Page 72 of The Night the Lights Went Out
Heather laughed, something about it triggering that same unreachable memory again. “See? I knew we had a lot in common! Anyway, I know you’re driving, so I’ll text the steps on how to work the alarm so you’ll have it with you later and don’t have to remember anything or write it down.”
“I feel so bad staying in your house without you. If Brooke is better tomorrow, will you come down? You need a break, too. Seriously, I don’t know how you do all you do.”
Heather laughed again, and Merilee bit down on the inside of her cheek, trying to remember why the sound made her wince. “I will—but don’t worry. If I end up staying home with Brooke, I promise to not get out of my pj’s, all right?”
“Deal. And thanks, Heather. I really can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
“Don’t give it another thought—just enjoy yourself.”
Merilee hung up, feeling disappointed but excited, too. It had been a very long time since she’d spent any time away by herself, without housework or errands or kids or work to occupy her time—much less in a gorgeous oceanfront home. When Heather had given her the address to plug into her GPS, Merilee had out of curiosity searched for it on one of the real estate apps. The house was huge, and brand-new, with every amenity and upgrade—so different from her grandparents’ cottage on Chatham Avenue, which had been built around the turn of the last century and was one of the few remaining beach resort cottages built along the back river and beach.
She was glad Heather’s home was on the east side of the island and she wouldn’t be passing the old house that held so many memories for her. Seeing aFOR SALEsign would have probably made her cry.
By the time Merilee reached the Islands Expressway, she’d opened all the minivan’s windows and was listening to a classic rock station she’d found on the radio, the volume turned up embarrassingly high. She remembered from her fall breaks from school that October was the best time to be at Tybee—with most of the tourists gone, along with the pressing heat and humidity of summer. She sang along with Mick Jagger about getting no satisfaction, belting it out in a way that reminded her of Sugar singing in church.
When she passed Fourth Street the GPS told her to prepare to turn left. Merilee found her shoes on the floor of the car with her feet and slipped them back on as she lowered the volume on the stereo and looked for her turn. Right past Sixth Street she turned left toward the ocean and onto a cement-and-brick driveway.
She knew what to expect from the photos online. But when she stepped out of the car and heard the ocean and smelled the salt and sea island air, she knew she’d found her way back home. Even without her grandparents, the wild scent of this place would always calm her soul and bring her back to the once-happy little girl she’d been a long, long time ago.
Quickly sliding out her suitcase and locking the minivan, she headed up the wide stone steps to the wood-and-leaded-glass front doors. She knew there was an elevator in the garage she could have used for her luggage, but she was so used to doing everything herself that it didn’t occur to her to use the elevator until she’d already reached the top step.
Lifting the mat, she found the key, then studied the directions Heather had texted her before disarming the security alarm. She stepped through the door into a huge great room and stood there for a few moments, taking in the tall ceilings and the sweeping staircase, the marble floors and the beautiful art on the walls. Leaving her suitcase, Merilee closed the doors and moved forward through the house to the wall of windows that overlooked a stone patio and, beyond that, the Atlantic Ocean. She opened a set of French doors and left them open, wanting the house to be filled with the salt-drenched air, which seemed to wrap her in its arms and tell her everything was going to be okay.
She explored the house, relieved that she didn’t have to decide on a bedroom, because there were two master suites on the main floor, one just as luxurious and huge as the other, and both with French doors leading onto the balcony. She picked the one without the toiletries in the bathroom, assuming that was Heather and Dan’s room.
Kicking off her shoes, she found the remote for the all-house stereo and plugged in her phone to stream Pandora before heading to the kitchen. She’d stopped being wowed and impressed by the time she’d entered the kitchen, because it was all too overwhelming. No detail or convenience had been spared, and the kitchen was so beautiful and welcoming that Merilee thought that if there was any kitchen that might convince her to enjoy cooking, this one might be it.
She opened the refrigerator and found it stocked with all sorts of goodies, including a fruit and cheese plate and the promised bottle of champagne and carton of orange juice. Feeling like a kid playing hooky from school, she hunted around the cabinets before she found a glass pitcher and made mimosas, going heavy on the champagne. She wasn’t driving anywhere, nor did she have to be a good example for her children, so she was going to enjoy herself.
