Chapter 20 - The Night the Lights Went Out
The storm arrived without warning.
At seven, rain began.
At seven fifteen, thunder shook the windows.
At seven twenty-three, the power went out.
Emma screamed from upstairs.
“I’m fine!”
“Then why did you scream?” I shouted.
“Drama!”
Vincent laughed beside me.
We had been making dinner.
Or trying to.
He held up his phone flashlight.
“I can finish.”
“The stove is electric.”
“Right.”
“Billionaire survival skills.”
“I own restaurants.”
“That does not help.”
“Pizza?”
“Phones may be down.”
He looked wounded.
“Now this is serious.”
We found candles.
Emma brought blankets downstairs.
The three of us built a ridiculous camp in the living room.
Rain hammered the windows.
For an hour, it was fun.
Then water began dripping from the ceiling.
I stared.
“No.”
Vincent followed my gaze.
A dark spot spread near the corner.
“You’ve got a roof leak.”
“I can see that.”
“I’ll check the attic.”
“During lightning?”
He paused.
“Excellent point.”
We placed a pot beneath the drip.
Water struck metal.
Plink.
Plink.
Plink.
The sound changed Vincent’s face.
I knew why.
Sophia’s ceiling.
The excuse.
The night Emma went to the hospital.
He sat slowly.
Emma was busy arranging pillows.
She did not notice.
I did.
“You okay?”
Vincent looked at the pot.
“I hate that sound.”
I sat beside him.
“You should.”
“I know.”
Rain flashed silver against the windows.
He rubbed his palms together.
“I keep remembering standing outside your bedroom door.”
I said nothing.
“I knew Emma had gone to the hospital.”
“Yes.”
“I told myself you were trying to punish me.”
“Yes.”
“I was angry that you locked me out.”
“You were.”
He looked at me.
“I still don’t understand who I was.”
“That person was you.”
Pain crossed his face.
I continued before he could mistake honesty for cruelty.
“You don’t have to pretend he wasn’t.”
He stared at the floor.
“Sometimes I’m afraid if you remember him clearly, you’ll leave again.”
“I remember him clearly every day.”
His eyes lifted.
“And I’m still here tonight.”
The room became very quiet.
Emma appeared carrying Mr. Buttons.
“Why are you both sad?”
“We’re talking,” I said.
“About the leak?”
Vincent answered.
“Kind of.”
Emma looked at the pot.
Then at her father.
“Oh.”
She remembered too.
Children remember what adults hope they forget.
She sat beside him.
“That leak wasn’t your fault.”
Vincent swallowed.
“No.”
“But leaving us was.”
“Yes.”
Emma nodded.
“Okay.”
She placed Mr. Buttons in his lap.
“For five minutes.”
He smiled shakily.
“Thank you.”
We slept downstairs because the storm continued.
Emma fell asleep first.
Her head rested against my shoulder.
Vincent sat on the other side of the couch.
Around midnight, the power returned.
The lamps came alive.
The refrigerator hummed.
The television blinked.
Nobody moved.
Vincent looked at me across our sleeping daughter.
“I love you.”
“I know.”
“I’m not asking anything.”
“I know.”
I studied his face.
Then said something I had not said since before the divorce.
“I love you too.”
His eyes closed.
For a second, I thought he might cry.
Then Emma shifted between us.
“Too bright,” she mumbled.
Vincent reached carefully for the lamp and turned it off.
Darkness returned.
May you like
But this time, it did not feel like being lost.
It felt like rest.
