Chapter 9: Power Out

The power went out at nine on Tuesday night, in the middle of a thunderstorm.

I had a candle on the counter, a gas burner still lit, and a pan of eggs I refused to waste.

Declan stood in the dark by the window with his phone flashlight pointed at the street.

"Sit down," I said. "You're making me nervous."

"I'm making sure nobody is on the stairs."

"The only person on the stairs is the woman from across the hall, and she's seventy-eight."

"That's exactly who I'd send."

I laughed before I could stop myself.

He turned his head.

"What?"

"Nothing. Eat something."

He crossed the kitchen and stood at the other side of the counter.

The candle lit half his face.

He looked tired and thin and so much older than the man in my photograph that it hurt to look at him.

"My question," I said.

"Go ahead."

"Did you think about me?"

"Hallie."

"It's the question. You promised."

He was quiet so long that the eggs began to spit.

"Every day," he said. "Next question."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only true one I've got."

"Every day, and you never wrote."

"I told you why."

"You told me about the phone."

I picked up the paring knife I'd used on the onion, only to have something to hold.

"You sat in a bar for four years thinking about me every day."

"And it never once occurred to you to find a way."

"I tried to find a way."

"Not hard enough."

"You don't know what I tried."

"Then tell me!" I said, and my hand came up with the knife in it.