Great Big Beautiful Life(76)

I haven’t heard from Hayden since we got back into town, and as I park at the grocery store and head inside, I debate texting him.

The winds have already amped up further since I left Margaret’s, the rain finally starting to hit. The grocery store is not only packed but thoroughly picked over. I grab a jug of water, some candles and batteries, and the kinds of snacks that won’t require a refrigerator or a microwave, just in case.

When I get back to the house, someone from the rental company—a middle-aged man with a chest-length brown beard—is there, in an anorak, swinging his toolbox into the bed of his pickup. “Tried to call you,” he shouts over the pouring rain as I run with my grocery bags toward him.

“Sorry,” I shout back.

“Got you all situated.” He jerks his chin toward the plywood he’s fixed over the bungalow’s windows.

“Thank you so much!” I shout back.

“You should be good here,” he says. “Not supposed to turn into a hurricane, just a big storm.”

“Got it.” I nod, shivering in the cold as the rain pounds against my skin, plastering my clothes to me.

“I’ll let you get inside,” he says, and I thank him again as he gets in his truck, then run the rest of the way to the front door and let myself in.

The house is dark with all its windows blacked out, and for the first time since I got here, I’m cold. I peel off my shirt and throw on the first sweatshirt I come across, then run around the house flicking on lamps, stopping by the bathroom to wring my hair out over the tub.

Afterward, I change into dry sweatpants and clean, dry socks and unload the groceries.

I find the emergency lanterns in the linen closet and check the batteries, replacing the ones that are dead, and I arrange the pillar candles in the bathroom, living room, and kitchen, just in case, with lighters or matches by each of them.

It’s been years since I’ve been caught in a storm like this, and I’m trying to run through the checklist I used to know by heart, as a kid.

I double-check that the fire extinguisher is under the kitchen sink, and I find a first aid kit in the bathroom, then gather my passport and driver’s license and put them by the door—all things that seemed overkill to me when I was a teenager, given how many storms we’d weathered without any real danger or damage.

But that was back then, when I had parents to watch out for me, and a house that was an hour from the coast. This is different.

My stomach growls miserably, and I decide to make myself a veggie burger while I’ve still got electricity. After I’ve eaten, I debate taking a shower before deciding the thunder has already moved too close. I settle instead for the world’s fastest face washing, then smooth some retinol and moisturizer over my cheeks and forehead before going back to the living room.

I flop down on the couch and turn on the TV, then realize I must’ve left my phone in the other room when I changed. I pad back to the bedroom and grab it off the foot of the bed, only to find the screen dark and unresponsive.

Shit. No wonder the maintenance guy couldn’t get a hold of me.

I yank my charger from the wall and take it back into the living room with me, plugging my phone in right beside the couch.

On TV, The Real Housewives of Miami is playing, the volume nearly all the way down. The house rumbles as a pocket of thunder draws nearer, and the wind howls against the plywood-covered windows.

My phone finally has enough power to turn on, and messages start buzzing in, one after another, along with a couple of voicemails. When I see a text from Margaret, I tap it open immediately.

At that precise second, there’s a loud cheep sound from the kitchen, and the power goes out, plunging me into dark.

I only manage to read You’re still welcome to come here, if you’d feel safe before my phone shuts off.

I’m abruptly reminded of what I missed from the storm-prep checklist: Charge your devices while you still can.

I fumble through the dark to the nearest lantern and click it on, bathing the room in pale light, then using it to make my way around the space, lighting the pillar candles. Without the low drone of the TV, the wind’s shriek seems louder, more intimidating.

I need to be judicious with my computer battery since my phone’s dead, but I figure now might not be the worst time to double-check that the storm hasn’t been upgraded to a hurricane. I dig my laptop out of the bag by the front door, then fling myself onto the couch, only to realize my mistake. Another mistake.

Without electricity, there’s no internet.

You’re worrying for nothing, I tell myself. It’s just a storm. I’ve been through hundreds. I just need something to distract myself with.

Work usually does the trick. I can read through my notes by candlelight, brainstorm a little bit.

I pad back to grab my notebook from my bag, and right as I’m nearing the door, something slams into it from the outside, making me jump and yelp. Two more swift thumps follow the first, and then two more.

Almost like…

Is someone knocking?

I run over to it and push my eye against the peephole to find a tall, darkly dressed figure hunched against the sideways sheet of rain, his fist thwacking at the door.

I swing it open, and the wind and precipitation gust inside, pushing Hayden forward.

“What are you doing?” I yell over the onslaught.

His eyes are wild, his drenched hair tucked behind his ears, and his clothes absolutely sopping.