After Darkness Fell by David Berardelli Page B

inside and put the .357 on the table. I crossed the kitchen and picked up a flashlight on my way downstairs to the cellar, where the generator was hooked up. I turned it on, went back upstairs and opened the door to the chest cooler, where we kept our ice and cold stuff. I got out two beers and set them on the table. When the power returned, I’d ask if she wanted me to fix dinner. She was probably not hungry, but I thought I’d give her the option anyway. An attempt to return to normalcy seemed a good way of helping her through this.
    I was just about to approach the screen door when she came in and stopped in the doorway. I didn’t like the cold expression on her face; she was looking at me as if she was about to break up with me. But I told myself to put my feelings aside. She was going through some heavy stuff; the last thing she needed was for me to make things worse.
    “I’m going for a walk.”
    “Aren’t you thirsty? We could both use a drink.”
    “I need to be alone for a little while.”
    I didn’t like any of this but knew better than argue. But I couldn’t forget this morning’s fiasco, when I decided to take a look outside. I’d earned a harsh slap for that decision but knew that wouldn’t work at all in this case.
    “We never go anywhere alone,” I reminded her.
    “I know.”
    “You just said...”
    “I’ll be all right.” She removed the Uncle Mike’s holster and set it and the .45 on the kitchen table beside the .357.
    Alarm shot through me. I didn’t like that at all. “You’ll need a...”
    “I’ve got this.” She reached behind her and patted the .38 Ladysmith in the pancake holster in the small of her back.
    This wasn’t like her. After what happened this morning, I hadn’t expected her to act like this. She’d apparently built up some sort of wall on the way home and had locked me out. Part of me felt that way, while another part told me otherwise. She was going through hell and needed some time to sort things out. If I didn’t stand in her way, she’d have an easier time of it. As a result, her wall might come down easier and much sooner. But if I made things difficult, both of us would suffer.
    If all she needed was a little time, the least I could do was let her do what she wanted, even if it meant standing helplessly by and watching her walk away.
    A sense of dread hovered around me like a heavy cloak. It was past dinnertime and would be dark in an hour or so. I knew I didn’t want her walking around out there in the dark all alone. “Are you sure you don’t want me to...”
    “I’m sure, Moss.”
    “Then you’d better take a flashlight.”
    “I won’t be that long.”
    That made me feel a little better. “I could make some sandwiches for later. You’ll probably be hungry by the time you...”
    “I really need to be alone.” She turned and went back outside.
    My heart raced as I hurried over to the kitchen window. I pushed aside the sheer curtains and watched as she passed, climbed the stoop and went up the drive that led to the woods.
    I went back to the table and stared at her .45 sitting in its Uncle Mike’s right beside my .357. The significance of what Fields had just done registered strongly, and I quickly found that I couldn’t look at her gun without my stomach turning into knots. I turned away and eyed the clock on the wall. 4:55. I’d give her half an hour. That would give her plenty of time. When she came back, we could talk this out over a drink or two before dinner.
    I had no idea what I could do to help her process what happened, or what I could say that would help her rid herself of her demons. I didn’t know what I’d done to cause all this. I’d reacted to the crisis in my usual way, handling the situation the best way I knew. I may have done everything right, but it still couldn’t help Fields.
    She was breaking down. According to my own personal observation, several things had contributed to this. What happened outside this morning