“Okay,” he said. “Listen. We’re going to figure everything out.”
She looked at him. “How?”
“I don’t know, but we will.”
Once they were inside, he reminded her that she had plenty of clothes upstairs if she wanted to change.
She went up and he soaked in the sound of her moving around above him. She eventually came down in her old leggings, a long flannel shirt he hadn’t seen her wear in years peeking out from beneath a wool sweater. She put her coat back on.
Inside they sat close together on the couch for warmth. He pulled across their laps the heavy down comforter he’d carried downstairs several days earlier.
“Didn’t we talk about getting a fireplace?” she asked.
“Yes, but—” he said, and figured they could both fill in the blank. They’d talked about lots of things, all of which were put off until until until.
The snow tinkled against the windows.
“Hey, Malcolm?” she said. Her head was somewhat below his. He breathed her in and realized he probably didn’t smell too fresh. He didn’t want to talk about anything big. He didn’t want to get into it. He was so tired, and so cold, and so hungry, and he just wanted to rest there for a bit, her body fitted to his despite all their bulky layers. Whatever might happen, he wanted to be quiet there with her for a few hours.
“Yeah?”
“I know I made a mess of things.”
He didn’t say anything, so she continued. “I know what I did is not the same as what you did with buying the building.”
He thought about all the things he saw at the bar and looked away from. The little nods of agreement and the silences because that was his job, to be dependable and neutral. To have no opinion. Would he have told her about his side deal with Hugh? If she hadn’t figured it out so fast? Probably not.
“I made a mess of things, too,” he said eventually.
She didn’t say anything, but he felt her shift, felt her relax against him.
“Freezing in here,” she said.
ten
In Malcolm’s dreams they heard sirens. They ran to the window to listen and then they tried to remember their prayers, as if God would help a pair like them, two sinners who’d not stepped inside a church since they were kids except for their friends’ weddings. Mr. Sheridan was in his dreams, too, pushing a snowblower with huge, muscular arms that unsettled Malcolm. Dr. Hanley appeared with his notebook. Hugh showed up, squeezed behind the steering wheel of his Cadillac. Emma was there, pulling at the end of her ponytail. But in reality, during the many times he woke during the night, he heard nothing except wind, the trees outside groaning as they swayed. It felt right sleeping side by side on the couch instead of upstairs. They’d reached not a truce, exactly, but more of a pause, a taking of breath.
Over and over, as she slept and he stared at the blank ceiling, he tried to pinpoint the moment when the line that had been rising so steadily year over year reached a summit and began to fall. All that promise. They just frittered it away, and they didn’t even notice until it was too late.
Until it was almost too late, Jess would say. “Almost too late” was actually the same as “in the nick of time.”
When Malcolm opened his eyes next, the world outside was brighter and Jess was still sleeping, heavy against his shoulder.
“Hey,” she said, hoarse, when he stood into the cold. It was very early, he could feel it. They both looked at their phones.
“Mine’s dead,” Malcolm said.
“Mine too.”
He walked to the front door and looked out, but there was nothing but a bracing white, so bright Malcolm had to shade his eyes. The snow had stopped. His skin was so cold under his clothes. He wondered how his mother had fared at Mr. Sheridan’s.
“Your mom is okay in this?” Jess asked, as if reading his thoughts.
“She went to stay with her friend.”
“Oh, good.”
What she didn’t tell Malcolm: that she’d invited her own mother to come to Neil’s, since he had heat and lights, but her mother had declined out of loyalty to Malcolm. Malcolm would be surprised by that, moved maybe, but to tell the story she’d have to say Neil’s name.
“The power’s been out for too long,” he said. “Some people aren’t going to make it.”
“It’s crazy. I don’t remember anything like this.”
“I’m starving.”
“Me too. Is there any food here?”
“Some old meat loaf I meant to throw away,” he said. “I can’t find matches to light the pilot.” He’d had a splitting headache the day before but now he felt light-headed. Neil Bratton probably kept a half dozen travel chargers on hand at all times. He probably had a ten-thousand-dollar generator.
Besides the meat loaf, the fridge was empty except for a jar of pickles and a tub of butter. That was where Malcolm’s search usually ended, but Jess went over to the pantry, reached into the way back, and withdrew a can of black beans. She rustled around some more and came up with a large can of diced tomatoes. She went to the drawer where they threw random things to search for matches hidden beneath old bills, menus, and dried out pens.
“Oh wait,” she said, remembering. She reached into her coat pocket and withdrew the book of matches from the previous day.
She went to the spice rack and removed this and that. She measured rice into a small pot, covered the rice with water. Never in a million years could Malcolm have looked at the random things she assembled and make his mind see a meal.
“Plenty here,” she said. Malcolm lit the pilot on the stove and in twenty minutes they had hot food. Just like the story of the baby shower, she’d made something out of nothing. When they finished their first bowls, eating in silence, they each had another. It was so elemental. Cooking. Eating. Washing up after with the water Malcolm had collected. Two white bowls left to dry on a worn kitchen towel. A cobalt blue sky beyond the window. It was an extravagance, thinking only about the present moment. There was Jess, next to him. He already felt warmer, his headache fading.
“We’re in trouble,” Jess said. “What are we going to do?”
“Let’s not talk about it. Let’s not talk about anything until later. Okay? For this morning let’s just pretend nothing’s wrong and then maybe something will come to us. I know that’s nuts but—”