Because the rougarou is on the prowl.
Then he’s gone.
When I turn to head inside, I think maybe I catch a flash of movement in Evie’s darkened bedroom window. I freeze and watch for a few seconds, but nothing moves again behind the glass. So maybe I imagined it.
In the kitchen, Honey has left the radio on and Sweet-N-Low is listening to the weather. Hurricane Elizabeth is still strengthening. Winds up to 145 miles an hour now. Category 4.
A killer storm.
The eye is three hundred miles south of us, and she’s cutting a path due north. Straight toward the mouth of the Mississippi River.
La Cachette is going to take a direct hit. No one here is safe. Not in the hiding place.
Truth is, none of us ever have been.
When morning comes, Honey gets the boat ready, and the two of us make a dozen trips between the house and the dock, loading up things she can’t stand to leave behind.
Each time I step outside, I’m trying not to look at those big black barrels.
Especially the one in the middle.
Instead, I focus on that latest flash of Elora, and I try to work out if those are Zale’s arms carrying her though the storm. I wish I could see his face. Or even feel that tingle.
So I’d know.
For sure.
Because I still don’t want it to be true.
“Have you seen Evie this morning?” Honey stops me on a trip back inside, and I shake my head.
“Why?”
“Bernadette says they’ve been looking for her for a while.”
Honey frowns. “Can’t imagine where she’s got off to, today of all days.” She shakes her head and tells me not to worry. “I’m sure she’ll turn up.”
But I can feel it. Something’s not right.
The National Hurricane Center says we’re less than thirty-six hours from landfall. As of this morning, all of coastal Louisiana is under a mandatory evacuation order, so the rest of the morning is one long goodbye.
Sera.
Sander.
Mackey.
We stand on the dock and cling to each other. Fret about Evie. Cry. Start to leave. Then stop and do it all over again.
Sera pulls me close to whisper in my ear. “Get the hell away from here and be happy, Grey. That’s what Elora wanted for you. That’s how you do right by her. You understand?”
I don’t have the words to answer.
Sander kisses my cheek, and for a second, I think he’s going to say something. But he doesn’t. At least not with words.
I look around our little group, and I feel the loss of them so deep already. Evie should be here. And Hart. Case.
And Elora.
Ember and Orli.
We should all be here for this goodbye. Together. All the Summer Children.
I don’t let myself think about Zale. Or Aeron.
“I love you guys,” I say.
We hug some more. Cry again. Make big promises. Swear to keep in touch. Always. No matter what.
“Good luck with track next year,” Mackey tells me.
“You too,” I say.
“My school’s gonna be underwater for a while.” He tries to laugh. But he can’t pull it off. None of us can. “Guess I’ll have to join the swim team.”
We all just stand there for a few seconds. I’m holding Sander’s hand. Nobody wants to be the first to go.
But Mackey’s brother is telling him to hurry up, and Delphine is shouting at Sera and Sander in Creole.
So it’s time.
“Forget about La Cachette,” Sera whispers as she gives me one last hug. “Laise tout ?a pour les morts.”
Leave all that for the dead.
Then I go back inside for another load of stuff, just so I don’t have to watch them leave.
When I come back out, Honey is standing on the dock with Bernadette and Victor. And for once in his life, Vic doesn’t sound drunk. Just pissed off. “Goddammit,” he says. “I’ve looked everywhere for that stupid little bitch.”
Honey gives him a hard look and slips her arm around Evie’s crying mama. “She’ll turn up, Bernadette. She can’t have gone far.”
Victor throws an old duffel bag into their beat-up flatboat. “Yeah. Well, I ain’t got no more time to wait. Y’all see that girl, you tell her we went on up to Monroe.” He turns to his sister. “Get in the boat, Bernie. Evangeline can take care of her own damn self.” Nobody moves, and Vic hisses again. “I said, get in the goddamn boat, Bernie.”
“Bernadette,” Honey starts, but Evie’s mama just shakes her head and gets into the boat with her brother.
“We gotta get on up to Kinter,” she mumbles. “Get the truck and head up to Monroe. Like Vic says.” Victor gets the motor going, and black smoke billows across the dock. “Storm’s comin’ in.” There’s no expression on Bernadette’s face. She’s gone all blank. I’m sorry. She mouths the words to the crowd as their boat pulls away. But I don’t know who she means them for.