Today's Reading
PROLOGUE
NOVEMBER 2005
SWAN QUARTER, NORTH CAROLINA
The old woman observed the young boy kicked back in the adjacent recliner, his face practically glued to that tiny screen, as it had been since his visit began. Not that she blamed him. What fifteen-year-old wanted to spend an entire Saturday stuck in an assisted living apartment with a couple of old ladies for company?
"Listen here, boy, put down that Game Boy and I'll tell you something you'll never forget."
He looked up at her, grinning. "Aw, this isn't a Game Boy. It's my new Nintendo DS, and I'm this close to beating the boss on my game." He held up two fingers, pinching at the air.
"Maybe I oughta get me one of them things. Since I can't get around on these old legs like I used to, I get bored sitting around here."
He smiled and shook his head, continuing with his game.
She glanced up at the sound of pots and pans banging in the kitchen. "What's your gramma up to?"
"Making supper for us, I think."
"Good. That means we've got plenty of time before she comes nosin' in.
Now put that thing down like I said and scooch closer so I can tell you something." She lowered her voice. "Something nary a soul knows except me. It's time I passed these stories down before I'm good and gone. And I've chosen you." She mined her memories for just the right tale. It'd have to be a good one to compete with a kid stuck on video games.
He gave one last baleful look at the device before setting it on the table beside him. He scooted his chair closer to hers and adjusted the blanket that had slipped off her foot before sitting back down. Sweet boy.
"It was a dark and stormy night," she began.
He groaned, looking back toward the game waiting on the side table. "A dark and stormy night? Really?"
She chuckled. "I'm not being funny. It really 'was' a dark and stormy night. Way back in 1941. Now listen close, Peter, and I'll tell you how the legend of Saint-Mae was born."
She closed her eyes, concentrating on recounting the tale.
Fifteen-year-old Cathleen tied off her skiff. Adrenaline coursed through her body like the spidery tendrils of lightning dashing across the sky. The wind whipped about her head, unfurling her sodden scarf, sending it airborne until it settled somewhere over the seething Atlantic.
Hunched against the slanting rain, she jogged past her faithful light. A light that had guided her to the foolish drunk clinging to a vessel not seaworthy in even the fairest weather. A man who likely didn't merit Cathleen risking her life over. But duty had called. No matter who was at the mercy of the unpredictable currents of the Outer Banks.
She opened her eyes a tiny slit. The boy leaned in close, eyes locked on her. She had him hook, line, and sinker now.
Cathleen entered the squat stone cottage where she lived, boots squelching on the stone floor. She sidled up to the fire and added enough wood to coax the embers back to life, then she stripped out of her sodden clothes and wrapped a wool blanket around her shoulders.
She winced. Oops. That was probably more detail than a fifteen-year-old boy needed to hear about a fifteen-year-old girl. She continued, more mindful of the particulars she shared.
"Cathy?" Her father's voice cut through the silence. Rolling thunder sounded on its heels.
Cathleen cringed. "Yes, Da?"
"Everythin' all right? Why are you up, lass?"
"Just checking the light," she called and then pulled the scratchy wool tighter around her, sending up a silent prayer that he''d accept her answer and go back to sleep. She inched closer to the fire, aching for the heat to reach her bones. Moments later her father''s snores once again echoed through the room, and the tension she carried between her shoulder blades released.
He was having a good night.
...
