Scratch (2 page)

Moving carefully, I slid my chair back from the table and got to my feet. Holding my hands out in front of me, I tried navigating my office from memory, stumbling to the door. I banged into a table, knocking some action figures and a mug full of pens to the floor. I cursed, then cringed. I’d been making a concerted effort to watch my language around Dylan, and even though he wasn’t out there with me, I still felt guilty.
 

The situation was actually sort of scary. My office was usually my castle. I felt at peace there. Comforted. Inside those four walls, nothing else mattered. Not bills or car repairs or doctor’s appointments. Not the price of gas or the war or which politician had lied today. Not requests from my editors or negative reviews or what some basement-dwelling fan boy said about me on a message board. My office was free from all of that. I looked forward to going out to it every morning. But now that the lights were off, that same comforting space became strange and sinister and filled with darkness. My breathing sounded very loud, and my ears began to ring.
 

When my fingertips brushed against the wall, I stopped and fumbled around until I found the door. With a small sigh of relief, I flung it open only to find more darkness waiting for me. The sun was gone, replaced by black, roiling clouds that blanketed the sky. They looked almost solid, as if a new continent was floating above the house. Cold, fat raindrops stung my face and arms. I ducked back inside again, leaving the door hanging open. Seconds later, a gust of wind slammed it shut. Cursing, I forced it open and plunged outside.
 

The rain fell in sheets and I could barely see the house, even though it was only about twenty feet away from me. I caught a glimpse of movement at the kitchen window—Marlena or Dylan looking outside. Something crackled overhead. I glanced up at the ominous sky as a bolt of blue-white lightning flashed across it. I motioned for whoever was at the window to get away from it. By the time I’d reached the front porch, hail had begun to fall with the rain. Each ball was about the size of my thumbnail. They hammered our cars, the house, and the trees in the yard. The noise was terrible. It even drowned out the thunder.
 

Marlena held the door open and I stumbled inside, dripping water all over the floor. It streamed from my chin and nose and fingers, and when I shook my head, droplets splattered against the wall. She slammed the door behind me. I noticed that she was holding a flashlight. As she shined the beam in my face, I shook off some more.
 

“Stop it,” Marlena scolded. “You’re worse than Sanchez. Stay here while I get you a towel.”
 

As she turned away, I grabbed her waist and spun her around. Before she could protest, I squeezed her to me, soaking her clothes.
 

“Evan! Stop ...”
 

By the way she clung to me, I could tell that she didn’t really mean it. She softened against me and I gave her a kiss. Her lips felt warm. The moment was broken only by Sanchez barking and Dylan giggling. They stood side-by-side in the kitchen, watching us with obvious delight. Despite their expressions, though, it was easy to see that both of them were nervous. Sanchez had his tail firmly between his legs. His ears were down and he was panting heavily. Dylan chewed on his index finger—something he’d done since he was a baby every time he was upset or scared. In his other hand, he clutched his Spider-Man flashlight. It had come with a gift set—nightlight, flashlight, toothbrush and cup. The beam was dim. I reminded myself to change the batteries for him.
 

More lightning crackled outside. Dylan and Sanchez both jumped. I flicked water at them and Dylan giggled again, momentarily distracted. Marlena went to the hall closet to get me a towel. Then another clap of thunder shook the house, and Sanchez fled for the safety of the bathroom, where he jumped into the tub and hid, cowering against the porcelain. Dylan’s bottom lip trembled at this desertion.
 

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s just a thunderstorm. Nothing to worry about.”
 

“But it went all dark and the TV is off.”
 

“It’ll come back on in a bit. Meanwhile, we’ll have some fun. You’re not scared, are you?”
 

He was hesitant. “No. But Sanchez is.”
 

“Well, then you have to be brave for Sanchez. Okay?”
 

“What’s that noise outside? It sounds like someone’s throwing rocks at our house.”
 

“That’s hail.”
 

He gasped. “Daddy, you said a bad word.”
 

“Hail,” I repeated, annunciating the syllables. “Not H-E-double toothpicks.”
 

