Out
of the Darkness
By Susannah Benchley
©
1999
One block from the
front steps of her apartment building, Meg was into Point Three of her
negotiation with God.
“Okay.
Let’s move on here. It would be
really nice if somebody would be coming out of the building when I need to get
in. I’m not exactly in a position to
start digging for my keys here, you know.
That doesn’t seem too much to ask, does it?” She continued to check her negotiation items off her mental list,
realizing that Point One was pretty moot; the rain had already started, though
the expected downpour wasn’t happening.
Point Two was moving in her favor.
The overstuffed shopping bag was still intact, not spilling her
purchases all over 52nd Street.
Not cramming her dry cleaning into the bag had probably helped that
situation, even if it had made it more difficult for her to juggle all the
things she was carrying.
All things being equal,
Meg felt she could reasonably move on to Point Four. “Okay, it’s like
this. You know I’ve had a bad day and
while it seems to be getting worse by the minute, I would really appreciate you
seeing to it that the power doesn’t go out tonight. I have reports that have to be finished and only about an hour
left on the battery in my laptop.”
Half a block left to go
and the bottom fell out of Point One.
“Jeez, “ Meg managed
with a laugh, “You could have dropped a bar of soap down here and I wouldn’t
have to worry about getting a shower! “
She had to laugh. Most people would think talking, out loud,
to God, an odd behavior, but Meg had never worried about what most people
thought. Well, she hadn’t worried for
the last two years, anyway. And talking
to God had become her comfort during a different time in her life. There had been no one else to talk to in the
dark.
Looking very much like
a drowned rat in a wrinkled trench coat and sensible shoes, balancing one
overstuffed shopping bag, two freshly dry cleaned garments, a back pack and her
trusty laptop, Meg turned to head up the steps of the brownstone that had been
her home for the last two years. With
one last look skyward, she smiled as Mr. Brookfield opened the front door
before she had to put everything down and start fumbling for her keys.
“You saved my life, Mr.
B., “ Meg laughed. “I’d have been in
real trouble searching for my keys right about now. “
“Glad to be of service,
Meg, “ the elderly gentleman smiled as he held the door before heading down the
steps.
With the finesse of a
practiced slight-of-hand master, Meg managed to free two fingers to retrieve
the mail from her box and headed up the stairs to her little apartment on the
fifth floor. She always smiled when she
walked into this building. When her life
had been at its lowest point, she had found this quiet haven to shelter her. The good people who lived here provided more
than enough friendship and support to allow her spirit to heal. She never much cared that she had to hike up
four long flights of stairs to reach home.
She always looked at the experience as her opportunity for an aerobic
workout. Besides, she had these stairs to thank for a great pair of legs.
Somewhere in the middle
of the second flight of stairs, Meg lost the battle for Point Four when a crash
of thunder was followed by total darkness and that momentary quiet when the
lights all go out, before people start scrambling for flashlights and
candles. The only sound she could hear
was the downward cry of a whistling teakettle.
“Well, at least Mrs. Lowenstien can have her tea, “ Meg sighed.
Deciding that God had
taken his advantage too far this time, Meg laughed and began her discussions
again. “You know, I suppose you think
this is very funny. I put tonight’s
score at 3 to 1, your favor. I’m going
to have to seriously consider asking for a handicap next time. “ She continued to laugh while trying to
quickly orient herself in space. How
many flights had she climbed so far?
She knew she was between the 2nd and 3rd floors,
but had no idea how far up. There were
24 steps between these two floors and the best course of action would be to
keep moving on. Holding on just a
little tighter to her belongings, Meg toed her way up the steps, looking for
the next landing.
“If I live in this
building much longer, I’m going to have to break down and buy night vision
goggles. I swear our power lines are
practically allergic to water. “
Stopping on the 3rd floor landing, Meg shifted her shopping
bag to take better hold of the handrail.
In that instant she heard it--the sound of another person’s unsteady
breathing.
