Page 144 of Painting Celia

Tomorrow was her grand opening, and that would be a first day too.

Lightning strafed the windows like fireworks.

The weather reports had been correct, and Celia’s movers had indeed hauled everything in the wet and cold. They finished before the heavens opened, torrential rains snarling traffic and giving Celia another reason to appreciate her new sanctuary. No commute!

She ignored the unfamiliar creakings and tappings, the lashing of water down the big windows. Tonight, she could spend a few hours on her own, unpacking. It was a special treat she’d been looking forward to all day.

She turned on music and pulled a dining chair into the empty space she had yet to address. No closer to being filled with the equipment of a certain painter, it had been the obvious place to stack her well-labeled moving boxes.

Sitting to open the first one, she pulled out the bottle of red wine she’d been looking forward to. Was this what Christmas mornings were supposed to feel like?

No, Christmas Eve. Tomorrow’s opening was the main festivity. The work was done, everything was prepared. She wasn’t nervous. She was excited.

Then the power crackled off, snuffing out the lights and music and low hum of the heater. In an instant, she was sitting alone in a blackened warehouse.

The streetlights were out too. She had candles and flashlights, but they were still packed in boxes that now looked exactly the same. She had a space heater but no power. She’d unpacked her pantry when the boxes first arrived, but it was just ingredients like flour and vinegar, nothing useful against the dark.

Oh lord, the catered food! The fridges on the second floor were full of appetizers. If the power didn’t come back, it might not be safe to serve tomorrow.

She hadn’t been less prepared for something in decades. It was unsettling to be plunged into inadequacy.

She used her phone to prowl around tall stacks of boxes, looking for a label indicating something useful, but being hemmed in felt creepy, like she couldn’t see something coming at her. The bright light on close cardboard ruined her night vision and threw tall, wavering shadows on the walls.

She gave up and felt for her chair, deciding to reach out on the group chat. Normalcy would help.

Andrew and Trevor immediately offered to drive over, but with this traffic, it would take them hours to get there from Trevor’s Los Feliz apartment. Kelsey was even further away in West Hollywood. León, however, was still near, his ride-share from her neighborhood stuck in outbound traffic like everyone else. He called instantly.

“Hey, I’ll come back. What do you need?”

It was a relief to hear the offer, but Celia balked. Alone with León in her dark loft? She was already too vulnerable.

“No, I’m okay. The power will probably come right back on, and I’m worrying over nothing.”

“Are you safe? Does your security system work with no power?”

She had to think. “I haven’t had time to get super familiar with it, but it has to, right? Otherwise, people could just disable them by cutting power.”

He chuckled. “Good point. I could come worry with you, you know.”

“No. Thank you..”

“Call if you change your mind, then.” And he ended the call.

Celia was briefly surprised, expecting more cajoling. She’d said no, and he’d listened. Huh.

She looked into the blackness of her cooling loft, hearing the rattle of wind-driven rain on the large windows. The power might not be back on within the hour. Los Angeles’ infrastructure wasn’t always the best at handling heavy rainstorms.

León would come back if she asked. He was getting further away by the minute, and the longer she waited, the longer it would take. Not that she wanted him here.

The random hiss of palm trees in the wind kept startling her. And what kept tapping on the black windows? That staircase was so exposed, yawning down into all that empty space.

She made it ten minutes before texting him.

In twenty minutes, he was at the front door. She opened it by the glare of her phone, starkly lighting the water streaming off him. He juggled slick plastic bags from a convenience store, handing her an emptier one.

“Candles,” he explained. “And a lot of ice. I thought it might help the refrigerators.”

She wanted to give him a wondering glance but concentrated on lighting the stairs. “How did you know I was worried about them?”

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