“I’m not going, either, then.” He glanced down the cul-de-sac toward the Wheelers’ cottage.

“Let me see if Zack can go with them. It would thrill him, I’m sure. Then I can stay behind.”

“You really should go,” she said, although she desperately wanted him to stay.

“We might not be able to get out of here, and it could get dangerous. And won’t Grace be expecting you to show up at the motel?”

“Yes, but at least she’ll be safe. I can’t leave without knowing that Shelly is, too.” He looked toward the Wheelers’ cottage again.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

She watched him walk down the cul-de-sac to the Wheelers’ cottage, where he spoke with Ruth Wheeler. Tears burned Daria’s eyes; she wanted him to stay so badly. After a minute, he walked back to Poll-Rory, and she guessed he was asking Zack if he would mind going with the Wheelers. She was still standing on the porch when Zack emerged from the cottage, carrying a duffel bag. He waved to Daria as he started walking toward the Wheelers’, and Rory rejoined her on the porch.

“Okay,” he said.

“I’m yours as long as you need me.”

Chloe stepped out of the cottage onto the porch. “I bet she’s holed up in one of the abandoned cottages,” she said.

“She could be right across the street, for all we know. I think we should go door-to-door.”

Chloe could be right. Shelly had done exactly that during a storm a few years earlier. She knew enough to get inside somewhere. Would she know enough to select a cottage as far from the beach as possible? It was anyone’s guess. She could be anywhere.

“If she is in a cottage somewhere, and we knock on the door, she won’t answer it,” she said.

“We won’t knock, then,” Chloe said.

“We’ll just snoop around the cottages and see if we can spot her.”

“I’ll start with Jill’s,” Rory said.

“Then let’s split up to cover the streets on the other side of the beach road.”

“Look for a light on,” Daria said as she walked into the cul-de-sac with them. She pulled up the hood of her windbreaker, holding it closed with a hand beneath her chin. It had grown so dark outside that she could barely see the expressions on the faces of Rory and her sister. Shelly was not crazy about the dark. She would turn on a light if she had sequestered herself in someone’s cottage.

Only, there were no lights on. They searched Jill’s and Linda’s cottages, then separately covered six streets west of the beach road.

Every single cottage was dark. It might as well be the dead of winter, Daria thought. There was no one around. Not even any cars. The wind literally blew her off her feet from time to time and made her eyes tear. A few shingles flew past her as she walked, along with a child’s plastic pail and the lid of a garbage can, projectiles being flung through the darkening air.

The rain had started, and it felt like darts against her face as she fought her way back to the Sea Shanty. Rory and Chloe were already on the porch, and any hope she’d had that one of them had found Shelly vanished when she saw the look of defeat on their faces. She started to cry, and was surprised when Rory put his arms around her.

“I’m sure she’s all right,” he said.

“Chloe and I thought she might be at St. Esther’s.”

Daria suddenly drew away from him. St. Esther’s!

“I was just about to call over there,” Chloe said.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

Chloe went into the cottage to make the call, and Daria pictured Shelly hiding out in the church, where she would no doubt feel secure.

Of course that’s where she was! She even had a key. The thought of her safe inside the church was an enormous comfort.

A car turned into the cul-de-sac, and Daria walked out to meet it, hoping that Shelly might somehow be inside. She had to plant her feet wide apart to avoid being blown away as the car pulled in front of the Sea Shanty. She recognized the sheriffs-office insignia on the side of the car, and Don Tibbie, one of the deputies, struggled to open the car door against the wind. He was alone, and she knew he was most likely driving around to make sure Kill Devil Hills was evacuated.

“Daria?” he asked.

“Is that you?”

The hood of her windbreaker nearly masked her face.

“It’s me,” she said.

“Have you seen Shelly anywhere?”

Don leaned against the car, the wind tearing at his uniform.

“Don’t tell me she’s gone missing again,” he said.

“Yes, and this time we can’t find her.”

“Golly, that girl,” Don said.

“Well, you know you’ve got to get out of here now, Daria. The wind is just about too high to get over the bridge as it is. You’ve got maybe a half hour left.”

“I can’t leave without her, Don,” she said.

Don put his hands on his hips and looked past her into the Sea Shanty.

“Is Sister Chloe with you?” he asked.

“Yes. And Rory Taylor.”

“Well, you at least have to move to a higher spot,” he said.

“I want to be here in case Shelly comes back,” Daria said.

“I know the risks.”

“I know you do,” Don said.

“Look, I’ll keep my eye out for her, okay?

And I’ll alert the other deputies to do the same. “

“Thanks, Don.”

He glanced at the two cars in the driveway.

“At least get your cars to higher ground.”

She hadn’t even thought of that, a sure sign her” brain was not functioning as it should.

“Okay,” she said.

Chloe stepped onto the porch.

“Hi, Don,” she said.

“Hey, Sister,” the deputy replied.

“I was telling Daria here you folks really need to leave.”

“Was anyone at the church?” Daria asked her sister.

“No answer.”

Daria turned to Don. “Is there a chance you could check St. Esther’s Church?” she asked.

“We thought Shelly might be there. She’d probably be hiding from anyone trying to find her, though.”

“Bruce is patrolling that area,” Don said.

“I’ll radio him to check it out.”

After Don drove away, Daria, Chloe and Rory moved their cars west of the deserted beach road. They plowed headfirst into the wind and rain as they walked back to the Sea Shanty, and it took both Rory and Daria to get the porch door open. Daria knew that once they were inside, they wouldn’t be going anywhere—and that the likelihood of Shelly being returned to them that night was slim. She could only hope that her younger sister was safe, sleeping peacefully on a pew in St.

