Page 36 of The Night the Lights Went Out
The GPS on her phone told her to take a right and then an immediate left, leading her directly in front of open iron gates with stacked-stone pillars on either side, a ginormous flickering gaslight on top of each. Moving forward, she studied the steep incline of the drive, hoping her tires and brakes were up to the challenge.
She followed the driveway to a wide, circular drive in front of what appeared to be an exact replica of Tara—except much larger. With the rain and now full darkness, Merilee couldn’t tell what color the shutters were, or if there were cotton fields behind the house, but she did notice that while the house wasn’t completely dark, there were only sporadic lights on inside, but at least the large light hanging over the front door was illuminated.
The lack of parked cars didn’t alarm her, as she was a good fifteen minutes early, and there might have been cars parked on the street that she hadn’t noticed because she’d been concentrating on not running into anything in the deluge.
Grabbing her purse and hugging it close to her chest, she dashed out of her car to the covered front entranceway. She hadn’t locked her car door but figured she probably didn’t have to in this neighborhood. At least the doorbell was lit up so she didn’t have a problem finding it to press. She heard deep, gonglike tones inside the house, using the time while she waited to wring out her hair and wipe what she knew had to be smeared mascara from under her eyes.
When she was done, she waited for another full minute, straining her ears to see if she could detect the sound of faraway footsteps. She stood there for a little longer, deciding whether it was rude to ring the bell twice, then waited for another minute before she pressed the bell again.
The distant sound of tires on wet asphalt made her turn around to see if someone else had decided to tackle the steep driveway, but she was disappointed at the sound of the car driving away. She rang the bell one more time, then checked her phone to see if there were any text messages from Heather to let her know they’d changed the date of the meeting, then double-checked her calendar to make sure that it was actually tonight. She even considered texting Heather to let her know she was at the front door, but she didn’t want to appear to be completely inept.
Merilee took a deep breath. The woman she’d been before Michael had left her would have simply opened the door. But that was when she’d still had a modicum of confidence. She heard her mother’s voice again from their phone conversation, the memory alone draining her of what little self-confidence she still possessed. She’d half turned to leave when she recalled what her mother had said about selling the Tybee house because no one used it; remembered the dozens of times she’d begged her mother to allow Merilee and her children to go there. The anger flooded her like a rush, the blood hot in her veins.You have no right.
If only to block out the voice and the anger, Merilee whipped around and pushed down the door latch. She had meant only to test it to see whether it was unlocked, but instead she found herself standing inside a cavernous foyer, the black-and-white marble tile reflecting the dim light from an opening at the far end.
“Hello?” she called, stepping inside, hesitating a moment before closing the door behind her. She heard herself dripping onto an area rug, no doubt antique and expensive, but she stayed where she was, unsure if it would be better or worse than dripping on the marble floor.
The distant sound of voices was coming from a lit doorway, and Merilee let out a huge sigh of relief. Carefully walking across the marble to avoid slipping, as well as to limit the amount of water she deposited on the floor, she made her way to the opening, realizing it must be the basement when she saw the wrought-iron railings and the carpeted stairs leading down.
“Hello?” she called again as she headed downward toward the sound of voices, pausing on the bottom step to admire the space. Calling it a basement would be like calling Buckingham Palace a house. Because of its position on a hill, the home’s basement was actually the garden level, with tall ceilings and walls of windows and French doors. Nothing was illuminated out back, but Merilee imagined it would be a gardener’s haven, complete with infinity pool, outdoor kitchen, and comfortable outdoor furniture that was probably nicer than what Michael had taken from their living room when he’d moved in with Tammy.
The inside was furnished in the kind of style Merilee had always loved but had never been sure how to put together. It was some kind of a cross between Restoration Hardware and Arhaus, with gray distressed wood, nubby-textured upholstery, curved legs, lots of metal and glass—way out of Merilee’s price range. It made her like Heather a little more, feeling as if they at least had this one thing in common.