She froze. Drenched from the downpour, she didn’t feel
the sweat breaking out and running down her back, but she felt her palm begin
to moisten on the handrail and jerked it back.
Her thoughts were flying. She
wanted to rage at God for allowing this to happen, for putting her in the
position of being trapped in the darkness yet again. She wanted to cry out.
She wanted to drop everything and run.
And then a rational
thought reached out and struck down the rest.
She wasn’t trapped. She was home,
two flights from her apartment and she knew exactly how many steps it would
take to get there. She could do it
blindfolded. She could do it in the
dark. She could do anything she damn
well set her mind to.
But it might not hurt
to run one more point past her negotiating partner. “Please, God, “ she thought, “I need the strength to get through
this without falling apart. Come on,
you owe me at least one. “ She felt her
resolve sharpen.
But she still couldn’t
move.
“I know,” the voice
rasped, “I know someone is there.”
If Meg had felt frozen
when she realized someone was on the steps, she felt fossilized when that voice
reached out toward her. Too many
memories of darkness as a child and as a young wife flooded her mind, struggling
to overtake the lone voice that was trying to remind her of her inner strength.
“Please, I’m sorry if I
frightened you.” The voice was stronger
now. Not the earlier imagined sinister
whisper in the dark. “I’m new in the
building and have no idea where I am.” Words
tried to make it through Meg’s automatic defense system, trying to offer
comfort and assurance. “Hello? Please, I know you’re there.”
“Yes.” It was all Meg could muster. Her throat was suddenly dry. Nothing else would come out. She remained motionless. Waiting.
“Thank you, “ the voice
replied, seeming to express a sense of relief.
“I’ve only been in the building for a week. I have no idea where I am.”
A soft laugh, hoping to reassure.
“That’s what I get for just bounding down the stairs with no thought of
where I’m headed.” And then the tone
changed to one of seeking, offering assistance. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” Meg replied,
hoping something more would come out of her mouth. “How,” she paused, “How did you know I was here?”
The laugh this time was
deeper, richer, even more reassuring.
“I heard you talking, butY,” and then the voice paused and Meg could
almost hear the voice cocking a head, trying to figure something out. “You’re alone, aren’t you? I thought you were talking to someone else
as you were coming up the stairs. Well,
I guess I’m not the only person who talks to themselves. That’s makes me feel better.” He paused again. “And I could hear you feeling the way with your foot, too.”
“Good ears.” It wasn’t really a clever response, but Meg
wasn’t feeling very witty just now. Her
heart was working overtime, trying to resume a normal pace and she was certain
the energy required in that was zapping the snappy repartee part of her brain.
The voice laughed and
Meg found herself starting to relax, if only a bit. How could she not?
Something about that voice was warming.
It had the feel of a strong, soft fabric, able to wrap around you and
provide comfort. And then it occurred
to her. It wasn’t just a voice,
disembodied. It was a person. A man.
“Yeah, it’s true you
know. When you lose one of your senses,
the others really kick in.” He chuckled
as if he hadn’t meant to say as much.
“Yes, but I certainly
wouldn’t have expected it to kick in so fast.
I mean, you’ve been sitting here in the darkness for, what, maybe five
minutes? Impressive.” Instantly, she regretted the sarcasm in her
tone. “Sorry.”
Again a laugh. How could this man sit here, in the
terrifying darkness, in an unknown place and laugh with such carefree
spirit? What incredible sense of self
must be present to laugh at times like these?
“I think I’m sitting in
the middle of the staircase. Do you
have any idea what floors I’m between?”
It was Meg’s turn to
laugh now, “I’m standing on the landing of the 3rd floor. You’re up half a flight. Are you going up or down?”
“I was heading
down. No food in my place and I’m
starving. Thought I’d make a run to the
deli down the street.”
“Well,” Meg sighed,
shifting her packages one more time, “You’re out of luck on that score. The deli closed at 6:00 tonight.” She knew she was going to have to set her
packages down eventually and redistribute things while she dug around for her
apartment keys. Now seemed a good time
to get the flashlight out of her backpack.
