Then they drove back home and unloaded the last of the groceries from the car just as the first drops of rain showed on the windshield. Like all bad news, it was better to have it started. The sooner begun the sooner it would be over.
CHAPTER XIII
The Tragic Messenger
The wind increased in violence, and with the high tide of the afternoon the surf pounded with wild fury. At Terry’s home the rain lashed the windows, and the awnings protested noisily against the gale. Arden announced blandly that she no longer felt “merry as a grig.”
“Let’s play rummy, the storm makes me restless,” Sim suggested.
“If you feel restless now, I hate to think how you’ll feel after three days of it,” Terry reminded her.
“Three days!” Arden exclaimed. “I’ll have to get out my tatting to keep me busy, I guess.”
“You can’t tat, silly,” Sim smiled. “Come on, let’s play cards.”
Terry opened a painted card table, and they began a half-hearted game of rummy. But Arden couldn’t concentrate, so Terry and Sim told her to “give up,” whereat they abandoned the cards.
“Listen to that old ocean,” Arden remarked. “If you were out there now, Sim, it would take more than Melissa to pull you to safety.”
“Wasn’t she great?” Sim asked. “She knew just how to go about it. I wasn’t scared, but I was beginning to tire. Melissa took me out beyond the current, and then we struck a stroke and got in easily. Were you frightened?”