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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Survival / Success
- Subject: Current Events
- Published: 10/12/2022
The Eye of the Storm
Born 1966, F, from Sarasota/Florida, United StatesThe Eye of the Storm
By Lea Sheryn
Offshore, Hurricane Ian swirled up the gulf waters. Picking up speed, it inched closer to the Sarasota coastline. The small city hovered in expectation.
The wind whipped around the bungalow. Outside, fierce waves lapped against the bulkhead. Soon, they would breach the wall and creep toward the building.
Sam and Grace Wilmot regretted their decision to remain. They had never experienced a hurricane. Evacuation orders told them to seek refuge elsewhere. However, they stubbornly wished to stay where they were.
“What of it?” Sam questioned, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s just a little wind and rain. No problem.”
Grace gnawed at her lower lip, considering Sam’s decision-making statement. At the time, it felt as though wind and rain would not concern them. They were out-of-towners and did not comprehend the force of the wind or the driving rain.
Airbnb seemed like a good idea. The online advertisement showed a pretty little bungalow surrounded by a tropical landscape. A caged pool and a dock suited the couple's needs. They did not know September was the middle of hurricane season and the worst month for a storm.
For three years, Sam worked from home. At first, the coronavirus pandemic kept him under lockdown. Grace had to close her coffee shop just when her business began to boom. She kept track of the kids' online schooling and assisted with their homework. It dragged them down; they had to get away.
Finally, Grace spied the Airbnb on the internet. The outstandingly cheap price attracted her attention. Without consulting Sam, she grabbed it. When she told him, her husband swiftly agreed. A vacation suited him—he was tired of trying to work and entertain the kids.
Grace’s mother tried to talk them out of the trip. Reluctantly, Stella Merkel agreed to take care of her daughter’s three children. However, she had a premonition about a hurricane’s approach.
"You don't understand how fast these storms come up," Stella argued urgently. "Why don't you wait until March or April? Then you know you are safe."
In March or April, prices will soar, Grace tried to explain. Following the pandemic, they did not have the income they once enjoyed. Sam remained the only breadwinner in the family. She longed to reopen her café, but the money was unavailable.
"The Airbnb was super cheap, mom," Grace responded pleadingly. "We had to grab it while we could. You know how prices go up in Florida during the season."
“There are reasons why it’s super cheap in September,” Stella briskly countered.
Grace pouted, her upper lip protruding. She always felt her mother picked on her. Her father constantly supported her, but he passed away from covid early in the pandemic.
Sam and Grace kissed their three children goodbye and then departed. Three-year-old Mackenzie clung to her mother's leg. Stella had to pry the little girl's fingers away. The grandmother firmly held the child's hand as her parents approached the airport’s boarding gate.
The bungalow shook as a strong gust surrounded it. Terrified, Grace buried her head into Sam's chest. Wrapping his arm around his wife's trembling shoulders, he squeezed her. Outside, a tree rasped against the structure. Thwack, thwack, thwack. Another one hit the stucco wall. Grace’s spine stiffened.
Standing, Sam approached the window. He could not see outside. Obstructed by a hurricane shutter, the scene eluded him. In a way, he did not wish to observe the hurricane. However, he fixed his gaze on the boarded-up window and closed his eyes. A tear quivered on his sandy eyelash. He dashed it away before Grace noticed.
“We should have left,” Sam admitted, defeated.
They should not have lied to the landlord. When Mr. Stanley appeared to ask them to evacuate, the Wilmots pretended to comply. Their unpacked suitcases waited expectantly by the door. Everything indicated they were about to depart. However, they had no intention of leaving. The vacationing couple had nowhere to go.
"Where would we have gone?" Grace questioned. Perched on the sofa, she propped her elbows on her knees. Her quivering chin rested on her balled fists.
“Hotel, I guess.” Sam shrugged.
He did not know the area or what accommodations were available. If they’d left the Airbnb, they could have driven around for ages seeking refuge. Their rental SUV remained in the garage. The kayaks and the paddleboards they intended to use for recreation leaned on the wall beside it.
Sam's gaze rested upon his nervous wife. Depression hung heavily upon him, and he wished he had made better decisions. Her life was in his hands.