“If you’ll hold on just a sec, I’ll find my flashlight and see if we can
both get our bearings.” She heard his
breath escape and realized it was relief he was feeling.
Dropping the shopping
bag to the floor and hanging the dry cleaning over the handrail, Meg swung the
laptop down and the backpack around so she could open the snaps. Digging through the contents, she found the
flashlight and switched it on. Not
wanting to appear rude, she forced herself to shoot the light toward her
packages before slowly lifting it toward the voice.
She almost dropped the
light. It was all too close, this man
with burnished hair and clear hazel eyes.
The nose was different. That helped
her remember it wasn’t Uncle Jake. And
the smile was warm. It wasn’t Todd. But
the coloring, the hair, it was enough to make her tremble. There was so much similarity to the men who
had taught her to fear the dark.
“You okay?” the voice
said reaching for her unsteady hand.
Meg jerked back before she could control the urge to run.
“Yes. Of course.
I’m just fine,” she said, just a little too fast, determined to control
the panic in her voice. It was the
panic in her heart that was giving her fits.
“So, which direction are you going now?” she asked trying to get the conversation back on a more even
footing.
“Up, I guess,” he
answered with only a second’s thought.
“Doesn’t make sense to go out now.”
“Where do you live
anyway?” she continued, beginning to pick up all the things she would have to
juggle to get up to her apartment.
“I’ve got the
crackerbox on the 6th floor.”
“I wondered,” she said,
trying to find a hand to grab the handles of her shopping bag.
“Look, are you going to
carry everything or are you going to let me help?” She stopped trying to maneuver her things and just looked up at
him, shining the flashlight into his clear, knowing eyes. “I mean, if you insist on carrying all that,
I can at least hold the flashlight. One
less thing you have to manage.”
Minus a word, she
handed him the light. It was only later
that she realized she had given up, without thought, one of the few security
items she was never lacking. By not
having the flashlight, Meg quickly retrieved the shopping bag, her laptop and
the slightly wilted dry cleaning.
Turning to start her climb up the stairs, she realized he was shining
the beam directly at her face. She
glared at him.
“You saw who you were
dealing with,” he offered as an unrequested explanation, “I think I’m entitled
to the same consideration.”
Meg shrugged and passed
him, moving steadily toward the 4th floor landing. He was directly behind her left
shoulder. She could almost feel his
breath on her back.
“Let me get to my
apartment and then you can take the flashlight up to your place,” Meg said
sharply.
“Fine,” he replied.
Two steps before the
landing, the dry cleaning decided to escape her grasp and he reached for it,
hoping to offer his help. As a reflex,
Meg gasped and started to pull away, altering her balance just enough to miss
the next step.
In the same instant,
his hand responded to her recoil, then noticed her shifting and his arm flew
around her waist, anchoring her in place.
“Steady,” he said.
Meg froze. Her breathing was as unsteady as a marathon
runner and her energies were split between maintaining her balance and
wrenching herself from his hold. Voices
inside her head screamed, “Too close!”
and “Let go!” but at the same time, Meg felt warmth radiating from his
grip. A strange sense of security. Invulnerability. And she realized she had never felt this in the presence of
another person before. Certainly not a
man.
Grant couldn’t recall
the last time he had been this close to a woman, let alone touched one. Well, that wasn’t quite true. Except for the nurses in the hospital, the
last woman he had touched had been killed ten minutes later. A part of him was
still thankful that the same explosion had blinded him. He hadn't had to watch her die.
He didn’t want to think
about that. He didn’t want to think
about anything. He did, however, want
to get back to his apartment. “You
okay?” he asked, taking the dry cleaning and not giving her the option to
refuse. Somehow, his stubbornness
allowed her to give it up.
“Light banter,” he thought and started in. “I just moved
here a week ago. It’s a nice
building. Sturdy construction. You lived here long?”
“A little over two
years, “ she responded nearing her apartment door. She didn’t want to offer more.
As Meg unlocked her
door and Grant swung it open, they both realized that this was not a building
only power outage. No streetlights
flowed through the windows.
