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The first thunderclap made the windows tremble.
Jerome stopped turning the page and looked up at the window. Outside, the afternoon sky had turned nearly black, and rain battered the glass so hard it seemed determined to get inside. Vincent glanced over his shoulder as he closed the shutters.
“Do you think they’ll hold?” Jerome asked.
“Yes. I secured them already.”
“That’s what you said about the last ones.”
“And they held through the last storm.”
“One of them came loose.”
“But it didn’t fall.”
“What a comfort.”
Vincent smiled and checked the latch again. The storm had been gathering all afternoon. First, clouds had swallowed the horizon; then the wind had battered the house, bending the trees in the garden. Vincent had insisted on closing the windows and moving the pots from the porch. Jerome had teased him about being so prepared, though he hadn’t put up much of a fight when Vincent asked him to stay away from the balcony door.
Now, with the shutters closed and the lamps on, the house seemed safe. Almost cozy, even. The rain turned the outside world into a distant, steady roar.
“Do you need anything else?” Vincent asked.
“I have tea, a book, and the pleasure of watching you check the same latch for the fifth time.”
“It wasn’t the same one. This is the upstairs one.”
“Then I withdraw my accusation. You’re meticulous in two different places.”
Vincent came over and laid a folded blanket across the arm of Jerome’s chair.
“In case you get cold.”
“I’m not cold.”
“In case you are.”
Jerome didn’t argue. Vincent had learned that some arguments could be won with patience: he would leave the blanket within reach and wait. Jerome usually ended up using it later, sometimes without admitting Vincent had been right.
A flash of lightning lit the windows. The room filled with white light for a second, and then thunder cracked so close that the glass rattled.
Vincent glanced toward the window again.
“I’m going to check the patio door.”
“Didn’t you just check it?”
“The wind is picking up.”
“Vincent, if you’re going to spend the whole storm checking every door, at least do it with style. A cape, maybe. Something to justify the drama.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Jerome snorted as Vincent crossed the living room. He watched him disappear down the hall, heard a door open and close, then heard footsteps in the kitchen. The house creaked as another gust hit the walls. Jerome set his book on his lap and looked toward the window, though the shutters blocked his view of the rain.
Then the power went out.
The lights vanished all at once. The refrigerator’s hum died, and it seemed as though the house had held its breath. Jerome sat still, one hand resting on the open page.
“Vincent?”
“I’m here,” Vincent called from somewhere down the hall. “Don’t move. I’m going to get the flashlight.”
“I wasn’t planning to run anywhere.”
Vincent’s reply came with a brief laugh, followed by the sound of a drawer opening. Jerome settled back in his chair. Without the lights, the living room was a mass of shadows, barely outlined by the lightning. The next flash showed him the table, the sofa, and the patio door.
The house shuddered again.
There was a sharp thud, followed by a long, rough scrape.
Jerome instinctively tightened his hands on the brakes of his chair. The noise had come from somewhere nearby, but he couldn’t tell where. Before he could call for Vincent, another gust shook the house and something crashed to the floor.
“Vincent!”
“I’m coming!”
The next flash revealed the mess. One of the shutters had come loose on one side, and the patio door was ajar. The wind had pushed a light chair against the table; the table had shifted into the sofa. Several things had fallen from the shelves.
Jerome’s chair was wedged among all of it. One wheel was trapped between the table leg and the edge of the sofa. As he tried to turn away from the draft, the chair wouldn’t respond. The back wheel spun uselessly, and the footrest struck something beneath the table.
He froze.
“Jerome, are you all right?”
Vincent appeared in the doorway with a flashlight in his hand. Its beam swept across the walls, then found Jerome.
“I can’t move,” Jerome said.
Vincent set the flashlight on a shelf so it would light the room, then approached carefully. A gust came through the patio door and scattered papers across the desk. The curtain whipped violently.
“It’s okay. Don’t try to pull the chair free yet.”
“I can’t do much else.”
“I’ll close the door first. Then we’ll see what’s blocking the wheel.”
Vincent walked close to the wall, avoiding the shards of a broken vase. Another gust rattled the loose shutter.
“Can you secure it?” Jerome asked.
“Yes. But I need you to tell me if the chair’s position is bothering you.”
“I’d be more bothered if I were outside in the storm.”
“Understood.”
Vincent searched for the shutter’s latch. Another gust shook it, and the wood slammed against the frame with a bang. He stepped away, waited for the wind to ease, and tried again. This time, he managed to secure it.