Thrump, something heavy landed on the roof. It lifted and thrumped again. Outside, the pool cage undulated beneath the whipping wind. Bay water rushed over the bulkhead. The dock detached and, captured by the rising tide, swept away. A coconut palm bent, touched the ground, and righted itself. Burying her head in her hands, Grace sobbed.
Sam sat on the couch and pulled her close, placing his arm across her shoulders. Muttering 'there, there,' he knew his words provided no comfort. He had to think of something to distract his wife.
“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word
Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird
And if that mockingbird won’t sing
Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.”
Sam sang the haunting lullaby. His soothing voice tempered the howling winds of the hurricane.
Grace raised her head, and a small smile played across her lips. When Montgomery, their eldest son, couldn't sleep, she often sang ‘Mockingbird’ to him. The lullaby was the only thing that settled him after a night fright. In a whisper, she picked up the refrain.
The young couple’s voices gathered strength and rose above the wicked wind. Before long, they were shouting to drive away the hurricane.
When the stucco house shook, they abruptly stopped singing. Grace's blue eyes flew wide open. Sam bowed his head. Together they clung until the one-hundred-mile-an-hour gusts ceased. Immediate silence prevailed for several minutes.
"Is it over?" Grace finally asked. The eerie stillness pervaded the living room. Slowly, time ticked past.
“Looks like it,” Sam decided, strolling to the door. He grasped the handle and his smartphone buzzed. Releasing his grip, he checked his screen.
!!EMERGENCY!!
REMAIN INSIDE DO NOT GO OUT
CROUCH IN A WINDOWLESS ROOM
THE EYE OF THE STORM IS PASSING
SHELTER IN PLACE UNTIL OTHERWISE ADVISED
“Ooooh wah,” Grace sobbed, peering over Sam’s shoulder at the screen.
“The bedroom closet, quickly,” Sam briskly ordered. Dragging his petrified wife, he led her into the master suite and pushed her into the walk-in closet.
Grace's knees buckled, and she sank to the floor. Sam squatted beside her. As one, they wrapped themselves around each other.
“Oh, my babies,” Grace cried, thinking of leaving her children motherless. “We’re going to die, Sam. Our babies…”
"We're not going to die," Sam snapped fiercely. He had not intended to speak gruffly. "Get a grip on yourself, Grace."
"My mother…she'll raise them," Grace stammered, her control broken. "Mom…she warned us…she told us so… Oh, dear God, we're going to die." Not a religious person, she still invoked God's name in her rambling.
"We're not going to die," Sam spoke in a calmer tone. He repeated his statement in a whisper.
"I have to call mom," Grace decided, snatching the smartphone. "McIntrye needs his insulin. She must make sure he gets it.”
“Your mom knows about Mack’s insulin,” Sam chastised, removing the phone from his wife’s hand. “She’s got it, Gracie. Let’s worry about us, not them. They’re safe; we’re not.”
“Does Kenzie have her teddy?” Grace fretted anxiously. "She's lost without Mr. Bearskins." Thinking about her children deflected her fears about the hurricane. She realized Sam did not understand.
"Look, Monte's ok, Mack has his insulin, and Kenzie has Mr. Bearskin," her husband remarked impatiently.
The Wilmots continued to crouch in the closet. Silence prevailed inside and out. Grace sobbed, and Sam stared at the clothes rail containing the few outfits they had hung up. It seemed they waited an eternity.
"It's over, Sam," Grace finally stated. Rising, she grasped the door handle and stepped into the bedroom. Sam followed her.
Confidently, Grace strolled toward the front door. She swung it open and began to step outside. The wind howled. The fierce squall grabbed the vulnerable door, slammed it against the outside wall, and back into Grace's face. A firm grip on her shoulders pulled her inside. Sam yanked the door closed and bolted it.
Grace's furious scream overpowered the fierce wind. Covering her face, she leaned into Sam's broad chest. He lifted her and carried her back to the closet. They squatted on the plush carpet.
Inadvertently, Grace howled along with the wind. Rocking her toes and heels back and forth, she sobbed. Sam steadied her with loving arms. Gently, he kissed her forehead and whispered words of endearment.