“It’s a blackout,” Meg
said with an edginess in her voice.
“Worse than I thought.” She
moved cautiously through her living room, dropping her packages and reaching
for a book of matches on the sofa end table.
Switching on the portable radio, she muttered under her breath when not
a sound came out. “Damn, the batteries
must be run down.” Lighting a candle she turned to look at Grant still standing
inside the door. “It’s not good, but
it’s not the end of the world,’’ she offered.
“No,” he said, with an
expressionless face. “Been there. It didn’t look this good.”
I won’t pry, Meg
thought. It’s none of my business. Walking to the doorway, she smiled and
wished him luck getting to his apartment.
She wasn’t very subtle in moving him back toward the hall.
“I’ll return the
flashlight later. Thanks,” he said still looking at her as she resolutely
closed the door.
Meg figured it was the
last shower she’d have for a while and was thankful there had been enough hot
water to manage that much and clean hair.
If she were going to be stuck in a blackout, she would at least be clean
and comfortable. Running her fingers
through her still damp short blonde hair, she continued lighting candles around
her apartment. There were always plenty
of candles. Meg never worried about
being in the dark anymore. But it was
so quiet. That was the part she feared
now. The immense quiet. Before when the power had gone out, she had
had the comfort of her radio to bring news and music. No such luck this time and she resolved to scour the apartment
for batteries she could use for replacement.
She jumped when she heard the crash from the apartment upstairs.
Grant was certain he’d
be one huge black and blue mark once the power returned. He had managed to run shin first into just
about every piece of furniture he owned, but he knew he had at least one candle
around this place somewhere. It was in
the box with Ellen’s things. They had
made love in the light of that candle more than once. He hated to disturb her treasures and his memories, but he
needed the light if he was going to survive this evening without losing his
mind. Besides, there was no place in
his life these days for sentimentality.
Memories were better left buried, along with everything else.
Moving around his
apartment, Grant started to feel the stirrings of a serious bout of
restlessness. He couldn’t just sit in
his dark apartment all night, doing nothing.
It was too early to go to sleep.
Besides, he’s slept late this morning and wasn’t the least bit
tired. Couldn’t work without
electricity. Didn’t have any food. Couldn’t read by the light of one little
candle. The prospects for the evening
were as dim as the lights. He thought
about the portable radio that was in the little room he was planning to turn
into his dark room and then his eye fell on the flashlight that belonged to the
woman downstairs. He needed to return
that. He could take down his portable
radio. She might offer him a little
something to eat. She might at least
offer to loan him a couple of candles to help him get through the night. And besides, he really thought he should at
least know her name. It was the
neighborly thing to do.
Meg had just finished
putting the last of the dozen sandwiches in the basket with extra candles and
matches when she heard the knock on the door.
A little surprised that anyone would be wandering the halls right now,
she carried the basket to the door and opened it.
“Taking goodies to
Grama?” Grant asked, puzzled by the basket and the look of surprise on Meg’s
face. Then he saw that she was bathed
in the glow of what seemed a million candles, twinkling from every surface of
her apartment. “Damn, you’ve got more
light than half the city.” He looked at
her in amazement as he made his way past her.
“Were you a Girl Scout? This is
what I call being prepared.” He laughed
at both the ease of his comment and his success at getting past her guard. Then he turned and looked at her and the
smile faded from his face. Bathed in
candlelight and looking astonishingly fresh, she was the picture of an
angel. Her pale complexion, her tousled
short blonde hair, those dark smoky eyes were enough to take his breath away. And her mouth. That was enough to make him know he might never breathe
again.
Forcing his mind back
to the issues at hand, namely the desire to get his hands on at least one of
those sandwiches, Grant pulled his thoughts back into line. He smiled and held up the flashlight and
radio. “I brought back your flashlight
and thought maybe you’d like to use the radio.”
Feeling a little perplexed, Meg reached out
to take the flashlight. “Thank you,
MrY..? What is your name?”
