Chapter 6: The Empty House

The storm came in on Friday night, and it took the power with it.

I was on my bed with a book I wasn't reading when the whole house went dark.

The fan stopped.

The fridge shuddered and went quiet.

Rain hit the window in sheets, and thunder cracked right over the roof.

I had spent two days keeping to the rule.

I had eaten dinner at the counter while Mitch ate at the table, and we had said nothing but pass the salt.

I had kept my door closed.

I had listened to him walk past it at midnight and not slow down.

Now the house was black and loud, and I heard the back door slam.

I went to the window.

A light was bobbing across the yard, a flashlight, and it was going toward the garage.

The big rolling door on the shop side had been left up a foot.

If the rain got in, the cabinet on his bench would be ruined.

I put on a rain jacket over my T-shirt and shorts, and I ran.

The yard was a river.

I ducked under the door and stood up inside, soaked to the knees.

The shop was lit by one lantern on the bench.

Mitch was bent over, dragging the big door the rest of the way down.

He heard me, and he turned.

He was wet through, his white shirt stuck to his chest and his hair dripping.

"Go back inside," he said.

"You left the door up."

"I know. Go back inside, Marin."

"I came to help."

"You came out in a storm in a T-shirt."

"So did you."

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