Author's Note:
Workaholic Owen hears a woman's voice coming from his bathroom during a power outage. When he finds out that his newest neighbour, Meg, is terrified of the dark, he does what good neighbours do: helps her out of the shower.
This story is part of the When The Lights Go Out universe. These stories do not need to be read in any particular order; they all revolve around the same event, but are stand alone pieces.
**
People were always surprised when I told them what I did for a living.
"A flower shop?" they'd say. "Really, Owen? Like... with
flowers
?"
Yes, a flower shop. The Enchanted Florist, to be exact, prominently located beside the Perks It Up coffee shop on Minwack Drive in Minwack Falls. People had a hard time accepting the fact that a guy like me owned that shop. Maybe it was because I looked like the kind of guy who worked with his hands, but not with something as delicate as flowers.
I couldn't help it, though. I loved flowers. Always had, and likely always will. Flowers are simple. They're there to be pretty, to make people smile, and to fade away when they've served their purpose. You give them a little bit of your time, your attention, the right amount of water and sunlight, and they'll give you simple beauty. They don't talk back, they don't make excuses, they simply
are.
Unlike people, who simply want everything.
I had two girls working for me in the shop. Not that I only hired girls or anything, but they did fill a role I couldn't. Some customers found having a tall man with large hands behind the counter off-putting, so I got the girls to take orders and talk to the customers while I did the arrangements and all the behind-the-scenes stuff.
That particular day, Maria had called in sick, so I was stuck in the shop by myself until Lyla's shift started. Lyla, being Lyla, showed up at twelve minutes after three for her three o'clock shift.
"The lateness is an issue, Lyla," I said warningly as the front door chimed. My back was to the counter, but I knew it was her from the stomping sound of her Doc Martens.
"It's hot as balls out there, Owen," she replied. "I was walking as fast as I could. Any faster and I would've got heatstroke."
"Well, luckily the store is air-conditioned," I said. "And you can always sit in the cooler with the flowers. In fact, why don't you do that? Take the inventory book with you."
"Give me, like, three minutes to get ready," she grumbled.
"You're already late."
"Fine," she snapped, followed by the sound of her shoving her purse beneath the till. "I'll just work my whole shift like this, shall I? Maybe I can rub some gardenias under my arms, just in case any customers happen to be offended by righteously awful B.O."
I finally turned around and had to press my lips together. Lyla would have probably lost her mind if I laughed at her, but it was a fight not to. The top of her hair was matted to her head, but the rest of it poofed out in a frizzy mass of strands. Her glasses were slightly askew on her nose, and the carefully applied makeup she always wore was smudged and streaky on her face. Sweat stained the collar and underarms of her shirt, and I caught a glimpse of darkness beneath her breasts before she huffed and folded her arms across them.
"Maybe you should go wash up first," I said, barely able to keep the chuckle out of my voice.
"Thank you," she said sarcastically. "You're so kind, Mr. Jervis. The epitome of generosity. People thought Ebenezer Scrooge was giving when he bought that fuckin' goose for the Cricket family on Christmas? That's nothing,
nothing
, I say!"
"Cratchit."
"What?"
"The Cratchit family. Bob Cratchit and Tiny Tim. Not Cricket."
"Nerd," she muttered.
"Watch the tone."
"What're you gonna do, fire me?" she snapped, turning on her heel so she could go to the back room.
I sighed as she left. She was a back-talking, bold, hard-boiled bitch sometimes, but I couldn't fire her. For one thing, not a lot of people wanted to work at The Enchanted Florist. For another, lateness and attitude aside, she was a damn good employee. She had the kind of mind I needed as a small-business owner, that unique way of seeing things that saved money and sold product.
The fact that she knew it made her difficult, but there wasn't much I could do about that. Most of the time, she wasn't in nearly as bad a mood as she was that day. Her mood seemed to fill the small store, heavy and humid in the air until I was as grumpy as she was.
"I'm heading out now," I said when she returned to the front ten minutes later with her makeup redone and in a new shirt. "I had to stay late since my next shift didn't show up."
"It's not staying late if it means you can't leave as early as you want to."
"Do you know how many hours I work a week?"
"Not my fault you're a workaholic. Maybe you should try to get laid once in a while. You know, two birds, one stone. Less work, less high-strung since you'd actually get off."