Extending his hand, he
replied, “Madison. Grant Madison.”
“Well, Madison, Grant
Madison. It’s nice to meet you and
thank you for returning my flashlight.
I appreciate the offer of the radio, but I’m sure you’ll want to have it
upstairs.” Meg, tried to remove her
hand, but found it held a bit more firmly at the end of the handshake than at
the beginning.
Grant couldn’t stop
thinking about how long her fingers were or how soft and warm her skin
was. He knew he should drop the
handshake, but there was something incredibly soothing in her touch. With sheer force of will, he released her
and launched into more conversation.
“Where are you headed
with your goody basket, MissY.? Sorry,
I don’t know your name either.”
Meg smiled. She hadn’t exactly been the picture of the perfect
neighbor up to this point and truthfully, he seemed like a very nice man. After all, they would be neighbors.
“Meg. Meg Johns.”
“Well, Meg Johns? The
basket?” Grant was hungry enough to
stand his ground until she gave him a sandwich just to be rid of him.
“Oh! I always do this when the power goes
out. There are a number of older people
in the building and somehow, I feel the need to check on them when we lose
electricity. They’ve always been
wonderful to me. It’s the least I can
do. So, I take candles and sandwiches
around. I help a few of them find their
oil lamps or whatever standby supplies they have. “ Meg realized she was starting to babble and quickly clamped her
mouth shut.
Grant waited. He knew she had more to say and he intended
to stand by quietly until she said it.
“I was just on my way
out to make the rounds now, so, if you’ll excuse me.” Meg picked up the flashlight and headed for the door.
“Hey, mind if I tag
along? It will give me a chance to meet
some of the folks.”
Meg shrugged and kept
moving. There was obviously no way to
get rid of this man, so she might as well give in.
The Landry sisters on
the 4th floor were delighted so see Meg when she arrived. It appeared they had been waiting for her
and offered her a luke warm beer when they opened the door. One small candle sat in the middle of their
coffee table. Meg introduced Grant,
declined the beer, left additional candles and reminded the sisters not to go
to sleep without blowing the candles out first. As she and Grant were leaving, she whispered to him that they had
almost sent their apartment up in flames once before during a power outage.
Going down the stairs
to the 3rd floor, Grant asked why they hadn’t stopped at the
apartment across from the Landry’s. Meg
stopped, looked at him and dropped her gaze.
“Newlyweds,” she whispered, quickly turning to head on down the stairs.
On the 3rd
floor, Grant was introduced to Mrs. Story, a retired flutist with the city’s
symphony and Mr. and Mrs. Matsui, owners of a small factory that makes jigsaw
puzzles. They invited Meg and Grant in,
offered a jigsaw puzzle in exchange for the food and candles and were not
surprised when Meg declined to stay, but insisted they keep to their rounds.
The 2nd
floor found Mrs. Lowenstien whistling a tune from the “King and I”, dusting
around her oil lamps and the few candles she was using and whipping up a batch
of waffles. “Come in, come in,
children,” she smiled opening the door and opening her heart. “I’m about to make some waffles. You must eat, yes?”
Mrs. L. eyed Grant with
a look that took in more than his initial appearance. Her years of raising children, grandchildren and half the people
who had lived in this building gave her the skills necessary to look into the
soul. Before they could protest, Meg
and Grant found themselves arranging candles around the apartment. Mrs. L. intended to invite Mr. Brookfield,
from across the hall, to join them.
Maybe even have a game or two of canasta afterwards. Grant looked to Meg, hoping to follow her
lead and feeling a bit uncertain as to how he was supposed to act. Meg only smiled and shrugged her
shoulders. One didn’t often disagree
with Mrs. Lowenstien and Grant was already learning that the dynamics of the
building rested on the shoulders of its residents.
“Megala, darling, you
run on down and deliver your sandwiches to Colonel Gardner then stop back by
Mr. Brookfield’s apartment and bring him to supper. Grant will keep me company and help me until you get back. Thank God
we’ve got gas stoves and I never went in for those fancy schmancy electrical
appliances.” Meg headed for the door,
without even looking to Grant for agreement.
