Chapter 5: One Week

The storm came in around midnight, and it took the power with it.

I was lying on top of the white sheets in the dark, listening to the hibiscus slap against the wall.

The air conditioner died with a long groan.

The room filled with heat in under a minute.

I got up and slid the balcony door open, and the wind hit me full in the face.

It smelled of salt and rain and cut leaves.

Rhett was already out on his side.

The two balconies shared a low iron rail, only as wide as a table, and he stood with both hands on it and his shirt open.

"Couldn't sleep," he said.

"Neither could I. It's an oven in there."

"It's a very white oven."

I laughed, and thunder rolled in across the water.

The lightning showed me his face for one second, bare and serious, and then it was gone.

"You should go in," he said. "It's going to pour."

"So should you."

Neither of us moved.

The first drops hit the roof, fat and slow, and then the rain came down all at once.

Rain came sideways under the awning and soaked my thin nightdress in a breath.

I should have run.

I stepped to the rail instead, and so did he, and there was only that iron bar and eight inches of wet air between us.

"Rochelle," he said.

"What?"

"If you're going to tell me to leave, do it now. I'm not good at deciding this part on my own."

I thought of my husband in the Ocean Suite, with a woman who carried his camera.

I thought of a note signed with a single C.

"I'm not going to tell you to leave," I said.

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