John was so excited about the fishing excursion they had booked the month before, a private charter that would take him and Rose deep-sea fishing for trophy fish. When they had made their way to the beach house the afternoon before, Rose hadn’t felt so well. She and John sat on the beach in front of the porch and listened to the soft waves, about all Rose felt like doing.

“I’ll call and cancel the charter,” John had said to Rose as they sat on the beach.

“There’s no need,” Rose replied. “We can’t get our money back so let’s see how I feel in the morning. There’s no advantage to canceling now.” By bedtime Rose had felt better. John was hopeful that they would be able to go after all and Rose didn’t want to disappoint him. When they awoke this morning at 5:00 a.m. Rose did feel better, but she felt like a day at sea would set her back. Instead, she asked John to go to the Riding Rock Marina alone. John refused, and started to call the marina to cancel the trip, but Rose insisted.

“John, we’ve already paid for the boat. I’ll be fine and you know as well as I do that we need a Wahoo on our wall,” Rose said with a smile as she visualized the giant trophy fish.

John smiled and thought about it. Rose seemed fine and what she said made sense. Going to sea might make things worse for her, but why waste the trip?

“I just want to sit on the porch and read, John, so you go ahead and I’ll see you tonight.”

As the sun climbed and swallowed the darkness above, Rose walked back, this time choosing a wicker sofa on which to rest. A morning breeze began to blow gently, enough to make it comfortable to snuggle under a light blanket. She positioned two pillows on the armrest and stared into the southerly sky at the high level mass of white cirrus clouds on the horizon. Gazing into the sea, she saw the smiling faces of her beautiful daughters and hugged herself tight, sending them her love. Other than missing them dearly she felt fine, at peace, as she fell asleep.

***

MONDAY NOON: BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

“This is WBUR, Boston’s NPR News Station. A mysterious illness is being blamed for last night’s death of a local married couple. Monica and Kevin Colbert of Sutton, Massachusetts, were found in their home by their daughter who told doctors they had complained of flu-like symptoms. The Worcester County Health Department entered the couple’s homes wearing HAZMAT suits to remove bedding and take microbe samples. The initial cause of death has been listed as septicemia, but tests are being conducted to rule out whether or not avian or swine flu could be possible causes of death. This is Scott Sheldon for WBUR, Boston University Radio.”

***

MONDAY 2:00 P.M: ATHENS, GEORGIA

“In local news, a thirty-four-year old New York woman died suddenly this morning at Athens Regional Medical Center from what doctors are calling flu-like symptoms. Officials at the hospital reported an uptick in patients complaining of flu-like symptoms, even though the heart of flu season is still months away. In local weather, expect fair and mild conditions for most of the week. The National Weather Service says that large ridges of high pressure, one over Texas and the other centered close to Bermuda, will remain in place, steering tropical air from the gulf to the southeastern states. For WUGA in Athens, this is Kimberly Blanchard.

***

At 4:00 p.m., John posed for a picture next to the fighting chair at the back of the boat as he held the tail of the sixty eight pound Wahoo he had just landed. The Ilander-skirted ballyhoo lure still hung from the Wahoo’s lip, a rather unsatisfying last supper. Wind-whipped waves that had blown up in the past hour made it difficult for John to stand for the picture, but he was buoyed by his sense of accomplishment and smiled broadly.

He looked at his phone, hoping that somehow reception would magically appear. No bars. Not that he expected any twenty seven miles east of San Salvador island. “Oh, well,” he said, knowing full well that Rose’s cell phone wouldn’t work at the beach house anyway. He just wanted to send her the picture, to tell her he was thinking of her and that he couldn’t wait to see her that evening.

The captain turned the fifty-four-foot Bertram over-under around and began following the sun back toward San Salvador as the first mate took John’s fish and put it on ice alongside the grouper he had also caught. Turning the wheel over to his assistant, the captain came back to speak to John. “Hey, that’s a heck of a Wahoo you got there,” the captain said to John, purposefully playing up his Bahamian accent for the tourist. “Especially this early in the season.”

John smiled. “Yeah. Lucky, I guess.” John knew the Wahoo really only started biting in October and that the winter months are when they were most active. Still, he had what he came for, and with a few hours of fishing left he was optimistic that he had yet to land the really big one. The captain had told him in the morning that he expected the best bite to be near sunset.

“So you may have noticed I turned the boat back toward the island,” the captain said. “We got word that the hurricane in the Caribbean is turning north and they think it will head for the islands. We have to cut the trip short a few hours and head back. Just to be safe, you know, and to get our boat secured.”

As he considered the captain’s comments for a moment, John’s initial thought was that the captain was pulling his leg since he definitely looked the part of the sunburned tourist who could be suckered. But the captain looked serious, so John glanced around at the waves and the sky. He had paid little attention to either during the excitement of fishing. The chop had picked up in the past couple of hours, but John thought that must be normal for being so far out at sea.

“Really? Are you—serious?”

“Yah man, we don’t joke about hurricanes, not on the outer islands.”

“What...when? What are they saying?” All of a sudden John needed data, information to help him make strategic choices, as if he was in a Monday morning meeting with his team around the conference table.

“They saying it’ll take the path Irene took a couple of years ago when it went right through the islands,” the captain said, “except they say it won’t turn northeast. It’s suppose to hit land somewhere between Florida and South Carolina, but that part ain’t what concerns me if you know what I’m sayin’.”

Suddenly the idea of fishing at all seemed ridiculous. John’s smile faded as he surveyed the overcast skies and felt a light, steady breeze across his cheeks. Moving at twelve knots, he couldn’t tell how much of what he felt was the wind blowing and how much was attributable to relative wind due to the boat’s motion. The sea was littered with whitecaps. They were small and didn’t alarm him so he turned his attention to the dark, small clouds on the southern horizon.

“When do you expect us to be back at port?” John asked. The captain sensed his concern.

“I’ll get us back by 7:30 or so. Where you staying?”

“We rented a beach house on the southern tip of the island. We chartered a plane down here that’s supposed to pick us up on Sunday, but I’ll need to call them if we need to leave early. If I call tonight they may be able to get here by late tomorrow afternoon.”

“Won’t be no time for that. If Isabel is a coming this way like they say, it’ll be here tomorrow night. Rain will be coming hard tomorrow morning and we’ll lose power pretty fast. Always do. They’ll seal the island off by morning. Irene knocked out power for a week.” The captain and John stood and looked over the port side of the boat at the southern horizon. The captain smiled and placed his hand on John’s shoulder. “Stay inside and batten down the hatches. Just some wind and rain, man, that’s all.”

As the captain turned to leave John stared at the sky in troubled thought. Something more than the weather bothered him. He spun around quickly before the captain left. “Captain,” John began and then hesitated. “Is there a hospital on the island, or a clinic?”