After closing all the doors and resetting the alarm, knowing she probably wouldn’t remember to do it after the mimosas, she found the media room with the large screen upstairs. She settled herself into one of the relaxing plush leather chairs, the pitcher on one side and the cheese and fruit on the other, and proceeded to binge watch a sappy romance DVD Heather had conveniently included in her collection—lasting almost to the end before she couldn’t take it anymore.
Unsteady on her feet, Merilee returned the remnants of the food back to the fridge and, because there was only a tiny bit left in the pitcher, finished the rest of the mimosas without bothering to use her glass. She left both in the sink, planning to wash them in the morning and not trusting herself to hold on to anything right now without dropping it.
Feeling inordinately pleased with herself and happy with the world in general, she retired to her suite, forgetting her suitcase in the hall and, being too tired to retrieve it or her pajamas, stripped down to her bra and underwear before crawling into the ridiculously high-thread-count sheets. Leaving the curtains open despite the convenient button located by the side of the bed, she fell into an alcohol-induced sleep, looking forward to being awakened by a Tybee sunrise.
• • •
Something loud and blaring was interrupting her sleep. She didn’t remember setting a wake-up alarm—she didn’t remember much of anything except drinking an entire pitcher of mimosas—and thought if she could just ignore it, it would eventually stop. But it didn’t. After opening her eyes briefly before tightly shutting them again, she burrowed her head under the pillow, ignoring the chalky feel of her mouth and the fact that there was no light coming in from the windows. Either it was still the middle of the night, or she’d somehow pushed the button for the curtains and closed them.
But somewhere through the pulsing alarm, there was a thud, and then a door slamming. Merilee sat up, the room swimming around her, and it occurred to her that she was still very, very drunk.
Maybe Heather had come after all, and Merilee had a coherent thought about dirty dishes being left in the sink. And then she had the stray thought that Heather must have forgotten the alarm code because she’d changed it to something Merilee could remember. Except at that exact moment, she couldn’t.
She slid from the tall bed and padded barefoot across the wood floor of the bedroom, running into a dresser and a wall before she found the bedroom door. Opening it, she stood in the doorway for a moment, trying to remember the floor plan of the house. And where a light switch might be.
The screaming siren sound was louder in here, the marble floors scooping up the sound and throwing it back in her face and into her ears and pounding head. She slapped her hands over her ears, trying to make it stop, then lowered them again.The alarm.Had she set it incorrectly? She did remember closing the doors and heading to the alarm panel to reset it, but had she actually done it? Or did she not close a door completely and an ocean breeze blew it open? She recalled upending the mimosa pitcher for the last drop and wished that she hadn’t. Maybe then she’d have more of her brain to work with.
“Heather?” she started to say, but it came out as a burp. Why wasn’t Heather turning off the alarm?And where is the damn door?She stumbled forward, going where there was a red pulsing light across the room. It had to be the alarm panel. And if it wasn’t, she’d find a phone and call someone. If only she remembered where her phone was. A phone began to ring somewhere, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t hers, just as sure that she wouldn’t be able to find it if she couldn’t find a light switch.
She was slowly making her way across the great room toward the flashing red light, her arm stretched out in front of her, when something hit her hard against the entire side of her body, throwing her sideways against what felt like the large sofa she’d seen earlier, its back facing the front door.
The air flew from her lungs as her body landed; then, just as quickly, whatever it was that had hit her lifted off her and backed away. She slid from the edge of the sofa and onto a plush rug, the room still spinning as every single bone in her body screamed, somehow obliterating her need to feel fear.
“Heather?” she managed, tasting blood on her cracked lips.
“What the...?” It was a man’s voice, but it was a familiar one. “Where’s the damned light switch?” The man moved away from her, followed by the sound of a lamp crashing to the ground, and then a moment later the overhead spotlights and chandelier sprang to life, illuminating with brilliant clarity her lying on the ground next to the sofa, the remains of a crystal lamp lying scattered nearby. And somewhere, a phone continued to ring.
“Merilee?”
