Storm Draft

Every morning at 6:30, table four belonged to six friends and one old dog. Earl was halfway through his second cup of coffee when six phones shrieked. Six friends reached for absolutely none of them. The tourists did enough reacting for everyone.

Behind the counter, the waitress turns off the music and switches the television to the local news. A newscaster reports, “category five hurricane. Hatteras island is under a mandatory evacuation.”

Slathering warm butter on his lightly burnt toast, Frank points at Mabel's abandoned bowl, “are you going to finish those grits?”

The newscaster continues his report, while the table continues eating their breakfast, “Flooding on Route 12, thirty foot swells, worse than Hazel in ‘55,” MANDATORY EVACUATION is in bold red letters flashing on the screen.

Earl pets Briggs ears, the way he loves, “she’s heading west.”

“Your knees tell ya that?” Amos asks.

“East or West, I’m still tying down the deck chairs,” Frank says.

Mabel rolls her eyes at her husband, “you tie them down for thunderstorms, dear.”

Earl reaches into his messenger bag, and pulls out a laminated sheet of paper, with the words, Storm Draft 2024, written in black sharpie at the top. He slides it to the center of the table.

With a mouth full of blueberry muffin, Pete asks, “What’s that?” Crumbs of muffin fly onto the page.

“Storm draft,” Earl responds, earnestly.

“Fantasy football for hurricanes?” Pete questions.

Earl ponders this for a moment, “Same idea. Less yelling,”

Looking over his bifocals, Pete studies the piece of paper, “generator?”

Frank raises his hand without looking up from his crossword puzzle, “already topped off pal,”

Pointing at the word biscuits, Pete looks at the group puzzled.

“Nobody rides out a hurricane on an empty stomach,” Mabel says.

Scanning the list Pete’s finger hesitates, “radio?”

Amos pats the old NOAA radio that sits on the empty chair next to him. “Been waitin’ all year,”

“What’s cards?” Pete asks.

“Insurance,” Dottie responds.

Pete moves quickly down the list, “Ice?” You all have real jobs, and you give me ice?”

“You were last in the draft order, do well and next year you just might move up,” Frank answers.

The last item on the list, Pete asks one final question, “Briggs?”

Briggs opens one eye and thumps his tail twice against the linoleum floor.

“He’s with me,” Earl says.

“Course he is,” Dottie says warmly.

Standing, Earl announces to his friends, “Alright, lets get a move on.”

Chair legs scrape on the cafe floor, knees crack, and Earl puts the Storm Draft back into his bag.

Still seated, Pete takes the last bite of his muffin, “Wait, where are we going? The news said we need to evacuate.”

“Everybody’s house,” Amos says, “ladies first.”

“So we are going to your house then right Amos?” Frank asks.

Dottie’s cottage sits three rows back from the Atlantic, just big enough for her and her cat, the only way she could want it. Earl is up on a ladder and Briggs sleeps peacefully underneath him.

“Earl, honey, let Pete do that. We don’t want you getting hurt,” she shouts towards the second story windows that Earl is boarding up.

“So I can be expendable in the draft,” Pete mocks.

“Of course not sugar, you’re young!" Dottie responds.

Holding the legs of the ladder steady, Pete says, “I am seventy-eight Dot, young passed about twenty years ago.”

Following a checklist that hangs on her refrigerator, Dottie gathers all of her outdoor plans and fills her bathtub with an inch of water. She places them in one by one and tells them that they will be okay there. Safe and sound.

Rummaging through her junk drawer she slides two decks of playing cards into the pocket of her duffel bag and encourages her orange tabby cat into his carrier, “just a little road trip sweetie, another storm is coming. I have you.”

Frank and Mabel’s house sits directly on the sound, where the friends routinely gather to watch the sun dip behind the horizon while the smells of whatever Mabel is making wafts out onto the deck. Everyone walks though the door, immediately welcomed by the smell of bubbling chili on the stove and biscuits rising in the oven. Earl grabs a spoon to dip into the pot and Mabel slaps his hand away.

“See who’ll secure your pool fencing now,” Earl said. Mabel casts him a look, then glances over to see Pete stacking her patio chairs.

Mabel looks through the kitchen window, “Pete no!”

Looking up towards the window, Pete says,“what?”

Mabel wipes her hands on her apron, “Not like that, they’ll blow away!”

“They’re tied together Mabel.” Pete insists.

“EXACTLY!” Mable huffs.

Pete unties the chairs and stacks them following Mabel's guidance.

“Amos! Will you stop playing fetch with Briggs?” Frank shouts pointing at the stack of window shutters on the deck.

“You want me to re-tile your roof while I’m up there?” Amos asks him.

Mabel and Dottie pack up the huge pot of chili. The dear friends cut biscuits and arrange them in baskets. Mabel kisses Frank softly on his cheek, “see ya at the shop?” she asks.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he tells her.

