Huck breathes out a “Thank you” and marvels at how much better his life is with Irene Steele in it.

Huck hitches up his trailer and drives down to Chocolate Hole, where the boat is waiting. Getting the boat onto the trailer by himself isn’t something he would do under any but the most dire of circumstances. He should have called Rupert for help but Rupert is all the way out in Coral Bay and Huck doesn’t have time to waste. He has other friends but they all have their own boats to worry about. He considers driving back to Fish Bay to enlist Baker’s help, but again, there’s the issue of time.

There isn’t a dinghy for Huck to borrow so he wades into the water up to his chest in order to climb aboard. The air is as hot and heavy as a blanket; the water feels wonderful. The sky glows an ominous green color. It seems to portend danger. Destruction.

Or maybe that’s all in Huck’s head.

He gets the boat trailered. That ends up being the easy part. The hard part is driving the trailer up Jacob’s Ladder. He has to take it slowly, begging the chipmunks in his truck engine not to die on him yet. Right before he faces the final hill, the steepest, his neighbor Helen comes out of her house holding a covered plate. Helen was LeeAnn’s best friend, a friend since childhood, though Huck has noticed she’s kept her distance since Irene moved in.

“Chicken, beans, rice,” she says. “Make sure you eat.”

“Thank you,” Huck says. “I will.”

But there’s no time just then. He gets the boat to the house, unhitches the trailer, secures the boat, and hopes like hell it doesn’t go flying and end up through the roof of his house. It’s getting dark. He’s shuttering the house when his phone rings. Irene.

“I ate,” he says. “Helen fed me.” This is a lie—the plate is on the counter, untouched—but he assumes Irene is calling to check on him.

“Huck,” she says. Her voice is an urgent whisper.

“What is it?” He cannot go back to Lovango to pick up Cash. Cash is stuck over there, sorry, unless he wants to swim.

Irene says something in such a low voice, Huck can’t hear it. “I’m sorry, AC, what?” He realizes he sounds a little impatient. It’s all fine for her to be making her white chicken chili and Mississippi roast, whatever the hell that is, but Huck has serious tasks to complete and he’s racing against the clock.

There’s a pause, then a noise—a door closing—and she says, “Ayers is in labor.”

Well, she’s going to have to wait, he thinks. “What kind of labor are we talking about?”

“Her water broke,” Irene says. “The contractions are coming every three to four minutes. It’s pretty clear she’s not going to make it over to Schneider. We called up to Myrah Keating, which is in full-on hurricane mode and has only emergency doctors on staff for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”