“That’s us.”
“For a minute there, I couldn’t remember if it was the brick house or the Colonial with the flagstones, and I’ve lived in this neighborhood for over ten years, must have driven past your house a million times. Funny what you can’t remember when you can’t see anything.”
“I know what you mean.”
“Keep talking,” Gretchen Duhamel said. “All I’ve got to go on is the sound of your voice.”
Lydia tried to think of what to say. “Uh, we moved in about four months back. I’ve got a job in Findlay, at the downtown branch of the public library.”
“The library?” Gretchen Duhamel sounded closer.
“I’m a reference librarian there. My husband runs his own consulting business from home.”
“Then I take it he’s the guy I’ve seen mowing your lawn. The tall skinny guy in the Red Sox cap.”
“That’s Matt.”
“I’m retired, but I used to teach introduction to physics at the community college. You know, I’ve been trying to get National Access on my cellphone the whole way here. Can’t get through.” The woman sounded really close now.
“Be careful. It’s four steps up to the door.”
“I’m being careful,” Gretchen Duhamel said. Lydia heard footfalls on the steps, and then something brushed against her. “Sorry.”
“You’re almost there. Just keep coming.”
* * * *
By the time Gretchen Duhamel was settled in the easy chair next to the sofa, Lydia had learned that she was a widow and that her late husband had died five years ago. The woman went on to mention a son who lived in Seattle and her two cats, Bartholomew and Percy, whom she had left behind in the fenced-in back yard of her house.
“They’re indoor cats,” the woman continued, “but I’ve got one of those kitty doors in the back, so they can get in and out of the house, but they can’t get out of the yard.” She went on at length about the felines’ favorite foods, their luxuriant black and white fur, and the way they loved to chase their favorite toy, a ball of aluminum foil. Normally such a conversation would have bored Lydia mightily, but now she welcomed the distraction, the feeling that things would soon return to normal. The lights would come back on, and Gretchen Duhamel would go home to her cats and toss them their balls of aluminum foil.
“I’ve lived with those cats for almost four years now,” Gretchen went on, “so they’re almost like my kids. You don’t have any kids, do you?”
“No,” Matt replied.
“Not yet,” Lydia added.
“People around here aren’t having so many kids these days,” Gretchen Duhamel said, “and they’re older when they do. It’s like they can’t count on a stable, normal life any more, doing what they’re supposed to do and having things work out. Nothing’s that predictable any more. The couple that used to live in your house must have been over forty when they had their first.”
“I think that big blond guy across the street has three kids,” Matt said.
“Olaf Janssen?” the woman said. “Don’t know where you got that idea. He and Vicky just have the one boy, Lars.”
“I’ve seen three kids over there.”
“You must be thinking of Josh and Becca, the Bloom kids. They’re over there all the time. They and Lars Janssen are as thick as thieves.”
Gretchen Duhamel fell silent. Lydia waited for the woman to say something more, anything to distract them from the darkness and the cold.
“Wish I hadn’t left my cats,” Gretchen murmured.
The power had to be restored soon. The light would restore eveything to its previous state. Lydia was getting herself worked up over nothing, only imagining that the air was even thicker and colder around her. It was the waiting that got to her, the feeling that there was nothing she could do except wait there in the dark.
The front doorbell rang.
Lydia started. “Who could that be?” Gretchen said.
“Has to be one of our neighbors,” Matt said.
“Not necessarily,” Gretchen said. “Might be looters or burglars and such. And we can’t even call the police.”
Matt said, “I’ll see who it is.” He let out what sounded to Lydia like a forced laugh. “I’ll find out who it is.” She felt him get up from the sofa. The floor creaked slightly as he moved toward the door. “Who’s there?” he shouted.
“Olaf,” a muffled voice replied, and Lydia heard the door whoosh open.
* * * *
Olaf had found a long length of rope in his garage and had tied one end of it to his front door knob, reasoning that if he got lost crossing the street, he would at least be able to find his way back to his house. As she listened to him, Lydia found herself admiring his resourcefulness and wishing that she had thought of such an idea herself or else that Matt had.
“Good thinking, young man,” Gretchen said when Olaf fell silent.
“That you, Miz Duhamel?” Olaf asked.
“Sure is. Anyway, it’s good thinking on your part assuming this is just a power failure and not something a whole lot weirder. You know what it’s like? It’s almost like the light’s going out, everything’s slowing down, and space is filling up.”
Lydia froze. She had been thinking almost exactly the same thing.
“My wife and my boy are still back at our house,” Olaf said after a long pause, “but I’ve been thinking there’s no point in just sitting around.”
“I tried to drive out,” Gretchen said, “but you can’t see a blessed thing, not even with the headlights on.”
“I thought of driving out myself,” Olaf said, “but no way. This just isn’t normal, this kind of dark. You know what I saw just before the lights went out? For a second, everything looked kind of like these gray shadowy things in the dark, like I was seeing in the infrared or something. Vicky’s face was like this pale blob with black pits instead of eyes.” He was silent for a bit. “We could still try to walk out of here.”
He outlined his plan. They would tie whatever lengths of rope Matt happened to have in his house to Olaf’s rope. They could use the rope like a belay, going on to the next house, picking up more rope, and continuing on that way until…
“Until what?” Matt interrupted.
“Until we get to someplace where we can find out what’s going on or until the lights come back on, but if you want my opinion, I don’t think they’re coming back on any time soon. And if anybody doesn’t have any rope, we can use sheets or something else, tie them to the rope. We can just keep going and if anybody changes their mind, they can belay themselves back home.”
A giggle escaped Lydia. She clapped a hand over her mouth, but could not stop laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Olaf asked.
“You’re getting hysterical,” Matt said; Lydia felt his breath on her face.
Tears sprang to her eyes. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.” She cleared her throat. “We’d look awfully silly if everything suddenly went back to normal, standing around out there in a line hanging on to a rope.”
“I don’t know about you,” Olaf said, “but I’d rather do something instead of just sit