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“I’m fine, Dalton.”
I glower at her door, doubting that. Anyone who says they’re fine is often the opposite.
I refuse to fight a losing battle though. I sigh and turn to go back down. Have it your way then.
While deep down, I’m reluctant to leave her there in the dark, I busy myself with lighting more candles and starting a fire in the fireplace in the biggest living room. I’m not worried about staying warm. Humidity from the storm hangs in the air and likely will until the cold front comes all the way through with the storm. Done with a false stint of pyromania and satisfied I’ve got things as bright as I can, I fumble with the radio I found in a cupboard. Eventually, I get it working and find a station. The broadcast announces a big storm is ripping through the area. We should expect road closures and flash floods, too.
Great. That’s just great. Nothing about facing a storm is relaxing or fun.
Now that I’m informed and can no longer preoccupy myself with how long this weather might last and how bad it’s predicted and forecast to get, I quickly get bored.
Aubrey remains upstairs, so I wander, poking and prodding at this and that. I try to lose myself in a book, but I can’t follow the plot. I walk around some more and end up in the kitchen. I don’t want to mess with Marian’s “system” but I am hungry. I’m aware of how meticulous she is about arranging and organizing her things in this sacred room, so after I make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for myself—and also set one aside for Aubrey in case she leaves her room later—I double-check that I’ve stowed everything away as tidily as I found it.
Just when I replace the loaf of bread in the bag and set it inside the old-timey bread box, a loud crash rocks the earth. It booms outside. The house shudders, and as I freeze, riding out the vibration, knickknacks dance and fall off the shelves in the room.
“What the hell?”
Did lightning hit the house? I run outside, in the direction of where the noise came from. Rain pelts me hard, and I squint to see through the darkness of the storm. Right outside the back door, a tree lies on the soaked grass Lauren mows so carefully. The bark is split on the mighty trunk. Black charred scratches trace the cut in the wood, and I realize it wasn’t the house that got struck by lightning, but this enormous tree.
I gasp in amazement and fear. Wind whips at me furiously as I take in how close of a call that was. If that tree had swayed just slightly to the east, it would have smashed into the house like a hammer cutting down through the air. The kitchen I just ate in would’ve been pounded and pulverized into bits.
I’ve never come this close to a life-or-death situation, and it sobers me. Mere feet stand between me and the tree that could have ended me. Branches sway in the wind, and its leaves fling off with the force of nature still picking at it.
“Dalton!”
I turn slowly at the sound of Aubrey’s voice. Shielding my face, I hold my hand above my eyes to see her. I find her back there, standing at the doorway to the kitchen. She hugs herself as she furrows her brow, staring at me with disapproval.
“What the hell are you doing?” she shouts above the chaos of the storm. “Get inside!”
I lick my lips, careful with what I want to reply. I can’t blurt out whatever comes to mind. This is the first time she’s reached out to me, and I won’t screw it up.
“You’re going to get struck by lightning!”
I step closer so she’ll hear me. “I’ll come inside only if you’ll hang out with me!”
Shit. So much for thinking before speaking.
“What!”
“You heard me.”
She scoffs and shakes her head. I see her mouth moving as she mumbles to herself. I’m sure it’s a colorful litany of scorn for me. Then she lifts her hand to open the door further, holding it open for me.
I bite back a grin and sprint toward shelter.
And her.
I don’t like the fact that I’ve forced her hand, but I’ll let the guilt come later.
I’ll make it up to her one way or another because this distance between us has gone on too damn long.
Chapter 14
Dalton
After I return to the house, I insist that I don’t need a candle to go dry off and change. I’m soaked, drenched to the bone. But it’s not like I don’t know where my dresser is or have forgotten where I stashed my clothes.
I’m relieved to find Aubrey in the living room, munching on the PB&J I made for her. She pauses, mouth full and somehow adorable with that deadpan. “You almost got it right.”