“Briggs! C’mon buddy, I have treats! Come with Auntie Mabel and Auntie Dottie,” Dottie calls. Briggs slowly saunters over to the women, and nuzzles his head against Dottie’s hands.

Amos’ bungalow was surrounded by beach vacation rentals. He didn’t mind much though, he enjoyed meeting new families and watching children learn to swim in the rented swimming pools. He was reminded of his time with his family often every summer.

The four men stood together watching a family next door to Amos’ house pack their minivan. The children were crying.

“Please honey, just get in the car. Put your iPad on the charger okay, we have to go. Did you potty like I asked?” the Mom says to her son.

“Are you sure you have everything? We can’t come back, this road will flood. Do you have her stuffed chicken?” the Dad says pointing at their daughter.

The Dad fumbles with ratchet straps as the wind kicks sand up into his eyes. “You think vacation insurance will cover this.”

“Probably, but I didn’t buy it, so no.” she responds.

The men walk over to the family.

“Can I help you,” the Dad asks, frustrated at the interruption.

“I think we can help you,” Earl says.

“I got it but thanks,” the Dad says.

“If I was you, I would take about seventy pounds out of that roof top carrier,” Frank says, “that’ll blow you all around the highway in this wind.”

“He’s never been wrong about the wind before,” Amos adds. “Once he saved a wind kiter, right over there in the sound.”

“Uh, thanks. I think I got it though,” the Dad insists.

“Honey, can you just let them help you?” the Mom barks.

Together, the four friends help a fifth friend, who learned how to properly use a ratchet strap and weight distribution.

The hairs on the back of Earl’s neck stand on end. He turns towards the horizon and watches.“Pete, we gotta get to your house now. It’s about time.”

“What do you see?” Pete wonders.

“She ain’t movin’ west,” Earl says.

Pete's house sits close to Route 12. It's a robin's egg blue with a cozy porch. A place for his Grandkids to visit in the summers.

“Where are your shutters?” Amos asks Pete.

“I don’t think I have any. The previous owners didn’t leave anything, I didn’t know to buy any,” Pete says.

“Frank, take the truck, go in the shed in my backyard, I have extra ones, they’re not perfect but they’ll do,” Earl insists.

“I have extra bungees at my house, let me run back over there too. I have tarps, and sand bags too,” Amos adds.

“It’s okay, guys, I appreciate it, but you don’t have…” Pete started to say but before he could finish his friends were gone gathering supplies to hurricane proof his Grandkids summer vacation. When they returned the men made quick work of preparing Pete’s house for his first Outer Banks Hurricane. On the way to the shop, they stop so Pete can buy ice from a roadside ice machine.

Soundside Bait held almost as much history as Bodie Light. Earl had owned it for forty years, and loved it almost as much as he loved Briggs. It was always open to anyone who needed shelter and friendship. During a mandatory evacuation though, it was usually just their party of six.

Inside the four men are greeted by Mabel and Dottie, and Briggs is happy to see Earl. They shake the water droplets off of their bodies.

“Everyone safe?” Dottie asks

“Safe and sound,” Frank replies.

“We saw a family evacuating. Would you believe they had at least 200 pounds on their roof?” Pete says to Dottie and Mabel.

“200 pounds? What the heck were they transporting? Half the beach?” Dottie asks.

“Mabel can we please eat this chili now? I’ve been smelling it all damn day. I’m starving. I braved a ladder at your house to put up the shutters,” Amos asks.

“Betcha did it wrong, if you could make chili I could have done a better job on the shutters,” Mabel says laughing, and then squeezes the trigger on a drill sitting on the counter.

“Thanks for boarding up the shop ladies. Storm Draft at work, like always,” Earl says.

“This is going to be a bad one,” Earl says seriously. “We may need to ride this one out for a bit. Did everyone bring their Storm Draft supplies?”

Collective murmurs groan around the room.

“So now what?” Pete asks.

“Now, is the fun part. Now we bring out the insurance policy, the food, and the whiskey," Frank says.

“The insurance policy…” Pete says, “Oh should I have grabbed a copy of my policy from my house?”

Dottie pulls out her deck of cards and shuffles. “Hold-em! Buy in is twenty five dollars, winner takes all.”

Pete exhales, finally something he is good at. He knows when to hold’em and he knows when to fold’em.

Earl pulls down six bowls, and scoops chili into each one while Frank places the basket of biscuits on the round card table set in the corner of the shop next to the top water lures and the whopper ploppers. He scoops a small serving into Briggs bowl who gives Earl an appreciative lick.

“Earl, he is going to have gas all night now, do not give that dog any chili!” Mabel shouts.

“He’s hungry,” Earl says. “Look at him!”

“Remember the storm of 92? We lost power for days, and 12 was impassable for almost a week. People were kayaking up and down the street.” Amos says.