Hour upon hour, the Wilmots squatted. Neither moved.
The wind continued to shriek; the rain beat upon the roof above them. Then, suddenly, silence.
“Listen,” Sam whispered, gesturing toward the ceiling.
Grace stared at her husband questioningly. A minute passed, then two, then three. Unexpectantly, she realized what the new silence meant.
“It’s over,” she mouthed, her voice gone.
Sam nodded vigorously.
“It’s over!” Grace shouted, leaping to her feet. “It’s over!”
Tentatively, the couple stepped out of the sheltering closet. The eerie stillness surrounded them. Then, sunshine filtered through the bedroom window, brightening the scene. Grace grasped Sam’s arm and pointed. He smiled broadly and stepped into the sunbeam.
A door creaked open somewhere in the house. Stealthy footsteps crept along the tiled floor. Grace's eyes flew wide open.
“Someone’s here,” she whispered, petrified again.
Together, the couple waited. A silhouette framed the bedroom doorway. Then, Mr. Stanley stepped into the room.
“So, you rode out the storm,” the Airbnb landlord chortled. “Quite an experience, huh?”
“Ye-yes, quite,” Grace responded, attempting to compose herself.
“It’s a vacation we won’t soon forget,” Sam put in.
“Next time, we’ll wait until spring,” Grace remarked, suddenly agreeing with her mother’s advice.
"I'm sure you can stay until the planes are flying again," Stanley offered amiably. "Or perhaps you can drive out if you'd rather."
“We’ll drive out,” Grace stated without consulting Sam.
"Thought you might decide that," the landlord conceded sympathetically.
Mr. Stanley waited in his truck while the young couple gathered their belongings. Within an hour, the rented SUV backed out of the garage. Grace and Sam Wilmot headed north.
The following spring, they returned to Sarasota and Mr. Stanley's Airbnb. Montgomery, McIntyre, and Mackenzie accompanied them with a new brother named Ian.
The Eye of the Storm(Lea Sheryn)
The Eye of the Storm
By Lea Sheryn
Offshore, Hurricane Ian swirled up the gulf waters. Picking up speed, it inched closer to the Sarasota coastline. The small city hovered in expectation.
The wind whipped around the bungalow. Outside, fierce waves lapped against the bulkhead. Soon, they would breach the wall and creep toward the building.
Sam and Grace Wilmot regretted their decision to remain. They had never experienced a hurricane. Evacuation orders told them to seek refuge elsewhere. However, they stubbornly wished to stay where they were.
“What of it?” Sam questioned, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s just a little wind and rain. No problem.”
Grace gnawed at her lower lip, considering Sam’s decision-making statement. At the time, it felt as though wind and rain would not concern them. They were out-of-towners and did not comprehend the force of the wind or the driving rain.
Airbnb seemed like a good idea. The online advertisement showed a pretty little bungalow surrounded by a tropical landscape. A caged pool and a dock suited the couple's needs. They did not know September was the middle of hurricane season and the worst month for a storm.
For three years, Sam worked from home. At first, the coronavirus pandemic kept him under lockdown. Grace had to close her coffee shop just when her business began to boom. She kept track of the kids' online schooling and assisted with their homework. It dragged them down; they had to get away.
Finally, Grace spied the Airbnb on the internet. The outstandingly cheap price attracted her attention. Without consulting Sam, she grabbed it. When she told him, her husband swiftly agreed. A vacation suited him—he was tired of trying to work and entertain the kids.
Grace’s mother tried to talk them out of the trip. Reluctantly, Stella Merkel agreed to take care of her daughter’s three children. However, she had a premonition about a hurricane’s approach.
"You don't understand how fast these storms come up," Stella argued urgently. "Why don't you wait until March or April? Then you know you are safe."
In March or April, prices will soar, Grace tried to explain. Following the pandemic, they did not have the income they once enjoyed. Sam remained the only breadwinner in the family. She longed to reopen her café, but the money was unavailable.
"The Airbnb was super cheap, mom," Grace responded pleadingly. "We had to grab it while we could. You know how prices go up in Florida during the season."
“There are reasons why it’s super cheap in September,” Stella briskly countered.