"Watch it or I'll call HR on you," I warned.
"You finally hired an actual HR person?" she shot back. "Is that who I should talk to about getting a raise?"
I rolled my eyes. Of course I hadn't hired HR. I had two employees. But she wasn't wrong about being a workaholic who needed to get laid, unfortunately. I was leaving the store early, sure, but I left early on Fridays mostly so I could have a beer and sit on my balcony while I was getting the paperwork ready for the following week. That was my version of a night off.
"Whatever," I muttered. "Just the usual tasks for tonight. Inventory, prep the delivery book for tomorrow morning, write off the dead stuff, fill the buckets, clean the—"
"Wow, it's almost like I haven't worked here for four years," she said monotonously. "I know how to close the store, you know."
"—and be nice to the customers, for once in your damn life," I finished.
She flipped me off and grabbed a stool, dragging it behind her into the cooler so she could start the inventory. Rolling my eyes, I grabbed my bag and knocked on the cooler glass. Lyla and I waved at each other and I left the shop in her capable hands.
I lived in the apartments three blocks down from the shop, so I rarely drove to work. I also hadn't been outside since I'd arrived just before nine that morning. Lyla was right; it was hot as balls outside. As soon as the door swung closed behind me, I felt like the air was wrapped around me. There wasn't even a hint of a breeze, and the humidity was so high that even walking as fast as I could didn't create a draft.
I was just walking through the parking lot of the building when that changed. The sticky heat seemed to scatter as the wind picked up. One moment, sweat was dripping down my forehead and into the corners of my eyes; the next, I was leaning into the wind as I rushed to the front door of the building.
Lyla might have been late, but she hadn't arrived a moment too soon. Between the time I got into the building and took the elevator up to the fourth floor, then opened my apartment, the clouds had exploded into a complete downpour.
"Jesus," I muttered, striding across to my balcony to look out at the rain. I could barely see the street. The rain came down in sheets, nearly sideways at points, and I could already see water starting to pool in the parking lot below.
Maybe it wouldn't last long, I thought. One of those quick downpours, just enough to get everything wet, and then it would move on.
Just as I thought it, lightning flashed across the sky. Before the line of light had faded from my vision, thunder roared behind it. Seconds later, another flash of lightning, showing the dark grey clouds covering the entire sky.
So much for having a beer on the balcony.
Still, I was stubborn. I took my laptop out of its case and set it up on the kitchen table instead, then grabbed the beer I intended to have. The building was old, so the soundproofing wasn't exactly the greatest. Thunder rolled and rain pounded; wind howled and lightning flashed. It would fade for a few minutes only to re-invigorate itself, but I managed to ignore it completely as I immersed myself into my sales software.
Three-quarters of my beer was gone when the world went dark.
It was barely after five p.m., but the sky was so clouded over that hardly any light was filtering in through my balcony door. I blinked, momentarily unbalanced, and let my eyes adjust. Aside from my laptop, all the ambient light in my apartment was gone. The clock on the stove was black, the LED on the TV had disappeared, and the hum of my refrigerator had gone quiet.
A power outage.
"Great," I muttered.
I waited for the backup generator to kick in, but when a few minutes went by and it hadn't, I strode to the door and looked into the hallway. None of the emergency lights were on there, either, so I had to assume the generator was busted, too.
Sighing, I closed the door. My laptop battery was a third full, so I drained the beer I had, opened the unlit fridge to quickly grab another one, and sat back down at my kitchen table.
Within moments of cracking the new beer, my cell phone rang.
"Hi, Lyla," I said without looking.
"The power's out," she said.
"Yeah."
"What am I supposed to do?"
"It's been out for five minutes," I said. "Wait and see if it comes back on."
"Thanks, genius. What am I supposed to do while I'm waiting for that to happen?"
"Inventory?"
"In the dark?"
"Get the delivery stuff ready."
"Computer's not working."
I sighed. "I don't know, Lyla. Sit around and wait for it to come back on."
"You're the boss."
Before I could say anything else, she hung up and I rolled my eyes.
It was a few minutes later when I realized the fatal flaw in my plan to continue working: no power meant no internet, and no internet meant no access to the cloud.
