Home.

  Family.

  A chance to fix the past.

  I can see our house in Ohio shimmering like an oasis. The red brick and black shutters. Jordan’s garden. Mackenzie doing her homework, headphones tuning out the world. My endless list of household projects…

  Dallas will have his hands full through the night, keeping an eye on the building and its few remaining tenants.

  “We’re in the crosshairs,” Dallas says. “Sitting ducks. I thought with it being November we could breathe easy. But not these days, with the weather the way it is…” Dallas looks past me. The rain continues to hit the walkway, splashing right up to his open door. “Well, hell.” He takes a long drink.

  “I know you won’t listen, but I still think you should get out of here. Tonight.”

  “No, no—”

  “Seriously, listen to me. What have you been telling me since the day I showed up here?”

  “I told you to figure things out with Jordan and get back to Ohio. To let the past be the past and make a new future together.”

  “Okay, yes, you told me that. But—”

  “And you’re doing it, right? You listened to your uncle Dallas. You always said you’re never sure when to stay and when to go. That you don’t trust your own instincts.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Does anybody?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Trust me. They don’t. But I know—you need to go home. Now is the time.” Something flickers across his face—a thought? A memory? “You know, a person’s lucky to have a place to go, especially with the holidays coming up. That’s where you need to be. With your family.”

  He holds his bottle out. I have no choice but to clink it again.

  Dallas has mentioned—obliquely—having been married once. A daughter he’s lost touch with. Grandchildren he’s never met.

  I can’t imagine. My deepest fear would be to never see my family again. It’s the stuff of nightmares.

  “Okay, Uncle Dallas, I’ll go. But what about you? This place?” I gesture to the walls behind us. “You keep saying the building’s in shit shape. They’ve already boarded up and condemned the other two. You said, if a hurricane ever really came through here—”

  “If a hurricane ever really came through here and hit us directly, this place might not be standing when it’s over. I did say that. Many times. And this one that’s about to land…Well, shit.”

  “So get the hell out of here. Tonight. Ride off the island with me. I’ll drop you wherever you want to go. Hell, come to Ohio for a while.”

  Dallas smiles. He takes a long drink and sits in an overstuffed recliner. “We’ve got—what?—ten units still occupied here, including yours?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And who are our fellow tenants? What’s their status in life?”

  “You know as well as I do.” I scan the list in my head. It’s an eclectic collection, typical of Florida. Some retirees, some transplants. A married couple down on their luck, a woman in her early twenties with no savings to speak of, a man hobbled by a workplace injury. An elderly curmudgeon, a shut-in, and a quiet middle-aged guy I can’t figure out. We’re an island of misplaced people. They don’t have anywhere else to go. That’s why they’re hanging on here, in a building that’s crumbling around us and slated to be razed. “Everyone still living in this place is only here because they’ve got no other choice.”

  He half shrugs, as if the implication of what I’m saying is obvious. It is. I know exactly what he’s thinking, but he says it anyway. “Who’s going to look out for them if I leave? That’s my job.”

  “But that’s not—”

  “Even before this hurricane was coming for us, they needed to vacate. The building’s being blown up in a few months. To make way for—what’s it called? Banyan Tree Villas? Or is it Stingray Suites?”

  “Atlantic Estates.”

  “Atlantic Estates. How could I forget? Luxury condos starting in the fifteens.” He points at me. “That’s at least one and a half million. And that’s where the price starts. If you want cabinets or light switches, you’re going to spend more. You know as well as I do, the people who live here can’t afford that. They’ve all been handed bad breaks they can’t get out from under.”

  “And then there’s Hazel.”

  “Hazel.” Dallas scratches his head. “What is she? Ninety?”

  “Ninety-one.”

  “Wow.”

  “Exactly.” And then I say what he’s already thinking. “With nowhere to go.”

  “And now this hurricane has turned our way.”

  The wind picks up, blows rain in the front door. As if to support what Dallas has been saying, the building makes a low groaning sound.

  “Shit,” I say. “Still…outside of the wind, this storm seems kind of quiet.”

  “Hurricanes don’t produce much thunder or lightning.” Dallas gestures toward the door. “Close that, why don’t you? I want to tell you something.”

  I do what he asks, shutting the storm out. For now.

  I remain standing. I’m going to be sitting a long time once I get into the car. I’m not stopping until I see Jordan and Mackenzie again.

  “I am leaving,” Dallas says.

  “Great. Glad to hear it.”

  “After the storm. As soon as it’s over. I told you about the job my sister mentioned in Chicago? The one downtown?”

  “It came through?”

  He nods. “It did.”

  “Holy shit, that’s great.”

  “No more lizards. No more humidity,” Dallas says. “I’m heading up there after Thanksgiving. The building in Chicago is in great shape. And I’ll be closer to my sister and her kids. I don’t have any other family, you know? I mean—family I talk to. It’ll be nice. I kind of miss the snow. And the changing leaves. And a Chicago summer.” He lets out a laugh. “All two weeks of it.” He takes another drink, emptying his bottle.

