“We don’t need them. Okay, hold on tight, Fin. No matter what. Understand?” I locked one arm under her butt and clamped the other one around her back. Then I took the little girl I loved more than the world out into the storm.

She plastered her face against my neck as I made my way down the steps, careful not to slip. Everything was slick. I opened the driver’s door and lifted her inside. “Crawl over the console.”

She did it.

I climbed in and grunted as I hauled the door shut. It closed, thank God.

“I’m not allowed to ride in the front seat.” Fin looked at me with raised eyebrows.

“And without a booster, too.” I shrugged. “I’m hoping your dad will forgive me.” Wasn’t I just mother of the year? Or stepmother. Or quasi-not-quite-girlfriend-current-custody-haver. Whatever.

“Buckle up,” I ordered as I did the same. She put Juno’s carrier on the ground and buckled. Then I drove through the grass of Vivian’s front yard. “I’m sorry!”

“Don’t mention it,” she said from the backseat. Her voice was weak, and I knew that both bracing her broken leg and moving her down to the truck had taken what little strength she had left.

It was impossible to see. The rain drove straight at us. I memorized as much as I could between the squalls and crept carefully onto NC 12.

“Oh my word,” Vivian exclaimed from the backseat.

“What’s that?” Finley asked.

“Hold on,” I ordered, watching the huge shape fly toward us. The wind took it left, and I swerved right.

“I think that was a roof,” Vivian said softly.

I was too busy gulping for breaths to say anything.

We passed the bakery I loved, and the auto parts store as the wind and rain tore at us, pushing us the way it wanted us to go as I fought to keep us on the road. There was a lot more water now. But it looked like rainwater. There was no foam.

We turned onto Old Lighthouse Road, and I cringed. Here was the foam blowing in from the ocean in giant streaks of white between the huge beach houses. Sand had blown all over the road, making it hard to see the edges.

“Think of it as off-roading,” I told Finley as a powerful gust of wind pushed us close to the curb.

“Have you been off-roading a lot?” she questioned, looking out the side because she was too short to see over the dash.

“Actually, yes. In this very truck, as a matter of fact.” I gripped the wheel and forced our way through the sludge of water and sand. The houses drew closer to the shore, but I refused to look and see if the dunes held.

We were committed now. We’d either make it to my house or be swept away trying.