Cal didn’t like the confining space of a hotel room. He stood at the window overlooking the beach from the fourteenth floor, actually envious of the tourists for the first time in his life.
His phone rang, but he ignored it. He’d fielded a dozen phone calls from individuals, homeowners associations, and general contractors about helping to get homes habitable again.
But he first had to get his own house ready to live in again. Sierra didn’t even have school, as it too had been hit with the tsunami. Everything on the island seemed to be holding its breath, while people scurried around, working, working, working like busy little ants.
Garbage lined the streets, though crews worked around the clock to clear the debris.
“I’m going down to the school again today,” Sierra said when she came
