Mike’s the Head Ranger here, Jennifer’s boss.
I almost saysure, I was going over there anyway, but then I realize I don’t really want to have a conversation aboutwhyI’m going over there, because it’s not like that’s simple.
“Sure, no problem,” is what I say.
“Thanks,” Jennifer says.“He’ll help you carry the stuff out.”
By the timeI get to the firefighters’ dorm, next to my house, the storm is going full force.I can’t drive much more than twenty-five miles an hour, rain sheeting over the windshield, lightning flashing through the sky every couple of seconds.
I like storms, but this is a big one.Mike’s right — there’s no way the power isn’t going to go out when the wind blows a dead tree over onto the power lines or something.I don’t envy the guys who get to fixthat.
I park the SUV, pull the hood of my raincoat over my head, then take a deep breath.
Flashlights first, then talk to Hunter,I think.My stomach flips over inside me, but I grit my teeth, grab the keys, open the door, and then run like hell to the dorm.
No one answers the front door, but the rain is so loud on the tin roof of the front porch that they probably can’t hear it.I just push it open and go inside.
The front door opens onto the living room, where a couple guys watching TV look up at me in surprise.Hunter’s not one of them.
“Hey,” says Daniel, one of the guys I played baggo with on Saturday.
“I knocked, but the rain’s too loud,” I say.“I brought your emergency supplies.Flashlights and candles and stuff.”
“You need help bringing it in?”another guy, this one a little older, asks.He stands from the couch, and so do all the rest.
Shit.I’m pretty sure I met him briefly when I was here before, and I’m also pretty sure I don’t remember his name.
“There’s only a couple of boxes,” I say.“I just need one or two people to help.”
There’s four of them, and they’re all already putting on shoes and raincoats while I stand there.One of them, the older guy, winks at me.
“We need something to do,” he says.“Even if it’s just carrying some heavy things in the rain.”
I laugh, because even if I don’tneedthat much help, I’m not gonna turn down a bunch of burly firemen who want to lift heavy things for me.
“Thanks,” I say.
I just stand on the dry-ish porch, unlock the SUV with the remote key fob, let the guys grab the heavy plastic bins, and lock it again when the doors are closed.
“Just take these on through to the other common area,” the older guy says.“We’ll dry ‘em off and go through them there.”
We file back inside, the guys carrying the big plastic bins.I push the hood of my raincoat back and unzip it, turning to the guy whose name I’ve forgotten.
“Thanks for the help,” I say.“Is Hunter around?”
“Last I saw, Casden was playing board games in the kitchen,” he says.“You’re welcome to check.”
I hang my wet jacket up next to the door, take off my shoes, and walk through the house.I’m hyper-aware of every movement I make, and hyper-aware that my hair is up in an ugly ponytail and rain-frizzed, that I’m wearing work pants, a cardigan, and polka-dot socks.It’s not the most enticing outfit, but what am I gonna do, go put on a sundress before I say hello to Hunter?
As I come up on the kitchen door, I hear a girl shriek, then a giggle.It sounds like Mandy, and suddenly, I remember the way she laughed at his jokes on Saturday, the way she touched Hunter’s arm, and something inside me freezes.
Calm down, I tell myself.She’s allowed to laugh.
Then I walk through the doorway and stop.
Opposite me, Hunter is standing in front of an open closet, his back to me, and Mandy is on his shoulders, holding a board game in one hand.She laughs again.
“I got it, I got it, you can put me down,” she says.
