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“They can’t enforce it,” Emerson said. “They call it an order, but they can’t make people with solid homes go. And storms are unpredictable—”
“Like women?”
She squared her jaw. “If the hurricane scares you, Mr. Garner, I suggest you run. Get out while the getting’s good.”
“Ah, but I have an appointment with you tomorrow. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Providing your house is still standing, of course. And you’re still in it.”
“We’ll be here,” she vowed. But we may not stay.
“You’re determined not to evacuate?”
“I don’t plan on it.” This was a lie, because she’d spent all evening planning for it. Nana and the Captain wouldn’t like it, but she considered herself responsible for them. She would do whatever she had to do to keep them safe.
“On TV,” he drawled, “it said that usually twenty-five percent of the population wouldn’t leave, no matter how bad things get. You know what that tells me?”
“That we’re a hardy breed.”
“No. It tells me that at least twenty-five percent of you people down here are certifiably crazy.”
“Probably a conservative estimate,” she shot back. “But I didn’t call you about the weather. I want to talk about your photographer.”
“Oh. Merriman.”
“Yes. Merriman. He phoned my sister tonight.”
“Isn’t she allowed to take calls? Or is there a new law— Merriman can’t make them?”
Damn you, Emerson thought, wishing she could twist the phone cord around his neck. “They’re both adults. They can talk to whom they please.”
“That’s very generous of you. This afternoon you acted more like you were her keeper than her sister. And poor Merriman. You kicked him out. But now you’ve relented? How magnanimous.”
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