It’s hurricane season! The first named Atlantic hurricane of the 2015 season is named Danny and is not expected to be much of a threat – unless you are in its path.

In my beach read Secrets of Sandhill Island the weather has turned much like the emotional atmosphere of the town.   Meg is certain she has to go back to her tiny beach house one last time even though the hurricane has turned and is picking up speed.  Alex is afraid he is too late save her.

The windows rattled until Meg was sure they would break.  The huge gust of wind that blew the screens on the porch in, suddenly stopped and sucked them back out.  Then the groan became louder – and the ripping began.   Ancient nails torn from their rotting wood groaned as they were pulled against their will holding on to nothing – flying up and over the top of the house. Within an instant, the porch walls and roof were gone and the floor was about to follow.

“Time to go!” Alex shouted as he shouldered the backpack full of Meg’s mementos. “Stay close with your head down.  We just have to reach the van and we should be relatively safe.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her from her precious home.

They ran out the back door not even trying to shut it behind them and clawed their way through the garden never letting go of each other’s hands.  Without him, Meg was sure she would have been swept away in the wind.  A tomato cage with the plant still inside flew past her face so close the leaves brushed her skin.  She thought she would be impaled on its pointed wire feet.  She gasped, or maybe the breath was sucked out of her, it was hard to tell.

Once at the back of the garden they climbed up the sand dunes holding on to grass along the way.  At the top they stopped, crouching to see what might be blowing their way before standing.  From the top of the dune, Meg could see there were no lights left on in the harbor.  Either they had been blown out or everyone had already left. 

 Climbing over the rise, suddenly the rain increased wrapping around them like soggy bed sheets on a clothesline, entangling them in their own wet clothing.    Meg could see the van parked off the side of the road in the distance.  It rocked in the gusts like it might take off flying.  Heads down and stumbling into the wind they pushed forward together against Mother Nature’s fury – one step forward and sometimes two or three back.  Once they reached the asphalt, they found it slick and Meg fell on her knees.  They made little headway until they got back on the soggy sand.

It’s hurricane season.  Pick up a copy of Secrets of Sandhill Island while the barometer is right.  If you enjoy it, please leave a review on Amazon, Barnes & Noble or Goodreads.  Batten down the hatches!