  “Well, holy shit. I never thought you’d go. I never thought you’d actually make the move.”

  “I have some surprises left in this middle-aged body.” He puts the empty down and holds up his index finger. “And I have one more surprise for you.” He stands and leaves the room.

  As soon as he’s gone, the building groans again.

  I put my bottle to my mouth and throw back the rest of my beer.

  Three

  Dallas holds a light blue half sheet of paper when he returns. A key fob dangles from his other hand.

  “Here.” He holds the paper out to me. “This is for you.”

  The paper has a decorative border and there’s the faint image of a seal in the middle.

  “What’s this?”

  “Take it.”

  I run my eyes over the document. “I can’t take this.”

  “Take it.” He sounds like a frat boy trying to convince me to do a shot. “For real.”

  “Dallas, I can’t—”

  “Yes,” he says with a nod. “You can. Look, I know the Elantra is a piece of crap. It’s been leaking oil all over my parking garage for months.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that.”

  “Well, you’re not the only one. Anyway, you need something to get you back to Ohio. Consider it an early Christmas gift.”

  “Dallas—”

  “Now, wait. Listen.” He holds his index finger in the air like a teacher. The door rattles in the frame, the wind picking up. “All you’ve talked about since you came down here is how you need to figure your life out, get back on track, get on top of the debt. I know you need to start saving for Mackenzie to go to college someday. Well, look, I don’t need this car. I’m moving to Chicago. Shit, I’m sick of driving. I don’t even like it anymore. I’m going to ride the El all the time.” He grabs my arm. Shoves the key fob into my hand. “Take the car. It’s a gift.”

  I blink a few times. Swallow hard. “No one’s ever given me a car. I don’t know what to say. My parents could never…”

  He steps closer, claps me on the upper arm. “Don’t say anything. Just take it. Besides, it isn’t like it’s a Maserati. It’s a 2014 Highlander, for God’s sake.”

  “Better than an Elantra.”

  “Way better. And I’ve kept it in good shape. It’ll get you where you need to go.”

  I’m speechless, but Dallas has more to say.

  “You know…I haven’t really, you know…It’s been a while since I had a good friend. Down here, working so much on the building and everything…and then you came here, so, you know, I appreciate it.” He points at the title. “I filled my part out, signed it over to you, Mr. Jacob Powell. Just take it to the DMV up in Ohio when you get there.”

  “What about my car? It’s down in the garage.”

  Dallas smiles. “That thing? If you’re lucky, it’ll get swept out to sea. Become part of the reef. That’s about all it’s good for.”

  “That’s harsh. But I know you’re right.”

  A second later, we’re just standing there, two dudes who have no idea what to say to each other.

  “What about your daughter? Maybe she’ll want—”

  He shakes his head, waves his hand in the air. “Your daughter will be driving soon. Pass that Highlander on to her when the time comes. But right now, you need to go upstairs and check on Hazel. Say good-bye. She’s worried about you driving all the way to Ohio.”

  “How is she today?”

  Dallas shrugs. “Let’s just say, it’s one of those days when she’s attached to reality by a thin thread. I was up there an hour ago, and she was talking about her stalker again, says he’s been hanging around the building. She also claims he can control the weather, says he’s responsible for Kylie coming this way. Honestly, man, it’s hard to take anything she says seriously anymore.”

  “That’s not good. But, then again, she’s ninety-one, so…I’ll grade her on a curve.”

  He adjusts his cap, scratches his head. “There have been a lot of strangers around here. Squatters. People coming to check on the place because of the pending sale.” He shrugs. “But no stalkers of the elderly that I’ve seen.”

  A thought pops into my mind. I hand the title and the key back to Dallas. “Here. Hold on to this for a minute.”

  “Jake—”

  “No, really. I’ll check on Hazel, get my stuff. Then I’ll be back. I have something for you too.”

  “Not your car. Please.”

  “No, not the stupid car. A real gift. It’ll just be a few minutes. I have to beat this storm.”

  “Okay, sure. I’ll be here getting ready for a long night of not sleeping.”

  When I open the door, the wind grabs it and blows it out of my hand. It swings open, slamming against the outside wall. The gust pushes me back, and I almost fall over.

  Dallas comes up behind me, steadies me. “Careful.” He looks around me. “It’s definitely getting worse. Landfall’s just a couple hours away, and then who knows where we’ll be?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Hurry up, man. Do what you have to do and get out of here.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “And maybe take the stairs. I have no way to get you out if the elevator goes.”

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  I grab either side of the doorframe, push off, and lean into the wind as I head for the stairs.

  Four

  I take the stairs two at a time.

  The stucco building was once painted yellow, but it’s sun faded and sickly now. The pallor of a dying patient. The rain reaches me as I climb, sprinkles my back and head.

  Hazel lives on the tenth floor, at the top of the building. She’s the only one up there. When I came to Florida, she was down on the second floor, right next to Dallas, but he found mold all over her bathroom, so she had to relocate. The only decent unit was on the top floor. He planned to move her back down, but her old apartment still isn’t livable.

