Linnea took Pandora’s place at one end of the fabric and, on cue, the speaker played “Wipe Out” again. As the guitar strum rolled, Anna and Linnea began creating the wave effect again, panting with effort. Anna speared her with a look that clearly said, What’s with her?

Linnea couldn’t help but wonder the same.

chapter thirteen

If it’s not one thing, it’s another.

TOGETHER THEY FINISHED the barn project, separating the wheat from the chaff. The trash was collected from the street the following morning—in the nick of time. Heavy rains hit the lowcountry again, driving everyone back indoors.

Linnea stood at the kitchen window washing the breakfast dishes and watched Cooper, Gordon, and Anna scurry to their cars in the rain. She listened to the car engines fire up as one by one they drove off—Gordon to the Marine Resources Research Institute on James Island, Anna to the South Carolina Aquarium in Charleston, and Cooper to the building site in Mount Pleasant. She wasn’t jealous that they had jobs. She only felt lost that she did not.

After she finished tidying the kitchen, she went to her room, where the stack of fabrics she’d discovered in the barn was now piled on the dresser. She’d washed several bolts and folded them, and now they sat waiting for her imagination to decide what to do.

She wanted to be useful. She was one of the lucky ones in the pandemic. She wasn’t sick. She didn’t have to worry about being evicted. She had roommates to help with expenses. People who had her back. As Cara had told her when she was laid off, “We pay it forward.”

Linnea picked up a pattern with sea turtles, and thought again how it would make for great masks for the aquarium. Ones that made people feel good about wearing them. Smiling, Linnea went in search of her sewing machine.

THAT EVENING, LINNEA sat at the kitchen table putting the dozens of masks she’d sewn into bags. She looked up when the front door swung open and Anna stomped in, hazel eyes blazing, sputtering with rage. Her khaki pants were soaked from the knee down, as were her tennis shoes. A pool of water collected where she stood in the entry.

“What on earth?” asked Linnea.

“Flooding!” Anna shouted.

“Was it bad?”

Flooding was a problem of biblical proportions in Charleston. Linnea knew, as many locals did, to avoid going into the city when it rained.

“Goddamn,” Anna swore. She wiped wet hair from her forehead. “When is this city going to get a grip on the flooding? It doesn’t even have to rain to flood anymore.” She bent to pull off her shoes and socks with angry movements.

Cooper, hearing her shouts, came in to investigate. “Hey, Anna. You look like the proverbial wet hen.”

She shot him a sideways glance. “Thanks.”

He laughed and went to the fridge. “The city needs some kind of barrier.”