Sheriff Tom Underlay

That gut instinct of his told him that a storm was coming, and yet he was still surprised to find his wife scrubbing the floor of the hallway closet at two in the morning. He really shouldn't have been so alarmed by it, but he wasn't used to having other people share in his restlessness when a storm approached. He had years to get used to it: to find other ways of calming the rising panic, to cope with the fact that no one seemed to share his feelings of anxiety, to not seem so expectant when that next big hurricane finally was announced.

And there Mariel was, scrubbing the floors and talking about rainy days, and Tom suddenly felt validated for all that time he spent insisting on things like shatterproof, storm windows and a reenforced roof.

He walked into the kitchen, grabbed a few dishrags, and returned to the hallway closet. "Here," he said, kneeling down beside her. "Let me help."