Alone with Mrs.
Lowenstien, Grant was at a momentary loss for what to do or say, but the spry
little woman quickly put him to work getting things ready for their makeshift
dinner party. “We’re so glad to have
you in the building, Grant. I think
you’ll like living here. We’re a nice
group of people,” and then she stopped, smiled and put a hand to his
cheek. “Your heart will heal here,
son. I promise you that.”
“I just met you Mrs.
Lowenstien,” Grant ventured, “and somehow, I don’t think I could argue a single
point with you, but I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Without pausing, Grant continued. “Where are the plates for setting the
table?”
A laugh of delight and
gentle compassion crossed the woman’s lips and she just smiled. “You think you can change the subject? Ha, Grant Madison! You have much to learn about Esther Lowenstien. I know who you are and I know who you
were. I could tell you who you’re going
to be, but you wouldn’t believe me.”
She chuckled as she pointed to the cabinet where the plates and glasses
were kept, acknowledging with a nod which ones he should take down.
“Meg’s heart started
healing here. Yours will, too.”
Grant gave her a
questioning look and for a fraction of a second, the old woman wasn’t sure she
should say more, but she had seen the look that had passed between the two
young people and she had hope that each might be what the other needed to
finally make themselves whole again.
“She came to us broken
and shattered. A life of abuse at the
hands of a stepfather and the bastard she thought had rescued her through
marriage. Meg knows the dark as well as
you do, young man. Perhaps better. Certainly longer. But, she’s strong. She’s
a survivor. You need to learn that
you’re a survivor as well.”
Before Grant could ask
just one of the hundreds of questions that had formed in his mind, Meg returned
with less bounty in her basket and alone.
“The Colonel has his pistols laid out and loaded and is ready to defend
the building in the event of attack, Mr. B. didn’t answer his door,” she said
dropping her basket on the table next to the front door.
The only one surprised
about this news was Grant who looked at Meg with more questions than could be
answered in a week’s time. He had
already decided he wouldn’t ask when Meg looked at him and offered an
explanation. “Colonel Gardner is
retired military. Lives on the first
floor and really does have quite an arsenal down there. He’s pretty much a teddy bear kind of guy,
but with the blackout, he’s not taking any chances. He’s got the doors triple locked and keeping an eye out for any
trouble. We’ll all be safer with him
down there, trust me.”
Grant wasn’t sure he
wanted to bank on an old codger with loaded weapons in the dark, but found
himself trusting Meg’s assessment nonetheless.
With a slight sound of
concern in her voice, Mrs. Lowenstien resumed the constant chatter Grant had
encountered since Meg left. “Megala,
can you believe we have a celebrity living in our building now?” she offered as
Meg slipped out of her shoes, hoping to get more comfortable. “Grant won the Pulitzer prize last year for
the pictures he took in Kosovo.”
Meg looked at Grant
with a list of questions in her eyes.
Everyone knew the story of the photographer who had taken those pictures
of innocent children who had been caught in the bombing of a school. How he had been blinded when the bomb went
off right after he had rescued four youngsters who had been hiding in a
closet. And how the photographer’s
partner, and if memory served, fiancée, had been killed in the blast. In an instant, Meg knew what the look in
Grant’s eyes had meant when she found him on the stairs in the darkness and she
walked over to him, laid a hand on his arm and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
Grant despised sympathy
in any form and had fought to regain not only his eyesight, but also his
strength, but with Meg’s gentle touch, he knew her feelings ran deep, without a
hint of ridicule or sarcasm and he found himself laying his own hand on hers
and giving it a gentle squeeze as he smiled.
Mrs. Lowenstien’s
banter broke the moment. “So, where do
you think Mr. B. is? It’s much too
early for him to be asleep and he should have been expecting you to drop by his
apartment, Megala.” She turned away
from the young couple and wiped her hands on her apron in an age-old gesture of
worry.