Grace pouted, her upper lip protruding. She always felt her mother picked on her. Her father constantly supported her, but he passed away from covid early in the pandemic.
Sam and Grace kissed their three children goodbye and then departed. Three-year-old Mackenzie clung to her mother's leg. Stella had to pry the little girl's fingers away. The grandmother firmly held the child's hand as her parents approached the airport’s boarding gate.
The bungalow shook as a strong gust surrounded it. Terrified, Grace buried her head into Sam's chest. Wrapping his arm around his wife's trembling shoulders, he squeezed her. Outside, a tree rasped against the structure. Thwack, thwack, thwack. Another one hit the stucco wall. Grace’s spine stiffened.
Standing, Sam approached the window. He could not see outside. Obstructed by a hurricane shutter, the scene eluded him. In a way, he did not wish to observe the hurricane. However, he fixed his gaze on the boarded-up window and closed his eyes. A tear quivered on his sandy eyelash. He dashed it away before Grace noticed.
“We should have left,” Sam admitted, defeated.
They should not have lied to the landlord. When Mr. Stanley appeared to ask them to evacuate, the Wilmots pretended to comply. Their unpacked suitcases waited expectantly by the door. Everything indicated they were about to depart. However, they had no intention of leaving. The vacationing couple had nowhere to go.
"Where would we have gone?" Grace questioned. Perched on the sofa, she propped her elbows on her knees. Her quivering chin rested on her balled fists.
“Hotel, I guess.” Sam shrugged.
He did not know the area or what accommodations were available. If they’d left the Airbnb, they could have driven around for ages seeking refuge. Their rental SUV remained in the garage. The kayaks and the paddleboards they intended to use for recreation leaned on the wall beside it.
Sam's gaze rested upon his nervous wife. Depression hung heavily upon him, and he wished he had made better decisions. Her life was in his hands.
Thrump, something heavy landed on the roof. It lifted and thrumped again. Outside, the pool cage undulated beneath the whipping wind. Bay water rushed over the bulkhead. The dock detached and, captured by the rising tide, swept away. A coconut palm bent, touched the ground, and righted itself. Burying her head in her hands, Grace sobbed.
Sam sat on the couch and pulled her close, placing his arm across her shoulders. Muttering 'there, there,' he knew his words provided no comfort. He had to think of something to distract his wife.
“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word
Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird
And if that mockingbird won’t sing
Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.”
Sam sang the haunting lullaby. His soothing voice tempered the howling winds of the hurricane.
Grace raised her head, and a small smile played across her lips. When Montgomery, their eldest son, couldn't sleep, she often sang ‘Mockingbird’ to him. The lullaby was the only thing that settled him after a night fright. In a whisper, she picked up the refrain.
The young couple’s voices gathered strength and rose above the wicked wind. Before long, they were shouting to drive away the hurricane.
When the stucco house shook, they abruptly stopped singing. Grace's blue eyes flew wide open. Sam bowed his head. Together they clung until the one-hundred-mile-an-hour gusts ceased. Immediate silence prevailed for several minutes.
"Is it over?" Grace finally asked. The eerie stillness pervaded the living room. Slowly, time ticked past.
“Looks like it,” Sam decided, strolling to the door. He grasped the handle and his smartphone buzzed. Releasing his grip, he checked his screen.
!!EMERGENCY!!
REMAIN INSIDE DO NOT GO OUT
CROUCH IN A WINDOWLESS ROOM
THE EYE OF THE STORM IS PASSING
SHELTER IN PLACE UNTIL OTHERWISE ADVISED
“Ooooh wah,” Grace sobbed, peering over Sam’s shoulder at the screen.
“The bedroom closet, quickly,” Sam briskly ordered. Dragging his petrified wife, he led her into the master suite and pushed her into the walk-in closet.
Grace's knees buckled, and she sank to the floor. Sam squatted beside her. As one, they wrapped themselves around each other.
“Oh, my babies,” Grace cried, thinking of leaving her children motherless. “We’re going to die, Sam. Our babies…”
"We're not going to die," Sam snapped fiercely. He had not intended to speak gruffly. "Get a grip on yourself, Grace."