“Amos, you were kayaking up and down the street. That was your favorite hurricane.” Dottie says.

“It was my first one, nothing like your first hurricane.” He responds.

Earl lifts his whiskey glass, “Cheer to Pete. On his first hurricane. Hopefully you’re just as bad at poker as you are at storm prep.”

A chorus of cheers and clinking glasses rounds the table.

Dottie shuffles the cards with the confidence of a washed up Vegas dealer who wears polarized Ray-Bans at the table. Pete passes out the big blind and little blind chips and the cards are dealt.After looking at only the corners of his cards, Pete taps his fingers twice on the table, Frank and Amos give each other a questioning glance.

“I’m out,” Earl says.

“Already?” Pete asks, “we haven’t even seen the flop!”

“I’ve been married twice,” Earl says laughing, “I know when I am beat.”

At the end of the hand, Pete takes the pot and flips the chips in between his fingers.

“Beginners luck,” Frank says, pouring another whiskey.

Under the table, Mable sneaks Briggs pieces of bacon she had cooked him earlier in the day.

With the next hand dealt, Pete slowly plays his hand.

Call. Raise. Call.

The river showed him a full house, but he had played this game enough to know that odds were one other person at the table had a full house too.

Dottie lays her cards down, two tens, and three sevens. “Read ‘em and weep boys.”

Pete almost feels bad as he lays his cards down, two queens and three sevens. Frank tips his hat to his friend and then pours a fresh finger of the amber liquid into Pete’s glass.

“Hey Amos,” Pete says. “You got something in your eye buddy?”

Amos rubs his eyes, “no why?”

“You have a tell my friend,” Pete says.

The table erupts in laughter.

“We’ve been telling him that for years,” Mabel says, “he doesn’t listen!”

“I’m just here to donate to the Storm Draft is all,” Amos responds.

“After forty years of this, you think you’d learn to fold a seven two off-suit,” Earl says.

As Dottie begins to shuffle the next round, the lights flicker and a boom that could only be transformer blowing shakes the shop.

Frank pushes his chair away from the table, and heads to the generator.

“Right behind ya babe,” Mabel says.

Dottie comforts Briggs who has started to tremble. She too had treats hidden in her overnight bag. Brownies. Just for Briggs, and maybe for the winner of the poker game.

“Hey Pete, grab your ice fella,” Amos says, adjusting the knobs on the NOAA radio, “Fill the live wells and let's move the food to one and the fresh bait to the other so it doesn’t spoil. Earl can’t take another loss this year.”

Earl stands and opens the door to the bait shop and stares at the horizon. Rain pelts the roof, and sprays onto the floor of the bait shop. Earl reaches out and touches the rain, a brackish water that stings his eyes but has the scent that makes him feel more at home than anything else.

“This damn generator. I swear. Every year,” Frank yells outside the shop.

“I told you to buy the Honda!” Mabel shouts.

A moment later the generator putters, and then hums. The lights flicker back on. Dottie gives Briggs another lingering hug and takes her seat back at the poker table.

Each hand after that has a couple of soggy cards that everyone knows are Earls.

“I’m all in,” Amos chortles, pushing his meager pot into the center.

Around the table everyone calls.

And just like that, with trip aces, Amos is back in the game, and in the lead.

The group settles onto their cots during the eye of the hurricane. Earl lays with Briggs next to him, his arm wrapped over the dog's heavy body, their breaths match.

The morning sun peeks into the shop, creating beams on the weathered floor boards.

“Who brought generic coffee?” Frank snips.

Everyone's eyes turn to Pete.

“I was ICE,” he says, pointing to the live wells filled with ice.

Dottie pats his shoulder, “Frank prefers the generic coffee, who can afford Folgers?"

Earl opens the door to his bait shop. Roof shingles scatter the parking lot. His friends follow behind him.

“Your knees were right, old-timer,” Mabel says. “She moved West at the last minute.”

“They never lie,” Earl says.

Six friends and one old dog walk into the Rodanthe Rise.The waitress takes the reserved sign off of the table and brings over six mugs, a bone and a bowl of water for Briggs. Amos’ pockets are flush with cash from the poker game, “Breakfast is on me today,” he says smiling.

“We let you win,” Mabel quips, “but in that case, I’m getting double bacon this morning and an extra order for Briggs.”

“You let me win?” Amos asks.

The table all murmurs, the same sentiment. No, of course not. We would never!

Earl removes the Storm Draft laminated paper from his messenger bag. With a sharpie at the top of the paper he writes, “Hurricane Bert, 2024.”

He smiles at Pete and announces to the group, “next year we will repick the draft order.”

“I want the generator,” Mable says.

Everyone laughs.

“Who came up with the Storm Draft?” Pete asks.

Five friends, in unison all answer, “me.”