When I woke, the windows were translucent from the dried salt spray. I went downstairs to make coffee.
The power was out, but the gas range was working. I was searching for the kettle when I heard the door. She came in, hair splendidly tousled across her tan, lovely face.
“You won’t recognize the beach,” she said, breathless. “The storm cut a channel through the breakwater. A bunch of boats were driven onto the shore, and there are these huge mooring chains nobody knew about—”
Her words tumbled out like swallows flying from a chimney. God, how I loved her.