Fred Weber, a man in his eighties who had lived in the Cove his entire life and would yell at Sadie to get off his lawn as she cut across his corner lot in elementary school, agreed. “I hope folks take these warnings seriously. These early season storms can be doozies.”

“Sorry, but what?” Sadie had cut in. “We’ve had a hurricane here in the Cove?”

How had her parents never mentioned this sort of thing before?

“You bet,” said Fred. “We even had a big one in June before—Hurricane Belinda. Significant damage. Everyone thinks of the wind, but it’s the flooding, let me tell you. Well, the flooding took out half a dozen farms upriver. They never recovered.” Fred had nodded toward Lincoln, who was rearranging the magazine display. Myles would be so pleased. “You make sure to take precautions and stay safe. These storms are no laughing matter.”

A little unnerved, Sadie had quickly added a few items to her cart, including batteries, five cans of soup, bottled water, and two bars of dark chocolate. She wasn’t exactly a survivalist prepper here.

She’d tried calling Ethan on her drive home.

“The number you are calling is disconnected.”

Crap. Maybe the weather was screwing up the lines. She could try again but didn’t want to drive off the road at a time like this. Since their talk about her starting work again, they’d been polite around each other but he had never gotten around to reopening their discussion and it made things awkward. They should be celebrating their second child and planning for their new future as a family of four, but despite some happy moments, things felt on edge.

Not to mention the past few weeks he’d been in Boston more than ever.

Now, sitting on the sofa and watching the foreboding radar, Sadie tried sending her husband another message.

Please tell me you’ll be home before this storm, she texted. Was just at Shopper’s Corner and some old-timers were talking about past storms. I’m starting to freak out a little.

She waited a few minutes. Nothing.

Maybe he was in a meeting and had his phone turned off.

Probably.

Hopefully.

Turning to the window, she idly rubbed her lower belly, thinking of their tiny baby floating around in there, safe and snug. Outside was a perfect Maine day, bluebird skies marred only by the occasional fluffy white cloud. It seemed impossible that within twenty-four hours they could be in hell.