His smile returned. “What’s hail?”
 

“Big balls of ice that fall out of the sky.”
 

“But it’s not wintertime.”
 

“No,” I agreed. “It isn’t.”
 

Before I could explain further, Marlena returned with some towels. I dried off and tossed them right into the washing machine. Then I ducked into the bedroom, changed my clothes, and threw the wet stuff on top of the towels, pausing only to go in the bathroom and give the dog a quick pat on the head, reassuring him that everything would be okay. I don’t know if it made him feel any better, but I sure did.
 

Marlena had acted quickly when the power went out. She already had candles burning in each of the rooms, and if it hadn’t been for the noise outside, the house would have almost felt cozy. Instead, the atmosphere was almost sinister. Hail drummed against the skylights and roof, rain rushed through the gutters and streamed down the side of the house, and every time it thundered, Sanchez whined in the bathroom. We tried to coax him out of the bathtub with a rawhide bone, and then with a can of food, but he refused to budge.
 

I changed the batteries in Dylan’s flashlight. Then Dylan, Marlena and I huddled together on the couch and waited for the storm to pass. It didn’t. Instead, it grew worse. Each time I thought it had peaked, the storm reached a new and frightening crescendo. I told them both to stay away from the windows and the skylights. It wasn’t like they could see much anyway. Visibility was down to almost nothing. We could see as far as the first few trees in the yard, watching as they swayed back and forth, leaning closer and closer to the house. Beyond them, the world had been swallowed by a wall of black. Rain and hail fell in torrential sheets, almost like a waterfall. The noise of it hitting the vinyl siding and shingles was so loud that we had to shout to hear each other. Lightning crackled overhead, followed by a loud boom as it struck something nearby. Dylan whimpered. Marlena and I both put our arms around him and told him it would be alright. Then we glanced at each other. I felt nervous and apprehensive, and I saw those same emotions mirrored in Marlena’s eyes.
 

With all the noise, talking became futile, and each of us retreated into our own thoughts. My mind wandered. I despaired when I thought about the fruit trees and crown vetch I’d planted along the creek bank just a few weeks before, during the first warm day in March. Chances were they’d be washed away now, especially the crown vetch seed. I thought about some of the bigger trees in the yard, and wondered if they’d hit the house should they fall. Then I tried to remember if I had gas in the chainsaw or not, in case they did fall. It used that stupid oil and gasoline mixture, and no matter how many times I tried, I always mixed it wrong, and the chainsaw would belch out blue clouds of noxious smoke. I thought about the creek and how close the rushing waters could get to us if it breached its banks. I didn’t know if we had flood insurance or not. Marlena was better at handling stuff like that, so I always let her. I considered asking her, but decided that if she wasn’t thinking about it, then there was no reason to worry her even more.
 

Lightning crashed again, and something fell nearby.
 

I stared at my wife and child. Dylan clung to her, his face partially buried beneath her breasts, his eyes wide and fearful. Marlena stroked his hair and leaned close and whispered something that I couldn’t hear. Whatever it was, the words seemed to calm him. I suddenly felt a wave of love for them both so strong that its intensity surprised me. Don’t get me wrong. I love them all the time. But we don’t really go through our lives thinking about it every minute, now do we?
 

At that moment, I was.
 

Eventually, there was a lull in the storm. The rain slowed to a steady patter, and the rumbles of thunder grew brief, almost as an afterthought. Sanchez slunk out of the bathroom and hopped up on the couch with us. His tail was still between his legs and his ears hung low. His expression was comical. He looked embarrassed. I scratched his ears and told him that he was a brave dog.
 

Dylan looked up from his mother’s chest and blinked.
 

“Is it over, Daddy?”
 

“Yeah,” I said. “I think it is, almost.”
 

Then the thunder roared again, making a liar out of me.

