Deadline

She went through the house collecting them. But they had to use them continually in order to keep the boys’ fear of the storm at bay. Soon the flashlights began to weaken and then to go out one by one.

“I’ve just used our last two batteries,” she confided to Stef. “We’ll need more before morning.”

“Maybe Bernie has some to spare.”

Amelia went to the window above the sink and looked out. “His house is completely dark. He’s probably sleeping.”

Hesitantly, Stef said, “We have another neighbor.”

Amelia looked toward Dawson’s house. “His piece-of-crap car isn’t there,” she muttered. With unreasonable annoyance, she asked, “Where could he be on a night like tonight?”

Stef offered to start gathering up candles.

She had to take their only remaining working flashlight with her, leaving Amelia and the boys huddled around the kitchen table in the dark. She suggested they see how many rounds of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” they could sing before Stef returned, but their voices faltered each time the kitchen was filled with a silvery flash of lightning and a cannon blast of thunder.

After several minutes, Stef returned to the kitchen with four tapers and three votives. Putting a match to a vanilla-scented candle, she said cheerfully, “It’ll start to smell good in here.”

With the candle lit, Amelia switched off the flashlight. Grant whimpered. “Turn it back on.”

“We need to save the batteries, sweetheart.”

He lay his cheek against her chest.

Hunter said, “He’s such a baby.”

“Hunter.”

“I’m not a baby!”

Amelia ran her hand over his hair. “Well, it’s bedtime anyway. After you close your eyes and go to sleep, you won’t even realize it’s dark. And when you wake up—”

“No!” he wailed. “I don’t want to go to bed without a light on.”

Amelia had hoped in vain for a miracle, but apparently she wasn’t going to get one. “I have to go to the village for batteries.”

But when she tried to get up, Grant began to cry and cling to her. “No, Mommy! Don’t leave.”

“It only makes sense that I go,” Stef said.

“It makes no sense at all. I’ve been driving on this island in storms for years. It can be tricky if you don’t know the road well. Sometimes it floods.”

“I’ve driven it enough times to become familiar. Besides, I don’t think our two boys here would let you out of their sight.” Amelia acknowledged the rationality of Stef’s going. Reluctantly she agreed.

Stef got her purse and Amelia’s car keys.

“While you’re there, get some nonperishable food items, too. We may not have a fridge and stove for a while. If lines are down, it takes a while to get repairmen out here. They restore service on the mainland first.”

“If you think of anything else, call me.” Then, checking her cell phone, Stef said. “If you can. Right now, I’m not getting a signal.”

* * *

A half hour passed, during which Amelia told every silly “Knock-Knock” joke she knew, and which the boys had already heard dozens of times. She told them the story of “The Three Little Pigs” and then devised a contest to see who could huff and puff the best. Neither of the boys got into the game.

After another thirty minutes, she called Stef’s phone. It went straight to voice mail.

The storm continued to rage without any sign of letting up. The boys grew increasingly anxious, in part because they sensed her own mounting nervousness. She was near her wit’s end by the time she heard the utility-room door burst open, bringing a gust of wind in with it.

“Thank God,” she breathed. “Stef?”