That broke the tension for a while. Conversation moved on to lighter things as people came up with riddles and jokes, while others guessed at the answers. Laughter flowed around the table as easily as the wine did.
Then the lights flickered and everyone froze. The chandelier blinked twice, before the power gave out entirely. The room sank into half-light from the fire and the scattered candles.
“The generator should start at any moment. We have it for emergencies such as this one,” Dad confidently stated leaning back in his chair.
It didn’t start. The fire popped, and the wind outside howled like it was reminding us who was in charge. We all looked uneasily at each other.
“I suppose I will go check it,” Dad said as he got up.
“I’m coming with you,” I decided, quickly rising.
Dex stood as well. “I’ll go.”
“That’s not necessary,” I said quickly.
He met my eyes. “You don’t know engines.”
“I can learn.”
“I can fix it faster.”
Dad looked between us, amused. “Then both of you come. We’ll need hands anyway.”
The wind hit us hard the moment we stepped outside. The cold bit through my mittens as we trudged toward the small shed that housed the generator. Snow swirled in blinding sheets. Dex moved ahead, flashlight cutting through the white. Inside the shed, the air smelled of fuel and metal. Dad crouched beside the generator, muttering to himself. “I should have looked at this before the storm but we were so busy getting ready with other important things, I plumb forgot. I see the problem. She’s got old oil in her. We’ll have to bleed it out before putting in the new.”
Dex rolled up his sleeves. “Show me the valve.”
They worked in near silence. I held the light while they drained the old oil, replaced it, and checked the gas line. My fingers were stiff, my breath visible in the beam. Dex’s movements were steady, efficient. When the new fuel was in,he pulled the cord twice. Nothing. A third time. The machine coughed, sputtered, and went silent again.
“Try priming it,” Dad mentioned.
Dex adjusted a lever, pressed twice, then pulled again. The generator roared to life, loud and rough at first, then smoothing into rhythm. The shed filled with the hum of power. Relief spread through me like warmth.
Dad clapped Dex on the shoulder. “Good work.”
Dex nodded, rubbing his hands together. “She’s old but solid.”
“Like me,” Dad said with a grin. “Come on, let’s give her a minute to settle.”
We stood there, watching the steady pulse of the machine. The air was thick with exhaust. Dad shifted his weight and said casually, “You know, Lucy takes after me more than her mother. Proud as a mule sometimes.”
“Dad,” I warned.
He ignored me. “But underneath all that independence, she’s got a heart for quiet things. You put her in a room with a stack of books, and the world could end around her and she wouldn’t notice.”
“Dad,” I repeated, my cheeks heating. My dad and I loved to read. It wasn’t that the other people in our family didn’t occasionally pick up a book, but we each had personal libraries and could disappear for hours in a story. I had endured a lot of teasing about it as a child.
Dex smiled faintly. “Books?”
“Novels, mostly,” Dad said. “She will read mostly anything that’s fiction. I tried to get her into history but she doesn’t share my passion.”
I crossed my arms. “Are we done turning me into a character study?”
“Almost,” Dad said cheerfully. “If you ever want her attention, start with a good book and persistence. She appreciates people who show up.”
Dex’s expression softened. “I’ll remember that.”
I groaned and turned toward the door. “You two can stay here and chat about me all night if you want. I’m going inside.”
