None of the levers were in the wrong position.
She flipped them back and forth, and nothing happened.
She was going to have to ask for help. She really didn’t want to ask for help.
She opened her texts and started a message to Sam.
I’m flipping the switches, and the lights still won’t come back on.
It only took thirty seconds for three dots to appear at the bottom of the screen.
Context would be good
you know the context already. It’s my terrible electricity, and Ben is gone.
She hadn’t gone into a whole lot of detail with Sam on what was happening in her marriage. Okay, she’d gone into no detail. All Sam knew was that Ben was in Chile. He’d made a joke about Aaron Rodgers that she’d only vaguely understood.
Is he that football player who does the ayahuasca sweat-lodge thing?
Yeah.
What does that have to do with Ben?
Nothing, I’m sure.
She always had the feeling Sam didn’t like Ben. Of course, that seemed to be a mutual thing.
In Ben’s case, it was less about Sam and more about his worry she was hanging on to elements of her dysfunctional childhood. She could understand why he’d think that, but it wasn’t fair.
Sam had never felt like a component of the dysfunctionality. In many ways, he was part of the only stability and sanity she’d ever had. He was certainly the only person from her years in the system who kept in touch with her.
He’s like a brother.
She had always told Ben that. It was true. Probably. It wasn’t like she had a real brother to compare it to.
I’ll come and look at it. Bet you blew a fuse.
You don’t have to come over.
Except if he didn’t, she was going to be stuck without electricity all night.
Don’t.
She sat there and stared at the single-word message, wondering what he was telling her not to do exactly, hoping he was on his way.
Five minutes later, she got her answer. The firm knock on her door was most definitely Sam. As she went to let him in, she had the vague wish that she’d put a bra on, but she was wearing a hoodie. Also, it was Sam. He’d seen her looking far worse.
Hell, he’d seen her hunched over the Ouija board all those years ago.
The Ouija board had not been her finest hour.
With that in mind, she pulled the door open and looked up at him with her most grateful and pleading expression. “Thank you.”
He sighed heavily, lifting one large hand and rubbing it over his jaw. His whiskers scraped against his palm. He was wearing a green baseball hat pushed high up on his head, a hoodie he probably hadn’t looked twice at before putting on, and a pair of jeans with holes in the knees that were splattered with paint and other various pieces of evidence from construction sites. The way Sam didn’t give a shit aboutwhat he wore was nearly admirable. Of course, when you were over six feet tall and devastatingly handsome, you didn’t need your clothes to do any work for you. Not that she went out of her way to ponder Sam’s looks. They had known each other for far too long.
Other women were welcome to his capable hands, blue eyes, and perfect smile.
She just wanted his electrical skills.
