Page 18 of Lucky Night

She wishes she didn’t sound so pleading and pathetic. Execute, woman! Power pose!

We were about to leave, she adds. You were ready to leave.

Because we didn’t know what was going on. Now we do. Jenny. Comeon.

She sighs. Still holding her skirt, she moves to the window.Come on, Jenny.Snow swirls on the other side of the glass.Be cool, Jenny. Get with the program.She doesn’t see any flashing lights. The street is too far down, even when she presses her forehead against the glass.

Comeoncomeoncomeon.

That fire in Midwood happened in winter, too. Imagine plunging from such heat into the freezing cold. Imagine choosing to do it, willingly leaving your no. That mother couldn’t have left all those babies. She must have been dragged out. Rescued.

Yeah, right. Rescued straight to hell.

Nick isn’t budging. Well you know what? She’ll go without him. Yes. She’ll run down and make sure everything’s all right. They usually leave separately anyway. She hates that part. It makes her feel…doesn’t matter. This is different. Let him stay and waitfor the all-clear, passing his time however he likes. Drinking champagne. Doing lightning math.

Go. Doit.

Justgo.

She frowns at the snow. Bounces her forehead against the glass. She won’t go, not alone. She knows this even as she marshals all the reasons why she should. This is their night, their one whole lucky and long-awaited night together. To leave early, and without him, would feel consequential in some way she can’t put her finger on. It would be, what? A renunciation. Something she could never undo.

God, listen to her. A renunciation? She’s overwrought. Fraught and overwrought. The entire situation is so minor. Why is she flipping out?

This happens at the firm all the time, he says.

She turns from the window. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, dropping a few slivers of ice from the bucket into his champagne.

Fires? she says.

False alarms. One of the security guys comes over the intercom and tells us to stay put while they check out an alarm on the ninth floor, or the thirtieth, or what have you. A few minutes later he comes back to say everything’s fine. Some jackass burned their leftovers in an office microwave, or snuck a joint in a stairwell. It’s life in big buildings, you know?

He sets down his glass and holds out a hand. She walks over. He pulls her close so that she’s standing between his knees.

This is nothing, Jenny. And if it is something, it’s a very minor and faraway something, being dealt with by professionals. If we leave, we’ll have to take the stairs, since they’ve shut down the elevators—which is standard procedure, the woman told me. So we’d be schlepping down forty-two flights.

She nods. True. All true.

Here’s a final consideration, he says. I checked the weather for Houston tomorrow, and when I saw it was going to be seventy degrees, I left my winter coat at the office. Which means that ifyou make me go down and kick around on the sidewalk, I’ll freeze my balls off. Think of my balls, Jenny. Won’t you pity my poor testicles?

He points at his crotch, making a sad face, and she marvels at him. She really does. Imagine going through life, through this perilous world, with such ease! Reaching for the phone. Joking about his balls. Confident that everything will work out for him, because everything always has.

Must be nice.

Well, maybe it’s not just nice. Maybe it’s the key. Maybe she should take her due, she should execute, not by insisting they scurry down a skyscraper, but by following his supremely rational lead. By setting her fears aside and choosing—that’s it,choosing—to treat this situation as the mere inconvenience it almost certainly is. She’s a grown woman—you’re a grown-ass woman, Jennifer!—who shouldn’t spoil a long-anticipated evening because of some dumb superstition.

Because yeah, God’s really coming for you. And he’s going to get you by burning down a huge building.

You’re that important.

She takes a deep breath. Exhales.

You’re right, she says. We should stay.

He pours her a glass of champagne. She takes a sip.

Oh, it’s good. So cold.

Okay, but those alarms earlier, they must have been much closer than the fifth—

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