Page 52 of Memphis

A bolt of lightning struck and was immediately followed by a loud rumble of thunder, causing me to jump with a start. Weston chuckled as he mumbled, “Um-hmm. Whatever you say, boss.”

“Okay. I’m a little scared,” I admitted. “It’s a childhood thing that I’ve never been able to shake.”

“Something happen?”

“It was nothing, really.” I walked over to the window and watched as the raindrops bounced on the slats of the porch. “I was six or seven when my parents went out and left me with a babysitter. Everything went great for the first half of the night. We ate and played games, and I was having a really good time until the storms rolled in.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing, really. There was lots of lightning and thunder, and the lights went out.” Weston’s little smirk faded as I added, “There were no tornados or anything like that. Just a lot of rattling and rolling, but the sitter was scared, which made me scared.”

“Ah, that’s not good.”

“Yeah, and the longer my parents were gone, the more scared we both got.” I shook my head. “And, of course, I couldn’t just pack that fear away and let it go. That would be too easy.”

“I get it. That kind of thing can stick to ya.”

“Oh, definitely, and I made it even worse by watching a bunch of YouTube videos on storms and tornados.”

“We have a lot of those around here.”

The words had barely left his mouth when the lights went out, leaving us engulfed in darkness. Panicked, I gasped, “Wes.”

“It’s all good.” He started wheeling himself towards the kitchen as he asked, “What’d you do with the batteries?”

“They’re on the counter.”

Lightning struck, lighting up the house momentarily and giving me a chance to spot Wes as he grabbed a couple of flashlights from the drawer. I could hear him tear open the batteries, and seconds later, a beam of light illuminated the room. “Now, we’re cooking.”

“Great.”

While I felt better knowing we had light, I was still feeling a little uneasy about the storm. Weston wheeled back over to me as he said, “Let’s go wait this out on the sofa.”

I nodded, then followed him as he eased past me. He locked the wheels, then entirely on his own, stood and shuffled over to the sofa. “Whoa! When did that happen?”

“What?”

“You just...” I motioned my hand between his chair and the sofa, “on your own.”

“The rehab’s finally paying off.”

“But you never said anything.”

“It was a couple of feet,” he scoffed. “That’s nothing to call home about.”

“You wouldn’t have said that a month ago.”

“No, I don’t guess I would.”

Weston’s flashlight cast a soft glow between us, which might’ve been romantic if the storm wasn’t raging so intensely. It was relentless. Each gust of wind would rattle the windows like someone was trying to get in. Rain hammered against the roof, and the occasional flash of lightning lit up the room ever so briefly.

I tried to keep my mind off the storm and on Weston and his progress. “You’ve worked very hard, and it has to mean a lot to you to finally see it pay off.”

“Yeah, but I still have a long way to go.”

“I don’t know about that.” My voice trembled a little as I added, “It won’t be long before you won’t need me anymore.”

“Oh, that eager to get away from me, huh?”

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