every one of them I talk to. But especially Teresa. She knows the most because she’s the one going to the doctor appointments with Sandy.”
    An uncomfortable wrinkle in the universe travels my way. “What doctor appointments?”
    My mother lifts the index finger that says, I’m right, and you’d better listen. “Oh, you don’t know the half of it. And neither does George because Sandy’s been keeping secrets from him since not too long after they went through the last hurricane. She doesn’t want him having to worry about it, considering all the trouble he’s having with his mother and her dementia and the nursing home back in Michigan.”
    “But what’s going on with Aunt Sandy?”
    “Diabetes that’s out of control. She won’t take her medicine. And near blackouts behind the wheel of her car. Eating things she’s not supposed to. She refuses to monitor her diet. And if anyone tries to tell her what she should do, she makes excuses. She says there’s been too much going on since the last hurricane, and she doesn’t have time for the adjustment to the medicine. It makes her sick and takes away all her energy, so after just one week of trying it, she went off the stuff. She says she’s been making it okay all these years—she’ll be fine until things settle down and she has time to be sick . Can you believe that? Can you believe the ridiculous stubbornness?”
    Oh yes, I can. I’m looking at the mirror image. Different hair. Same personality. These women run the world, or else.
    I take a sip of coffee, savor the taste on my tongue, try to come up with a solution that doesn’t include throwing a gunnysack over my aunt’s head and tossing her into the trunk of the car.
    “Well, maybe when we get back home, we can—” I don’t even get talk to Uncle George out of my mouth.
    “I’m staying.”
    The hammer drops, and I hear it ringing