Esther’s.

They cracked the Sea Shanty windows open an inch or so, then gathered candles and a hurricane lantern in case the lights went out. Sitting together in the living room,

they watched the progress of the storm on television. The weather reporter was drenched and windblown, even though he was now stationed on the mainland, having evacuated himself and his camera crew from the Outer Banks. The eye of the storm was headed for Hatteras, the reporter said. At least Kill Devil Hills would not get the full brunt of it. Still, the swirling vortex of clouds on the weather map was spinning directly over them.

It was only the clock that told them when it was time for dinner. None of them was very hungry, and there was little food in the cottage, but Daria found some cheese and a couple of cans of soup in one of the cupboards.

“I have some bread over at Poll-Rory,” Rory offered.

“You can’t go out there.” Daria looked toward the window, where the storm shutter prevented her from seeing outside. Even so, she knew the night was black as pitch, and the sounds of the wind and the sea were ferocious.

“You’ll blow away.”

“I think there are some rolls in the freezer,” Chloe said.

They put together a dinner of cheese sandwiches and lentil soup and ate it at the kitchen table.

“We’re nuts to be here,” Daria said. She was thinking ahead. How would they know if the sea came up too high? Should they stay upstairs, just in case? She had faith in the Sea Shanty’s construction and foundation, yet she could still remember how the Trumps’ cottage had looked as it floated out to sea. That had been a winter storm, she kidded herself. This summer hurricane could simply not be that bad.

They had just finished washing and drying the dishes, when the lights nickered twice, then went off, plunging them into darkness.

Daria felt around on the counter until her hands landed on the flashlight, and she turned it on.

“Wherever Shelly is, she’s going to be terrified,” she said.

“Well, then maybe the next time she won’t be this foolish.” Chloe’s words sounded harsher than the tone of her voice. Daria knew she was as worried about Shelly as she was.

“Where did you put the lantern?” Rory asked.

“In the living room,” Daria said.

“Let’s all go in there. That’s where the radio is.”

In the living room, they lit the lantern and a couple of candles.

Chloe sat on the couch, and Rory took a seat in the chair next to the radio, but Daria stood by one of the windows, trying to see outside through the cracks in the storm shutters. She wished they had heard something from Don about finding Shelly at St. Esther’s. No news was bad news.

“Sit down, Daria,” Chloe said.

“There’s nothing we can do to help Shelly at this point.”

Daria sat down in a chair. Chloe was right. Worrying was not going to help.

Thunder began rumbling above the cottage, and flashes of lightning pierced the cracks in the shutters. They listened to the radio for a while through the static, but it soon seemed pointless. They were closer to the hurricane than any of the newscasters, and they turned off the radio and simply sat, listening to the storm.

The atmosphere inside the Sea Shanty grew strange. Despite the angry sounds outside the cottage, the breathless warmth inside was rare and, somehow, wonderful. Flames from the candles pierced the darkness, and despite her concern for Shelly, Daria felt her body begin to uncoil and relax.

“I’m thinking about leaving my order,” Chloe said suddenly.

Her voice sounded alien and disembodied in the peculiar air of the living room, and Daria didn’t understand.

“You mean… you’d join another order?” she asked.

“No, I wouldn’t go anywhere else,” Chloe said slowly.

“I’m saying, I would no longer be a nun. I’d ask to be dispensed from my vows.” “Chloe.” Daria was stunned. “I thought you loved what you do. I thought you loved being a nun.”

“Oh, I have. I truly have. But…! don’t think I can continue this way.”

“What way?” Daria asked.

Chloe studied the glow of the lantern, as if mesmerized.

“Sean…” She hesitated, then started again.

“Sean took his life in a misguided attempt to try to save me from temptation.”

“I don’t understand.” Daria wasn’t certain she wanted to understand.

“I’ve always had difficulty with my vow of chastity,” Chloe said bluntly.

“Poverty was no problem. Obedience was no problem.” She shook her head.

“But I’ve always had a hard time denying that part of myself. That sensual, sexual part. When I was in the convent, in my early days as a sister, I’d sometimes wake up in the morning and realize that I’d had an orgasm in my sleep, during a dream, perhaps, and I’d berate myself over it. What was wrong with me, I thought, that even though my days were filled with pure thoughts, that wretched… carnal part of me still came out at night, when I couldn’t control it.

I’d beat myself up over it. But then”-Chloe looked at Daria ” —then I began to think that my distress over feeling that way was ridiculous. I had done nothing wrong. What I was feeling stemmed from a normal, natural God-given part of myself, a part I was trying to deny existed. But it did exist. And I couldn’t make myself believe any longer that there was something wrong with that. “

Daria couldn’t speak. She had never heard Chloe talk so openly about sexual feelings. About anyone’s sexual feelings, much less her own.

She’d thought that Chloe simply did not have those longings, that she was above them somehow. She’d been wrong. Chloe was nearly forty, and had denied that part of herself all these years. The realization brought tears to Daria’s eyes, and she could feel her sister’s pain from across the room. “What did you mean when you said that Sean was trying to save you from temptation?” Rory had the courage to ask.

Chloe stared at the lantern. The thunder had receded into the distance, and only her voice filled the darkness.

“He killed himself to save me,” she said.

“No one knows this, but it’s time I said it out loud.” She let out a long sigh. Her hands were folded in her lap.