“Well,” Meg offered,
then suddenly remembered, “Oh! Mr. B. was leaving the building right as I was
coming in tonight. He can’t have gotten
very far. He must be outside somewhere. Maybe we should go out and have a look
around.” Meg looked at Grant and
wondered why on earth she had used the word >we’, but somehow knew Grant
would go willingly and help in the search.
“Let me run up and get more flashlights from my place and we’ll go
straight away.”
Mrs. Lowenstien looked
relieved as Meg headed toward the door, lone flashlight in hand. “I can get them,” Grant offered, but Meg
only shook her head and told him that she could get them faster since she knew
where they are. His gallant offer
didn’t go unnoticed by the older woman in the wrinkled apron who smiled as the
two young people exchanged a quick glance.
The darkness of the
city in a blackout was too close to Grant’s memories of nights in Kosovo when
the bombs were exploding and shrieks broke through the silence.
Though the rain had stopped,
Grant found himself drenched in sweat before he and Meg made it to the end of
the block. “This is going to take
forever, Meg. Should we split up and
see if we can find him?”
Meg looked at Grant
with a new respect. He didn’t even know
Mr. Brookfield and yet he was willing to stumble around in the dark of an
unknown neighborhood hoping to find a stranger. Meg’s description of the elderly gentleman with thick white hair
and a neat goatee was enough for Grant to use in searching the opposite side of
the street.
Before they parted,
Grant felt the need to remind her to be careful. “I’ll be fine,” she assured him ready to brush aside his warning,
but when he took her hand and she felt his warmth, she softened. He really wasn’t like the others had been. He wasn’t bent on power and control. There was no cruelty in his voice or his
touch. And even on the darkened street,
she could see care in his eyes.
“Really, I will. You be careful,
too. You don’t know this neighborhood
very well.”
Grant smiled and felt a
tiny place in his heart beginning to open up.
A place that had been hidden in darkness longer than his vision had
been. A place that would have room for
life and light again.
The cry pierced the
darkness and in an instant Grant knew it was Meg. She was right. He didn’t
know the neighborhood and he struggled to orient himself and determine where
the shout had come from. Memories. Women and children crying in the night. Lights flashing across a darkened sky and
someone he cared about being out of reach flooded Grant with a sense of horror
and resolve.
“Meg!” he shouted,
running blindly in the direction of her scream. “Dammit, Meg, where are you?”
He was at a dead run now, ignoring the obstacles that stood in his way. He had one thought and one thought
aloneCreaching Meg. “Meg! Where are you, Meg?”
Assuring him she’d be
right back, Meg momentarily left Mr. Brookfield. “I’ll be right back, Mr. B.
You’re going to be fine, but I have to let Grant know where we are.” Meg walked to the end of the alley and
turned as Grant grabbed her and held her to his chest. Surprised at the sudden and remarkably tight
grasp in which he held her, Meg started to raise her hands to his chest and
push him away, but he released her enough so that she could back up half a step
and look into his face. The headlight
of a taxicab coming down the street allowed Meg to see the honest concern in
his face and she noted no sign of anger or hurt there. Concern.
Only concern. And so, as she
felt her longstanding defenses beginning to fall away, Meg lifted her hand to
his cheek.
“I’m okay, Grant. Really.
It’s Mr. B. He’s hurt. He was
mugged and he needs our help.”
Letting her go just
long enough to take hold of her hand, he followed Meg down the alley to where
the elderly gentleman was lying between two trashcans.
“He’s got a real bump on his head and his
cane is broken, but I don’t think it’s any worse than that.”
With a gentle squeeze
and a reassuring smile, Grant dropped Meg’s hand and bent down to look at Mr.
Brookfield. “Let’s make sure nothing is
broken before we try to get you up, Sir.”
Grant noticed the
slightly bewildered look on the gentleman’s face and continued talking in a
calm and soothing voice. “I’m Grant
Madison. One of your new neighbors. Meg here is giving me a tour of the
neighborhood. Good thing we found
you. Mrs. Lowenstien has some waffles
waiting and I’ll bet you’re hungry.