"My mother…she'll raise them," Grace stammered, her control broken. "Mom…she warned us…she told us so… Oh, dear God, we're going to die." Not a religious person, she still invoked God's name in her rambling.
"We're not going to die," Sam spoke in a calmer tone. He repeated his statement in a whisper.
"I have to call mom," Grace decided, snatching the smartphone. "McIntrye needs his insulin. She must make sure he gets it.”
“Your mom knows about Mack’s insulin,” Sam chastised, removing the phone from his wife’s hand. “She’s got it, Gracie. Let’s worry about us, not them. They’re safe; we’re not.”
“Does Kenzie have her teddy?” Grace fretted anxiously. "She's lost without Mr. Bearskins." Thinking about her children deflected her fears about the hurricane. She realized Sam did not understand.
"Look, Monte's ok, Mack has his insulin, and Kenzie has Mr. Bearskin," her husband remarked impatiently.
The Wilmots continued to crouch in the closet. Silence prevailed inside and out. Grace sobbed, and Sam stared at the clothes rail containing the few outfits they had hung up. It seemed they waited an eternity.
"It's over, Sam," Grace finally stated. Rising, she grasped the door handle and stepped into the bedroom. Sam followed her.
Confidently, Grace strolled toward the front door. She swung it open and began to step outside. The wind howled. The fierce squall grabbed the vulnerable door, slammed it against the outside wall, and back into Grace's face. A firm grip on her shoulders pulled her inside. Sam yanked the door closed and bolted it.
Grace's furious scream overpowered the fierce wind. Covering her face, she leaned into Sam's broad chest. He lifted her and carried her back to the closet. They squatted on the plush carpet.
Inadvertently, Grace howled along with the wind. Rocking her toes and heels back and forth, she sobbed. Sam steadied her with loving arms. Gently, he kissed her forehead and whispered words of endearment.
Hour upon hour, the Wilmots squatted. Neither moved.
The wind continued to shriek; the rain beat upon the roof above them. Then, suddenly, silence.
“Listen,” Sam whispered, gesturing toward the ceiling.
Grace stared at her husband questioningly. A minute passed, then two, then three. Unexpectantly, she realized what the new silence meant.
“It’s over,” she mouthed, her voice gone.
Sam nodded vigorously.
“It’s over!” Grace shouted, leaping to her feet. “It’s over!”
Tentatively, the couple stepped out of the sheltering closet. The eerie stillness surrounded them. Then, sunshine filtered through the bedroom window, brightening the scene. Grace grasped Sam’s arm and pointed. He smiled broadly and stepped into the sunbeam.
A door creaked open somewhere in the house. Stealthy footsteps crept along the tiled floor. Grace's eyes flew wide open.
“Someone’s here,” she whispered, petrified again.
Together, the couple waited. A silhouette framed the bedroom doorway. Then, Mr. Stanley stepped into the room.
“So, you rode out the storm,” the Airbnb landlord chortled. “Quite an experience, huh?”
“Ye-yes, quite,” Grace responded, attempting to compose herself.
“It’s a vacation we won’t soon forget,” Sam put in.
“Next time, we’ll wait until spring,” Grace remarked, suddenly agreeing with her mother’s advice.
"I'm sure you can stay until the planes are flying again," Stanley offered amiably. "Or perhaps you can drive out if you'd rather."
“We’ll drive out,” Grace stated without consulting Sam.
"Thought you might decide that," the landlord conceded sympathetically.
Mr. Stanley waited in his truck while the young couple gathered their belongings. Within an hour, the rented SUV backed out of the garage. Grace and Sam Wilmot headed north.
The following spring, they returned to Sarasota and Mr. Stanley's Airbnb. Montgomery, McIntyre, and Mackenzie accompanied them with a new brother named Ian.
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Lillian Kazmierczak
10/13/2022That was an eerie read. I can't imagine riding out a hurricane in a closet! What great suspense you built. Congratulations on short story star of the day!
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Shelly Garrod
10/13/2022Your story brings the reality of a powerful storm to light. The family all survived. Loved the idea that their son was named Ian. Great story Lea.
Shelly
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Martha Hume
10/12/2022Thank you for sharing your talent and story with us I love your story about Ian.
Reply
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