  By the time I reach Hazel’s floor, my hair is soaked. I’m a little winded, but not nearly as much as I would have been when I moved to Florida six months ago. I’ve spent my spare time working out at the Hammond Point Y on the mainland, getting in the best shape of my life. I lift weights, swim laps, beat the punching bag, run on the treadmill. I’ve even joined the local Masters swim club. Every Sunday night, we swim across the Intracoastal as the sun sets. I’ve dropped nine pounds, added a little muscle. Acquired a decent tan.

  Hell, Jordan and Mackenzie might not even recognize me.

  Hazel’s unit is halfway down the walkway, and sometimes she forgets to lock her door. I rap on it, then push it in.

  “Hazel?”

  “Oh, good,” she says in a chipper voice. Like I’m just popping in for tea. “I’m glad you’re here, Jacob.”

  She’s sitting on the end of the couch, half-moon glasses resting on the tip of her nose. She wears a housecoat—blue with embroidered flowers—and her white hair is a mess. Hazel taught history at Indian River Community College for over fifty years. Her apartment contains more papers and books than I’ve ever seen. Every surface is obscured by them.

  When she moved upstairs, she allowed a few of us to carry her things only under her strict supervision, losing her temper every time one of us touched a book or placed a folder out of order. She acted like each item was incredibly fragile, like perfectly organized precious eggs. It’s hard to believe she’s made such a mess in less than six months.

  “I just came by—”

  “Did Dallas tell you he was back?”

  “Who? Oh, you mean…the guy?”

  “Yes, him. I believe he caused this hurricane. You know, when I tell Dallas these things, he looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.” She removes her glasses, considers me. Her eyes are bright blue. Alert. “You don’t treat me that way, Jacob. That’s why I like you.”

  “You don’t like Dallas?”

  “That young man works my last nerve. He thinks he’s my caretaker. Always checking on me, bringing me groceries, asking me if I took my medicine.”

  “Sounds terrible.”

  “Well, I don’t want him to know how much I appreciate him.” She winks. “That’s our little secret.”

  “I think he knows.”

  She gestures at the room. “Now, don’t you dare touch any of my papers.”

  “I’m not here to touch your papers, Hazel. I came to say good-bye.”

  “Good-bye?” She acts like she’s never heard the word before.

  “That’s right. I’m going back to Ohio. Remember? We talked about this.”

  She studies me again. There’s a mustard stain on her housecoat. Hazel eats hot dogs twice a day, sometimes three times. Dallas says she’s been doing it for years, and her cholesterol is better than his.

  “This is for the wife and daughter?”

  I nod, relieved that she remembers something. “That’s right.”

  “She’s taking you back.”

  “It’s not so much a matter of anyone being taken back. We agreed to separate, to take some time apart. We were having some…well, some challenges. But now we’re going to try again.”

  “Try? You don’t try in a marriage, Jacob. You commit. You know, I was married fifty-one years.” She jerks her thumb toward the framed photo on the end table. Her husband, Robert. Dead for almost twenty years. “I know what I’m talking about.”

  I’ve never won an argument with Hazel. Despite her memory lapses, she always manages to turn it on when she has to, instructing me like the professor she was. She likes to cast me in the role of bumbling student.

  “You’re right. I’m not just going to try. I’m committed. We’re going to make our marriage work. We’re going to raise our daughter together.”

  “Mackenzie.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Age fifteen.”

  “She turns sixteen next month. Are you sure you have memory problems?”

  “Are you?”

  “Me?”

  She taps her glasses against her thigh. “I seem to recall—I know I’m old, but I do remember some things, and I do recall more than one conversation with you about how much you dislike your job in Ohio. IT consultant or something? Whatever that is.” She dismisses my once and future career with a wave of her hand. “And now you’re going back to it? After you’ve been so happy and fulfilled here?”

  “I’m not making enough money.”

  “And…?”

  “I have a daughter who plans to go to college. Her future is more important than mine.”

  “That’s quite noble of you, Jacob.” She stops tapping her glasses. “You’ve gotten over everything that happened in the past? With your marriage?”

  “We both made mistakes. We’ve both learned about ourselves. I’ve learned what’s important.”

  Hazel gives me the side-eye. “I’ve been on this earth a long time, Jacob. Until you showed up here, I’d never once in my life heard of anyone having an emotional affair. I mean, people had affairs or they didn’t. And an affair usually didn’t involve emotion, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do.”

  “So you’ve gotten over your problems with Jordan having this”—she clears her throat—“emotional affair?”

  It’s embarrassing to hear Hazel talk about my marriage in such a dismissive way. Thinking about it again—what happened with Jordan—stabs me sharply in the chest.

  Am I sure I’m ready to go home? Are we going to be able to make this work?

  I desperately hope so.

  “I’m going back to Ohio. To a new job. And, yes, it’s in IT. But it’s a good job. At a better company. A new start. Just in time for the holidays and the New Year. That’s why I have to say good-bye.”

  “Well, okay.” Her eyes roam over the room again. “But I was going to show you something I found.”