Lord knows I’ve worked up an appetite tonight.” Grant’s hands carefully checked over Mr.
Brookfield’s body and finding nothing apparently broken, helped the man to his
feet.
“Waffles?” Mr.
Brookfield asked. “Isn’t it just like
Esther to be cooking at a time like this.”
Grant and Meg both
laughed as they bolstered Mr. Brookfield and gently helped him down the street
toward the apartment building.
“I suppose Gardner’s
got his guns out again, eh, Maggie girl, “ Mr. Brookfield laughed as they
started up the steps. Turning to Grant,
he continued, “He’s not such a bad sort, really. Maybe a little overzealous at times, but he spent a lot of years
in the military and he sometimes forgets he’s not still there.”
Grant laughed and
looked at Meg as they helped Mr. B toward Mrs. Lowenstien’s apartment. “This is quite a building I’ve moved into
here, isn’t it?”
With a full and hearty
laugh, Meg said, “You have no idea!”
An hour later, with Mr.
Brookfield cleaned up and being fussed over by Mrs. Lowenstien, Meg and Grant
found themselves at the door to her apartment.
“Well, I’d say you got
a baptism of fire tonight, in meeting your neighbors and helping out. Thank you, Grant.” Meg stopped in her open door and turned to tell Grant goodnight. Before she could begin to close the door, he
stepped through.
“I don’t have any
candles. You have any left you can
spare?” he asked, hoping to stall her long enough to figure out how to extract
an invitation to stay.
Meg smiled as she
closed the door behind him. “You’re
really good at that, you know.”
“What?” he questioned
looking as innocent as a schoolboy who had just put a frog in his teacher’s
desk drawer.
While Meg went to the
pantry to get a box of candles for Grant, he turned toward the fireplace and
was struck with a moment of brilliance.
“Hey, does your
fireplace really work?” he called, bending down to look for the fireplace
matches. He could tell it was a working
fireplace and had it lit and going before Meg returned with his care package.
“I guess I’m not going
to get rid of you, am I?” she laughed.
When Grant innocently smiled and shook his head, Meg’s shoulders dropped
along with the rest of her defenses.
“Okay. How about a less than
chilled glass of wine?”
The hours quickly
slipped by and as Meg and Grant worked on the Matsui’s jigsaw puzzle in the candlelight,
they got to know a little bit more about each other as the candles burned down
and the wine bottle emptied. Neither
seemed tired and Meg had long since forgotten the reports she intended to work
on. Grant too forgot the list of things
he had hoped to accomplish and enjoyed the smile and the laughter of the
beautiful woman sitting next to him at the table.
“You know, I’ve got an old coffee pot around here
that makes drip coffee on top of the stove.
You interested?” Meg asked,
rising to head toward the kitchen.
With a nod, Grant rose
to stoke the fire and noticed the lock sitting in a glass box on top of the
mantle. “Strange,” he thought,
wondering why anyone would keep a combination lock in special place of
distinction, carefully preserved as if it were a piece of art or historical
relic.
“It left over from my
past,” she said, coming up next to him.
“It reminds me of the places I’m never going to again. It reminds me that no one will ever lock me
in the dark. No one will ever have that
much power over me. No one will ever
control me again.” She stopped, turned
and looked into Grant’s understanding eyes, the flickering candles making the
lines of his face smooth and clear.
“You know what the dark is like.”
Before she could turn
away, Grant enfolded her in his arms.
She didn’t stiffen, he noticed and that made him smile. She seemed to relax and laid her head on his
chest.
This felt good. Right.
Comfortable. Grant took his hand
and lifted Meg’s chin, looking into her eyes.
There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to share with
her. But the quiet look of contentment
and trust in Meg’s eyes told Grant there was only one thing to do and he
lowered his lips to hers.
As the first rays of a
new sunrise started filtering through the curtains, Meg’s arms encircled
Grant’s neck and they each gave themselves up to the promise of a new day.
