her; the question was swept away by the wind. If the wind was over sixty miles per hour, they would be on their own. Emergency Medical Services wouldn’t send an ambulance into wind that high.
They piled into Andy’s old van, and the wind buffeted the vehicle as he drove out of the cul-de-sac.
“I think the wind is too high for them to send out a rig,” Daria said.
“Do you know what the wind speed” — “Listen, Daria,” Andy interrupted her.
“You need to know that Shelly is at my house.”
What? For a moment, Daria couldn’t speak. Shelly was safe. But how had she ended up at Andy’s?
“She’s at your house?” she asked.
“Why would she go there?”
“Is she all right?” Rory asked.
“She’s fine,” Andy said.
“I left her there to call 911 while I came over here.”
“I don’t understand why Shelly would go to your house,” Daria said.
“I’m sorry she put you in the position of having to… hide her, Andy.”
Andy glanced at her, then returned his gaze quickly to the road.
“It’s not like that,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Daria asked.
She felt Rory’s hand on her shoulder.
“We can talk about that later,” he said.
“The important thing right now is that Shelly is safe.” Daria had the feeling that Rory understood something she was not ready—or willing—to understand herself.
They pulled into Andy’s driveway, and Daria looked toward the pier.
Something was going on out there, she could see the light from a flashlight, but other than that she couldn’t tell where the pier ended and the sound began.
“Can you pull your car closer to the pier?” Rory asked Andy.
“Shine your lights on it?”
Andy drove over the packed sand that formed his yard, until his headlights illuminated the pier and they could see the drama playing out on its surface. The boat was upside down and fully on the pier.
Two people stood next to the boat, waving frantically at them, and although she could not see them clearly, Daria guessed one of them was Shelly.
She and Rory followed Andy out to the pier, trying to run, although it was like running through mud. It wasn’t just the wind that made Daria’s legs feel like lead; it was fear. She was afraid of what she would find on the pier. She used to meet emergencies with courage, confidence and a rush of adrenaline. The adrenaline was still there, but she’d left the courage and confidence at the scene of that April plane crash.
“The phone was dead,” Shelly screamed the words at Andy.
“I couldn’t call 9 II.”
Daria pulled her cell phone from her waistband and pressed it into Shelly’s hand.
“Go in the house and call,” she instructed her, trying to make her voice heard over the wind.
“Tell them we need to extricate two people from beneath a twenty-two-footer.” She knew they would be lucky to get anyone to respond to this call, much less the equipment they might need to extricate the victims.
“No, don’t go!” Andy’s neighbor yelled at Shelly.
“We need all of us to lift the boat.”
Daria gave her sister a little shove.
“Go, Shelly,” she said. Then she turned to the neighbor, whose dark hair was plastered to his head, his face creased with fear and worry.
“We can’t lift the boat until I assess their injuries,” she said.
“We could make things worse.” She shined her flashlight into the water. It was lower than normal.
“Is the sound on its way down or up?” she asked Andy. She knew that during the first hours of hurricane, the sound could nearly empty itself, only to come back with a ferocious roar and serious flooding.
“Up,” Andy said.
“That’s what flipped the boat,” the man said.
The rising tide could be either good or bad, Daria thought. The higher water might lift the boat from the pier and free its captives, but it could also make their work far more difficult.
She dropped to her knees, shining her flashlight beneath the boat. The tiny boy, pinned beneath the center of the boat, let out a wail when the light hit his eyes, and he reached toward Daria with his one free hand. She slipped her fingers into his.
“Where do you hurt?” she asked him.
