What the Waves Bring Read Online Free

racing to the bed and retrieving the blankets, lowering the heat of the electric one before replacing them. Her hand felt his forehead, dotted now with moisture. “And you’re running a fever. Terrific!” Her sarcasm was lost on the patient, who, in his dazed state of sleep, was oblivious to her concern. “Aspirin. Two aspirin tablets.” Instantly, she ferretted the pills from the bathroom medicine chest, grabbed a glass of water, then pondered the best way to get the medicine down. Lifting the heavy head was the least of her worries; coaxing the pills home was the worst.
    â€œCome on, whoever you are. Open up. This will curb that fever.” She wedged one arm behind his neck to prop up his head and forced the tablets between his lips, chasing them quickly with water. When he tried to turn his face away she held it fast, pleased that there was no sign of either pill.
    â€œThere! That’s my good fellow!” Her soft voice crooned her praise as she eased his dark head down. “Now you can go back to sleep.” But he already had, his senses dead to the world once more.
    How long she sat, bathing his forehead with a cool cloth, pulling the covers over him as he shifted and displaced them, she didn’t know. In the midst of Ivan the Terrible’s fury, time lost all meaning. When he was calmer and cooler she left him, but only to retrieve her transistor.
    â€œExtensive flooding … reported … Connecticut shore.” The crackle came through in broken phrases.
    â€œYou don’t say,” she mumbled caustically, nestling into the rattan chair from which she could monitor her patient’s condition as well.
    But the voice had more good news to report. “Hundreds of telephone lines … knocked down …”
    â€œTell me something I don’t know,” she whispered in facetious challenge, which, to her horror, the faceless announcer promptly seized upon.

    â€œ … and tens of thousands … left without electricity …”
    â€œUh-oh,” she moaned, her fearful eyes skittering to the pale shaft of light that filtered in from the living room. “Spare me that. Anything … but that!”
    The crackle went on blithely. “Damage estimates from … storm … worst in thirty years … put in multimillions … wind and rain rage on. Trees … uprooted, windows shattered … roofs have caved in …”
    Every muscle in April’s body tensed. “I take that back,” she countered contritely, her husky voice faltering. “I’ll do without lights for a while, if this old house will just stay in one piece.” Her eye ranged over the ceiling and walls, built over a century before to withstand the ire of the Atlantic. As though to second her plea, the house groaned in loud torment as it fought the force of the hurricane, then was still … but intact. The breath she’d been holding was slowly expelled. “Thank you,” she whispered in heavenly appreciation, before turning her attention to the bed. How nice to sleep through this, she mused, then caught herself at the realization of all else this man had not slept through. Once again, the jumble of questions assaulted her; once again, she came up empty-handed.
    She pushed herself from the chair with a sigh, only to fall back again when the light in the doorway flickered and died. Even white teeth punished her lower lip as she held her breath, awaiting return of the current—but to no avail. The phone was dead … and now the lights! Though it was mid-afternoon, darkness hovered about the house. For long moments she put off lighting the lamp, bent on preserving her supply of kerosine. Finally realizing that, for the sake of her sanity alone, light was imperative, she wandered into the living room, struck a match and found herself in a room newly golden and atmospherically warm. Warm—for the time being, she reminded herself, aware