When he came back, he didn’t rush at the chair. He crouched beside Jerome and examined the wheels.
“The right wheel is wedged between the table and the sofa. The left one has room. The footrest is caught on a table leg.”
“Can you move the table?”
“I’m going to try. But I don’t want you to strain until I tell you.”
“I don’t need you giving me orders.”
“I know. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
There was nothing commanding in Vincent’s tone. Still, Jerome had to swallow the irritation rising in his throat. It wasn’t directed at Vincent, he told himself. It was the immobile chair, the darkness, the wind filling every corner of the room.
“All right,” he muttered.
Vincent moved a fallen stool out of the way. Then he gripped the edge of the table and pulled. It didn’t budge.
“One of the legs is caught on the rug,” he said. “I need to lift it a little.”
“Go ahead.”
Vincent shifted his position and raised the table just enough to free the leg. Jerome felt the chair loosen slightly, but the wheel was still stuck.
“Now turn a little to the left,” Vincent said.
Jerome moved the control. The chair turned a fraction.
“That’s it. A little more.”
The wheel scraped against the sofa leg.
“It’s crushing my foot.”
Vincent stopped moving the table at once.
“Your left?”
“Yes.”
“I won’t move the chair. Tell me if you can pull your foot back when we lift the footrest.”
“I can.”
“I’ll count to three. On three, I’ll lift the footrest and you can move your foot. Don’t push the chair yet. Ready?”
“Yes.”
Vincent placed one hand on the mechanism and braced the table with the other.
“One. Two. Three.”
The footrest lifted. Jerome pulled his foot back, holding his breath. Vincent lowered the rest carefully instead of letting it drop.
“Good. Now the wheel.”
A gust rumbled against the house, and they both paused until the noise passed. Jerome was breathing too quickly. He tried to hide it, but Vincent watched him closely.
“You’re all right,” Vincent said. “We’ll get you out of there.”
“I don’t need you to keep repeating that.”
“I’m not saying it because you need to hear it. I’m saying it because I want you to know.”
Jerome looked away. Vincent put his hands back on the table, this time bracing one knee against its edge.
“When I lift it, turn the chair toward me, not toward the sofa. I’ll guide you.”
“Understood.”
Vincent lifted the table. Jerome moved the chair. The wheel came free with a click and rolled forward a few inches. The sofa shifted back, leaving enough space for Jerome to turn.
“Wait,” Vincent said. “The sofa leg is still close to the wheel. A little toward you. That’s it. Now straight ahead.”
Jerome obeyed. The chair moved forward, jolting whenever the wheels brushed against a piece of furniture. Vincent walked beside him, one hand near the backrest without touching it.
“Slowly,” he said. “You’ve got room on the left.”
“I suppose the wheel will find it before I do.”
“No. I’ll tell you when.”
The flashlight beam wavered across the floor. The living room seemed transformed: the table crooked, cushions knocked to the floor, books scattered among the pieces of the broken vase. The wind hit the shutter again, but this time it didn’t make it into the room. Jerome kept his eyes on the light.
“A little to the left,” Vincent said. “Now straight. Very good.”
“Stop congratulating me like I’ve just crossed the Atlantic.”
“I didn’t know it bothered you when I told you you’re doing well.”
“It bothers me when you’re right.”
“Then I’ll try to be wrong more often.”
Jerome gave a brief, tense laugh. It helped to hear it, though it faded almost immediately.
They reached the open space by the hallway. Vincent guided him there, then stood between him and the living room while he finished securing the patio door.
“You’re free now,” he said.
Jerome nodded, but didn’t answer. Vincent looked at him as if he knew something was still trapped.
“Do you want me to take you to the kitchen? There are fewer windows there.”
“No.”
“Okay.”
Vincent stayed beside him. The flashlight cast their shadows across the wall; each flash of lightning made them disappear for an instant. Outside, the storm roared as loudly as before, but the living room no longer felt as if it were coming apart.
Jerome lowered his gaze to his hands. His fingers were stiff around the edge of the blanket. He couldn’t remember grabbing it.
“I thought you wouldn’t find me,” he said.
Vincent leaned closer, bringing his eyes level with Jerome’s.
“I heard you call me.”
“Afterward. Before that.”
“I was in the house.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You knew I was coming back.”
“No. I knew you wanted to come back. That isn’t the same thing.”
