Midnight Valentine

27

I drop the phone and run through the house until I reach the French doors leading to the back patio. I burst through them, gulping air, my eyes tearing, the cold morning air a slap on my hot face. I run across the patio and down to the beach, stumbling over my feet, and head straight for the water.

It’s freezing cold as it hits my shins, but it’s the shock of reality I need. I stand knee-deep in the ocean, shivering violently, my arms wrapped around my body as waves rock me, the gentle morning surf murmuring soothing things to cool my boiling mind.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply, sucking air into my heaving lungs.

Air scented of blood on asphalt, and the haunting, honey-like perfume of sweet peas.

9

When I finally get myself together and trudge back inside, a half hour has gone by, and I’ve missed four calls from Suzanne on my cell.

I text her back that I can’t talk and we’ll touch base later. Then I change into dry clothes, turn on the TV in my bedroom, and watch the local news with a feeling of cold disbelief.

According to the newscast, the lightning strike on Capstone’s building was massive. The resulting fire engulfed the building within minutes. The whole thing was captured on video by a security camera at a building across the street. The images are insane, like something out of a movie.

The newscaster mentions several times how unusual it is that the lightning didn’t hit the telecommunications spire on the high-rise building one block over—the spire that’s twenty times the height of the tallest point on Capstone’s roof.

There’s a brief discussion about the weather system that caused the lightning, then the station breaks for a commercial. I want to call Craig, but I’m sure he’s got much more important things to deal with this morning. I’ll give him a few days to get his bearings before trying to determine what this means for our project. In the meantime, I send him a quick email just to say I saw the news and am sorry, but grateful no one was hurt, and to take his time getting back to me with the contract.

Within five minutes, my phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Megan, it’s Craig Kennedy.”

He sounds understandably tense. “Oh, Craig, I’m so sorry to hear about what happened! I just sent you an email.”

“I know. It came through on my phone. Thank you, that was thoughtful.”

“I know this is a stupid question, but are you okay?”

“As good as can be expected. I’m out at the building now. It looks like a bomb went off. We’re lucky it didn’t happen during work hours, or there would’ve been a body count.”

A grisly image of barbequed bodies pops into my mind. I force it back, along with a brief wave of nausea. “Yes, that’s true. Equipment can always be replaced.”

There’s an awkward silence, then a rough throat clearing. “Yeah. If my insurance hadn’t lapsed a month ago.”

“Lapsed?” I repeat, my voice high.

His voice comes over the line in a frustrated growl. “My f*****g incompetent bookkeeper just informed me that I never signed the check to renew the policy. It was cut, but for some reason never made it to my desk for my signature, and she forgot all about it. Until now, because the goddamn fire reminded her!” He groans. “Sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be using that language, I’m just so frustrated.”

“Of course you are. Totally understandable,” I say faintly, focused on a large, meandering c***k on my bedroom wall that’s been growing since the day I moved in. It bears an uncanny resemblance to a bolt of lightning.

“That’s not the worst of it,” says Craig grimly.

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were.” He sighs heavily. “I found out this morning that my general contractor’s license is being suspended.”

My jaw drops.

When I don’t say anything, Craig continues. “There was a labor code issue with a disgruntled office employee a few years back. Total bullshit, but she filed a complaint with the state license board. Long story short, we were investigated, and I found out a few minutes ago the investigation didn’t go our way. My attorneys are going to appeal—”

“Appeal! Yes, that’s great!” I know I’m clinging to that possibility like a drowning swimmer clings to a life vest because then I wouldn’t have to deal with this disturbing idea my brain wants to run away with that somehow the lightning, the lapsed insurance policy, and the suspended license have destiny’s fingerprints all over them.

Because I don’t believe in destiny. I don’t. I won’t. I know better. I’ve spent too much money on therapy to start believing in providence now. This situation is just one of those random things that happen in life, a misfortune, an accident. A fluke.

This isn’t the universe trying to tell me I should hire Theo Valentine to renovate my house.

Craig sighs heavily. “Yeah, but in the meantime, I can’t work on a suspended license. And the appeal process could take months. So, unfortunately, I’m not going to be able to take your job, Megan.”

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers. “I’m really sorry to hear that, Craig. I was looking forward to working with you.”

His voice comes out gruff. “Well, that’s good to know, because now that we won’t be working together in a professional capacity, I was wondering if you’d let me take you on a date.”

Shocked, I stare at the lightning-bolt c***k on the wall until my vision blurs.

“Hello?”

“Yes, I’m here, I’m just…surprised.”

“I know my timing’s weird, but it occurred to me after I got off the phone with my attorney a few minutes ago that life is short. Things can change at any minute, in ways you can’t predict.”