Page 90 of The Rebound
“Do you think the trains will be okay?”
Her slight hesitation speaks volumes, but she follows it up with a convincing yes. “They’re used to this kind of stuff,” she adds. “It will be gone by morning.”
Another flash of lightning and we both jump.
“I hate storms,” she mutters.
“I think they’re romantic.”
We turn to see Tomasz in the doorway, a packet of crackers in his hands.
“What?” he asks. “I do.”
Louise rolls her eyes. “I think I have some earplugs downstairs,” she says, leaving the room. “We’ll try and get some sleep. Don’t worry, Abby.”
“I’m not,” I lie, and turn back to the window to watch the apocalypse.
19
Louise was right. The storm is gone by the morning. The only problem is so is everything else.
The electricity comes back sometime around five a.m. I know this because my bedside light suddenly blinks to life, waking me just when I begin to drift off. Then a neighbor’s house alarm goes off before another one joins it and the dogs start barking. There’s no going back to sleep after that.
A weak version of our Wi-Fi comes back around seven and that’s when I see the news.
The train lines are down.
Still in my pajamas, I rush to the kitchen, where Louise stands barefoot in her jeans and one of Tomasz’s T-shirts, rummaging through the fridge as the radio blares the morning headlines.
“I need to borrow your car,” I announce from the doorway. “And I also need you to drive that car.”
“I have to work today,” she says. “And we don’t have the car. Tomasz was called into the hospital hours ago. They have a staff shortage with the storm.”
“But the train lines are down. And the buses are running a skeleton service because the drivers can’t get in and they’re fully booked anyway and I—”
“Can’t you do it virtually?” she interrupts, sniffing the milk.
“Not here. You know how bad our signal is.”
“Then can’t you ask them to change it? I’m sure they’ll understand if you—”
“Louise,” I interrupt. “I can’t reschedule and I can’t risk cutting out halfway through because of a bad connection. I need to be there. This is the only shot I’ve had in months. I have to show them that I want it.”
She flicks the fridge door closed, thinking. Thinking way too slowly but still thinking.
“Okay,” she says finally. “No car but we cat-sit for Mary down the road. Her husband used to be a taxi driver. If we play nice, he might do us a favor. Can you cry on command?”
“I can for this.”
“Then put on some shoes.”
Five seconds later, I follow her out the door. The sky is mockingly clear, almost cheerful, but it’s still windy after the storm and there are branches and leaves scattered along our driveaway, evidence of the overnight destruction. I spy Luke halfway up a ladder next door, repairing tiles on the porch roof. Susan stands beneath him, holding it steady. Or pretending to anyway. She immediately lets it go when she sees us, turning with a wave.
“Damn things almost flew away last night,” she calls. “Where are you two off in such a hurry?”
“We need to talk to Paudie,” Louise explains. “Abby’s got a big interview in Dublin today.”
“Oh, Pat mentioned! That’s great news. Luke, did you hear?”