The words hung between them. Jerome looked toward the dark living room, where the wind had scattered everything. In the few seconds before Vincent answered, his fear had turned into a cold certainty: he could be left motionless in the dark, cut off from the doorway and out of anyone’s reach. He’d imagined Vincent searching empty rooms while he stayed there, unable to reach him.
It hadn’t only been the trapped wheel. It hadn’t only been the blackout.
“When I got stuck,” Jerome said, “I thought you might not be able to hear me.”
“I heard you.”
“And if you hadn’t…”
“But I did.”
Jerome tightened his jaw.
“That’s not what I meant.”
Vincent didn’t rush him. He didn’t fill the silence with explanations or promises neither of them could guarantee. He simply waited, present, one hand resting on the back of Jerome’s chair.
“I thought you wouldn’t be able to find me,” Jerome said at last. “That you’d be looking somewhere else while I was still here.”
Vincent held his gaze.
“I’ll always look for you.”
“You can’t promise that. You can’t be everywhere.”
“No. But I can promise that when I know you’re here, I won’t stop looking.”
Jerome lowered his eyes. The words weren’t grand or perfect. That was why he believed them.
“I was scared,” he admitted.
“I know.”
“I don’t like that you know.”
“I know that, too.”
Another, sharper reply came to Jerome’s mind, something that might have given him back control of the conversation. None of them seemed good enough. So he left his hand where it was.
The next rumble of thunder sounded farther away. The rain still fell, but the wind was beginning to ease. Vincent picked up the blanket from Jerome’s lap.
“Do you want me to put this around you?”
“I can do it myself.”
Vincent offered the blanket without letting go completely. Jerome took it with one hand and settled it over his legs. Vincent waited until he was done before adjusting a corner that had caught on the wheel.
“Thank you,” Jerome said, the words difficult to get out.
“You’re welcome.”
“Not for the blanket.”
Vincent left his hand on the backrest. Jerome covered it with his own. The gesture was small, almost accidental, but neither of them pulled away.
“You could’ve told me you were scared,” Vincent murmured.
“I could’ve done a lot of things.”
“And I could’ve stayed closer.”
“You were closing the door.”
“I know.”
Jerome searched for a cutting remark. He didn’t find one that felt right. So he kept his hand there.
The flashlight flickered once, then steadied. Vincent looked at it.
“It might be the battery. I’ll get the other one.”
“Don’t go too far.”
The words escaped before Jerome could stop them. Vincent turned his head toward him. He didn’t smile or point out what Jerome had just said. He simply moved closer until his knee was beside the wheel.
“I’m going to the kitchen. You’ll be able to hear me from here.”
“That’s not the same.”
“No.” Vincent took his hand. “But you can hear me, and you can call me. I’ll answer.”
Jerome swallowed and nodded once.
Vincent went to get the new flashlight, talking as he moved. He told Jerome where he was stepping, where he was putting his hand, and which drawer he was opening. It was an absurd, unnecessary narration, and somehow it was comforting. Jerome listened to every word.
By the time Vincent returned, the storm wasn’t hitting the house as hard. They looked over the room together from the doorway. Nothing could be fixed until the wind passed, so Vincent left the table crooked and the broken vase alone until morning. He brought Jerome’s book to the small table in the hall, then pulled up a chair and sat beside him.
“Do you think we can go back into the living room?” Jerome asked.
“After we pick up the pieces of the vase and make sure the door is secure.”
“You could take me.”
“I could. But I’d rather let you decide.”
Jerome studied the clear space between them. He didn’t want his fear to make the decision for him, but he didn’t intend to pretend the storm hadn’t shaken him, either.
“Let’s wait a while,” he said.
“Okay.”
Vincent sat nearby. Outside, the rain continued to fall over the garden and its bent trees, but the house grew quieter between gusts. Jerome opened his book again, though he didn’t read a single line. Vincent stayed beside him, neither hurrying him nor taking his hand from the backrest.
After a few minutes, Jerome leaned his head against Vincent’s shoulder.
“If I fall asleep, don’t carry me anywhere.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good. I’d know if you moved me.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“And if there’s another blackout, stay where I can hear you.”
“I’ll stay where you can hear me.”
Jerome closed his eyes. The storm was still there, outside. But Vincent was here, too. And when the next flash of lightning filled the house with light for an instant, Jerome didn’t have to open his eyes to know exactly where to find him.