That was it. Lin pulled his belt out of his trousers, brandished the leather strap, and taught Covey a lesson. Or so he hoped. Covey was fearless. And a fearless girl, without a mother or husband to keep her in check, was a dangerous thing.
Storm
In September 1963, the crew of a jetliner flying from Portugal to Surinam noticed an area of significant disturbance off the west coast of Africa. This was followed by reports from ships traveling east of the Lesser Antilles. By the time the first advisory for Hurricane Flora was issued to the general public, the storm was moving in on Trinidad and Tobago and beginning its deadly march up through the Caribbean.
Back then, no one in Covey’s town knew that a hurricane was coming until it was almost fully upon them, though islanders knew that this was the season for big storms. Merely being sideswiped by a tropical storm was enough to destroy crops, knock out communications, and claim lives.
On Saturday, October 5, 1963, three teenagers were swimming across Long Bay, while two others followed them in a small boat. None of them wanted to admit to the others how worried they were. The tropical storm had come in faster than they’d expected and the boat had already capsized once.
Two miles inland, Lin was herding chickens into the garage. The chicken coop was already buckling in the wind and Covey was nowhere to be seen. The schools were closed and the roads were filling with muddy water. Lin had told the girl to get back from Bunny’s house by lunchtime. The phone rang. It was Bunny’s father, Leonard.
“Lin, we have too much water up our way. Could you drive Bunny to the halfway corner? I’ll come and get her on foot.”
“Bunny?” Lin said. “Bunny isn’t here. She’s not at home?”
“No. I thought she and Covey were with you,” Leonard said.
“Oh, shit.”
“Oh, Christ Almighty.”
Lin picked up Leonard at the halfway corner and they headed toward the shore. Thankfully, most roads were empty. Stores and such had been shut in anticipation of the storm, but the flooding slowed them down.
“What if they’re not there?” Lin said, as they pulled parallel to the sand.
“Where else would they be?” Leonard said. “That daughter of yours…”
“Daughter of mine? What about Bunny?”
“Bunny goes where Covey goes. You know the influence Covey has over her.”
Lin kept his mouth shut. There were things that one father avoided saying to another, things that could ruin a friendship.
Lin spotted a cooler and shoes on the sand, clothes of various colors blowing about. He and Leonard ran down to the water, already soaked to the skin. Lin peered through sheets of rain and saw a canoe being buffeted by the waves. Three swimmers were in the water ahead of the boat, flicking their arms through the spray. He recognized Covey’s yellow swim cap.
Lin switched on his torch and signaled to the group. There was nothing else that Lin could do at this point, just hold his breath. This was the worst trick that nature could play on you, really, to make you a father, to fill your chest with that kind of fear for a child. He and Leonard shouted as a high wave capsized the boat and scattered everyone.
After the wave retreated, Lin counted five heads. There was Covey, with her yellow cap, trying to grab hold of the canoe. They had almost reached the shore but if they didn’t move fast, the next big wave would turn that boat into a missile.
Thank goodness she was a powerful girl, that Covey. The sight of his daughter’s legs emerging from the water filled Lin with pride and a sense of relief so strong it stung his eyes and nose. Then came the fury. At sixteen, Covey was already as tall as he was but Lin grabbed her by the arm like a pickney and pulled her toward the car.
“Go on, get in,” Lin said. He looked over his shoulder at the Grant boy, the oldest of the group. Way too handsome for his own good.
“You, Gibbs Grant,” Lin said, “you should know better.”
“Yes, sir,” Gibbs said, and lowered his head. The way Covey was looking at that boy made Lin’s stomach burn.
“Yes, sir?” Lin said. “Yes, sir? That is all you have to say for yourself? You are the eldest one here, you should have taken responsibility.”
“No, Pa,” Covey shouted, “I was the one who said we should come here.”
“You, young lady, be quiet.”
Gibbs looked over at Covey, then back at Lin, head high. “You are right, Mister Lin, I take full responsibility.” And in that instant, Lin saw it all, in the set of Gibbs’s neck and shoulders, in the gleam of his large eyes, saw everything that a boy like this could become to his daughter. Bloody hell, he thought.