Permission

chapter 5: The Storm Warning

The storm hit at 4:33 p.m.

It didn't creep in. It slammed into the house all at once, like someone had thrown a white sheet over the world. One second Elena could see the snowfield through the gap in the blinds, the next she couldn't see two feet past the glass.

The wind was no longer wind. It was a constant, low roar that made the glass vibrate.

Jonah came out of the darkroom at 4:35. His eyes were red, but he had washed his face. He looked at the blinds, still down.

"You can put them up now," he said. "No helicopter can fly in this. They'd crash."

Elena stood and pressed the button. The blinds rose slowly, revealing nothing but white. Pure, moving white. The house was now a lantern in a snowstorm, visible to nothing.

"The generator is in the back," Jonah said. He was already putting on a heavy coat, a hat that covered his ears. "If the main line goes, we switch. It will flicker."

"Do you want help?"

"No. Stay inside. Permission to stay inside?"

"You don't need to ask permission for that."

"I do it when there's a storm."

He went out through the back door. Cold blasted in for three seconds before it shut. Elena watched his shadow disappear into white.

She counted. One minute, two minutes, five. He didn't come back.

At seven minutes, she put on her own coat and opened the back door.

"JONAH?"

Wind ripped her voice away. She could see his footprints already filling with snow. A small shed, ten feet from the house, had its door open, light on inside. She ran to it.

He was inside, kneeling by a loud machine, hands covered in grease. He looked up, annoyed and relieved at the same time.

"I said stay inside."

"I counted to seven. That's my limit."

He wiped his hands on a rag. "It's fine. The generator is on standby. When the main goes, it'll kick in. Might take thirty seconds."

"Will we lose heat?"

"For thirty seconds." He stood. They were both in a tiny shed, coats touching, breathing hard from the cold.

"Do I have permission to say this is scary?" she asked. Her teeth were chattering.

"Yes." He looked at her chapped lips, her snow in her hair. "You have permission to be scared."

He reached out - then stopped. His hand hovered near her face, not touching.

"May I?" he asked.

It was the first time he had said may I instead of do I have permission.

Elena nodded.

He brushed snow off her hair, quickly, efficiently, but his fingers lingered half a second too long on her temple.

"Back inside," he said.

They ran back together.

At 6:02 p.m., the lights flickered. Once, twice, then off.

Complete darkness, except for the faint red glow of the darkroom's emergency light and the orange of the fireplace.

Thirty seconds later, the generator kicked with a thump. The lights came back, dimmer, yellower.

"Thirty-two seconds," Jonah said, looking at his watch. "Slow today."

He went to the fireplace and stoked it. Elena sat on the floor near it, because it was the warmest place.

"We should save power," he said. "One light only. We talk, or we don't. Your choice."

"Talk," she said quickly. Too quickly. "I mean - if you want."

He sat on the floor too, across from her, not next to her. The fire made his face flicker.

"Ask your one question," he said. "No rules tonight. No permission needed. Storm rules."

Elena had been waiting for this for three days. She had a list in her notebook. But with the wind roaring and the lights yellow and his eyes on her, all her professional questions vanished.

"What happened that night? At the gallery?"

He didn't flinch. He stared into the fire.

"My brother Eli died three years ago. Car accident. The night of my biggest show. My best friend Mark was supposed to show his work with me. He didn't come because he was with Eli that night. They were drinking."

Elena remembered the film canisters. ELI - NOV 2021. MARK - DEC 2021.

"The press said you stole Mark's photos and he exposed you."

"The press says what sells. Mark and I fought. I said terrible things about him being there, about him not stopping Eli from driving. He said terrible things back. Then his manager - my old manager - took our private emails and made it look like I had taken his work. I left before I could explain. I came here."

"And Eli's photos? In the box?"

"Eli's film. He was a better photographer than me. I never developed them. I don't have permission to see them yet."

The word permission again, but this time it sounded like grief.

Elena reached across the small space between them, but stopped before touching his knee.

"Do I have permission to -"

"Yes," he said before she finished.

She put her hand on his knee. Just that. No moving, no other intention.

He looked down at her hand, then covered it with his own. His hand was warm from the fire, rough.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?"

"For not asking about the photos. Everyone asks about the scandal. No one asks about Eli."

Outside, the storm screamed against the glass. Inside, the fire cracked and the generator hummed low.

They stayed like that, hand on knee, hand on hand, until the fire burned down to embers.

"Do I have permission to stay here tonight?" she asked quietly. "By the fire? Not... not in the bedroom. Here."

He squeezed her hand once, then let go.

"You have permission to stay anywhere you want in this house, Elena. That's always been true."

He got up and brought her a blanket from the couch, draped it over her shoulders. No lingering touch this time. Just care.

She fell asleep by the fireplace, and when she woke up at 2 a.m., the lights were still dim, the storm still roaring, and there was another blanket over her that hadn't been there before.

Jonah was asleep in the armchair across from her, his head tilted back, watching her even in sleep.

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End of Chapter 5