She followed the voices, walking through an area that appeared to be a replica of an Irish pub—or maybe simply a transported one—complete with benches, tables, and upholstered seats, and toward an ajar door that was almost hidden behind the bar.
Relieved at having finally found the meeting, she pulled open the door and stopped abruptly. It wasn’t that the décor was so fundamentally different here from that in the rest of the house or that the room seemed completely empty except for the giant screen airing an episode ofHogan’s Heroesthat made her hold her breath. It was the fact that she felt as if she’d stepped back into her own childhood and into a room that had so obviously not been professionally decorated but perhaps filled with objects that had been consciously acquired over the years.
It contained a collection of beloved items—an electric guitar, a scattering of beanbag chairs in various Atlanta sports team colors, a John Smoltz shirt framed on the wall; even a Magic 8 Ball sat in a place of honor on a shelf. A life-sized cardboard cutout of a Christmas-light-bedecked Chevy Chase fromChristmas Vacationdominated a corner of the room near the screen, and a neon Guinness sign blinked cheerily on the opposite wall. Merilee turned toward an alcove at the back of the room and spotted an air hockey game, a vintage Pac-Man arcade machine, and a floor-to-ceiling shelving unit containing nothing but vinyl LPs, a Nirvana album propped in front. Stacks ofNational Geographicmagazines sat on an adjacent set of shelves, the top two shelves covered in what appeared to be anAlly McBealdancing baby and several Lego structures. An authentic pay phone was attached to the wall, a thick white-pages book dangling from a metal chain next to it. A popcorn machine with a spotlight highlighting it like a celestial being sat next to a Coke machine, each space filled with a different Coca-Cola product.
This was apparently a man cave, but to Merilee it was clearly much more than that. It was like the last holdout of an old life, one that the new life was encroaching upon little by little, with plans for complete obliteration. Merilee recognized this within the first few seconds of standing inside the door; recognized it because the room was so startlingly similar to her bedroom at her parents’ house after David had died.
Something wet touched her knuckles and she let out an involuntary shout as she looked down and saw the Blackfords’ dog nudging her hand for a scratch.
A movement from the line of theater seats in front of the screen distracted her as Daniel Blackford stood and looked at her, his surprise matching her own. “I’m... sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I think I took a wrong turn...” She stopped as the dog nuzzled her hand again.
“Great guard dog, right?” Dan asked, his smile breaking the tension.
The dog turned its head, clearly expecting to be scratched behind an ear. “Truly ferocious,” she said, obliging the request. “What’s your name, handsome fellow?”
“Puddles,” Dan said with a straight face.
“Puddles? Well, no wonder he’s so docile. No dog named Puddles would ever dare to question an intruder’s authority to be here.”
“True.” Dan shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, and Merilee noticed that he was barefoot. It made him seem oddly vulnerable, and she warmed to him. “I’ve always had black Labs, but that’s where my input ended. The girls named him.”
“Well, that’s a relief. I was afraid you’d say that it was your idea.”
He laughed, and she relaxed. She wondered if he had that effect on everyone, putting them at ease no matter how awkward the situation.
“I’m so sorry to have bothered you. I’m looking for Heather. We’re supposed to be having a gala committee meeting at seven thirty.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Well, there is a meeting—but it’s at the clubhouse. Did you check there first?”
Heat rose from her chest, slowly engulfing her throat and face. “I...” She opened her calendar on her phone, double-checking it. “I put down that it was at the house. I must have misunderstood.” She shook her head. “I’m so embarrassed. I should have called Heather when nobody answered the doorbell.”
“Please. Don’t be embarrassed. I don’t mind the company. The girls are out to dinner with their grandparents, so it’s just me and my favorite non-PC old sitcoms that nobody else will watch with me.”
She felt a smile tugging at her lips. “If it’s any consolation, I loveHogan’s Heroes. And if non-PC is your cup of tea, then I suspectF TroopandI Dream of Jeannieare also favorites. I grew up watching reruns on TV.”
