When Janine first read the newspaper article, she wanted to disappear. How had she let herself be used that way? How could she have given money and time to such scam artists? What would Rick think, and her daughters, when they found out? How foolish she’d been to think that she was being celebrated for her talent, when all Marianne wanted to do was use her. For money she could understand: everyone needed money, and of course school wasn’t free. But the idea that Janine’s own beliefs would be fodder for Marianne’s book—that she was being mocked—it was as bad as anything she’d felt during the worst of Terri Schiavo’s ordeal. Janine skipped class on Thursday, something she’d never done in her life, and locked herself in her room. She couldn’t stand to look at anyone.

But then the storm came closer, and closer, and Beth got a call from the Weather Channel. Manfred came by with a sandwich, and Eric Osborne apologized to her, and Lorraine brought her some cigarettes. Regina sent her several emails (she didn’t write back), as well as one group email suggesting that Marianne might, in fact, be crazy. Janine wondered if that could be true. She had not seen her since the reading. She wasn’t sure what she’d say if she did.

Janine didn’t have any choice but to stay and help everyone get ready. It would be fine, Eric assured them, just a Category 1. He’d seen plenty of storms during his childhood, when he used to visit his aunt in Tampa. It would be fun, he said. They’d take precautions.

The safest places on the Ranch, Eric told them, were the dormitory rooms that ringed the parking lot—they were farthest from shore, with inland-facing windows, and were on a slightly higher incline than the rest of the Ranch. For added security, Eric and Tom nailed up plywood, moving efficiently down the cracked cement walkway with a mouthful of nails, while Janine brought in grocery bags bulging with canned food and white bread and peanut butter. They each chose a separate room, but as soon as the first hard drops of rain hit the roof and the initial gusts of wind creaked the tree limbs and the plywood, Donald and Eric and Tom gathered in Janine’s room, where they’d stashed the provisions. Janine sat at the foot of the bed, switching between the local news and the Weather Channel, searching for a glimpse of her daughter. Donald calmed his nerves by eating peanut butter sandwiches and reading gossip websites on his laptop. Tom worried about his motorcycle, which he’d wheeled into the gardening shed, and read a book about Afghanistan’s opium trade. Eric couldn’t sit still, kept going out into the storm and reporting back to them every few minutes.