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Still Waiting for the Sun
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ISBN-10: 1-55404-403-0
Genre: Romance/Fiction/Adventure
eBook Length: 271 Pages
Published: November 2006

From inside the flap

Who wouldn’t welcome the opportunity to do some things over with better results the second time around? College student Jane Whitley unexpectedly inherits a turn of the century old hotel that serves as a nursing home for the elderly residents of a hidden coastal town in North Carolina. She moves from her New York home in Brooklyn to tiny St Helena’s Island and Seneca Hollow. But inheritances come in all shapes and sizes, and rainy days always seem a bit gloomier when your memories are filled with melancholy. Jane is still coming to terms with her new life when hurricane Gordon barrels down on Eatonville and a future she’s not sure she wants.

Still Waiting for the Sun (Excerpt)

Chapter One

The sky grew dark and high winds caused the hotel lights to flicker off and on.

"I think we’re going to need the candles tonight," said Jane Whitley, the owner and manager of The Rawlings Hotel.

"Should we start up the fireplaces, ma’am?" asked Ronnie Mc Vicar, the desk clerk.

"That’s a good idea, Ronnie. Please get someone on that immediately."

Miss Whitley struggled to suppress her concern, but it was clear that this storm was going to leave quite a trail of devastation in its wake. Still, she was determined to keep her staff, her guests, and her hotel from feeling the full effects of the coming weather. It didn’t seem to matter that she had long ago paid her dues, becoming a bona fide local resident in one of the most active storm areas in the country. Each time a storm passed through the region, Jane felt as if she were starting over again in the area. With each and every storm that barreled through Eatonville, she felt tested by the weather, tested by her past, and tested by her neighbors.

"Arnie, please help me to shutter up the windows and secure the screen doors," barked Miss Whitley.

"Yes, ma’am," Arnold Beanfield replied.

One by one the shutters on all 45 windows were forced shut as a steady, windblown rain beat against everything in its path. The magnolias and palms down near the shoreline swayed back and forth as the tempest made its presence known. Rain gutters started to fill and overflow. And birds that should have been settling down to roost for the evening had already taken flight either further inland, or north or south, it didn’t matter, as long as it was away from the coming storm.

Neighbors in the nearby Colonial, Victorian, and Revival houses also went about closing up their shutters and protecting whatever they could, however they could, from the impending nor’easter. Up and down Main Street there was no one to be seen. Occasionally, a vehicle would pass by slowly, driving visibility hampered by the pelting raindrops upon its windshield as it rode, as it sought out refuge somewhere away from the storm. Traffic lights dangled and danced in the heavy breezes, shooting multi-colored searchlights in odd directions. Huge clusters of leaves flew from the trees down on to the cobblestones. And now and then, an unfortunate soul would run by, coat pulled high above the shoulders in an attempt to keep at least some of the cold rain from getting into their clothing.

On Rugby Road a window screen was loosened from its sash and sent crashing down to the street below. The noise startled those inside the house, and they promised themselves they would investigate what had happened when the winds died down. But this squall was just getting into gear. The night was young and so was the storm. Leaves and twigs were blown from the tallest and the smallest trees, collecting in rain gutters and storm drains, threatening to clog these as the drops continued to fall. Water pooled at street corners and wherever the run-off was slow, and in most places it had gotten to the point where it was no longer safe to be outside. Wherever shelter could be found was where anyone previously out and about on this night with any sense already was, or already quickly headed. By the time Miss Whitley and Arnie Beanfield were done, both were soaked and exhausted.