The storm stuck around for another few hours, and even after the worst of it had passed, the rain continued, slowing to a drizzle. Marlena and Dylan had fallen asleep. Sanchez slept, too, with his head resting on my leg. Occasionally he stirred, looking up at me with big, mournful eyes, pleading (in that telepathic way that only dogs and cats can), for me to make the thunderstorm go away.
 

“I wish I could, buddy,” I whispered. “I wish I could.”
 

It’s a funny thing, love. With it comes responsibility. I’d thought I was responsible until I met Marlena, and then I set out to prove to her just how responsible and mature I could be, because I wanted her to marry me. A year later, I’d impressed her, her parents, my own family and friends, and even myself. Especially myself. The new Evan Fisher was an improvement on the old. We got married and I promised all the things you vow to do on your wedding day—and I meant them. But that responsibility had paled in comparison to the duty I felt once I became a father. Dylan and Marlena and Sanchez were everything to me. It sounds trite to say that you’d die for someone. The phrase has been overused in pop culture, but that doesn’t make it any less true. Fact was, I would die for my family, without a moment’s thought. It was my job—my primal instinct—to protect them from harm, no matter what the cost. For the most part, I did. I made sure we were provided for. Made sure we ate. Made sure we had health care and a roof over our heads. I drove safely. Made Dylan wear his seatbelt. Taught him not to play with matches or talk to strangers. All the things we do to keep our kids safe.
 

I felt frustrated and afraid. There was no way to protect them from what was raging outside our home. Mother Nature is the fiercest predator of all, and you can’t stop her with your wits or a gun or the law. If she wants your loved ones, she can take them any time she wants them, and there’s not a damned thing you can do about it.
 

So I sat there, and I waited.

It did end, eventually, as all storms do. The power was still out, and the house was quiet, except for Sanchez’s snoring. I gently disentangled myself and stood up. My legs tingled. I rubbed them to get the circulation flowing again. Then I snuffed out the candles and went to the window. Fragrant candle smoke drifted up behind me. It was still murky and dull outside, but at least it was no longer black. Faint sunlight peeked out from be-hind the clouds. A thick layer of fog covered the ground, and I could only see about ten feet—but that was enough to tell that things were a mess. The grass was littered with fallen branches, tree limbs, and leaves. Living as close as we did to the stream, our drainage had never been good. Now, pools of water filled the low spots in the yard.
 

Sanchez stirred behind me. He sat up and shook his head, his ears flapping back and forth. Dylan always called that his ‘helicopter impression’. The sound woke up Marlena and Dylan, and after a few yawns and stretches, they joined me at the window. Marlena gasped, but it was Dylan who summed things up perfectly.
 

“Oh Hell.”
 

“Dylan!” Marlena’s tone was shocked and stern. “You don’t say things like that.”
 

“I didn’t curse,” he insisted. “I said H-A-Y-L, not H-E-double toothpicks. Daddy said it earlier.”
 

Marlena gave me a dirty look. Grinning, I shrugged.
 

“He’s right, though,” I said. “It looks pretty bad out there.”

“Do you think we’re flooding?”
 

“It’s hard to say. Probably. I can’t see the stream from here. Maybe I should go out and check on things. Survey the damage—see if there are power lines down or anything.”
 

“Can I go with you, Daddy?”
 

“No,” I said. “You need to stay inside with Mommy, bud.”
 

Dylan tried out his well-practiced pout, which worked on me about fifty percent of the time.
 

“But I want to go outside.”
 

“Not yet, Dylan. Let me go see how bad things are. You can go out later. Besides, Mommy is still a little worried, and I need you to stay here and make her feel better. Okay?”
 

He sighed, shoulders slumping. “Okay.”
 

Sanchez trotted over to join us, and cast a longing glance at the door.
 

“He probably needs to pee,” Marlena said. “I’m surprised he didn’t go all over the house, like he did last time there was thunder.”
 

“I’ll take him.”
 

With the prospect of going outside already forgotten, Dylan busied himself with his toys. He sat cross-legged on the floor, playing with his Thomas the Tank Engine set, making little choo-choo sounds. He laid his Spider-man flashlight on the carpet next to him, illuminating the scene.