When Justin slowed the car at the front curb near Mel and Linz’s house, the Vette headlights caught a first sign of trouble.  Behind Mel’s car, ten-inch water jets shot up from the curb drain and joined a small torrent along the street.

“Shit,” Justin braked and idled.  “You see that?”

“Park it here.  I don’t want that shit spraying the engine.”

Justin set the hand brake. “Careful when you get out.  Looks deep on your side.”

“Excellent point.  We have no idea where that water’s been.” Brian threw the door open, tented his jacket over his head and was outside before Justin pulled the key from the ignition.  Then he kicked the door shut and loped to the porch, Justin racing after.

Linz flew out the door, wiped back frazzled hair, “Thank god you’re here.  I went next door for help, but they’re flooding, too,” turned and led them inside.  “First we thought the hot water tank went, but it’s coming up through the laundry tub, and just keeps coming -”

Justin chipped, “The storm drains are backing up,” and snatched Brian’s soaked jacket from his hand as they trailed Linz through the living room, past a TV sitcom with a Flood Watch banner.

She glanced at Brian.  “Isn’t there any way to stop it?  A valve or something?”

“Not on a drain.  At least I THINK Pop was sober when he said that.”

They stopped in the kitchen where Mel patted tiny, crying Jenny on her shoulder while standing guard at the closed basement door.  She sounded calm, looked numb. “We called the Fire Department.  They said they’d get to us as soon as they could, but we all know what THAT means.”  Then to Linz, “I have to take her upstairs.”

Only Gus was in good spirits with “Daddy!” as he gleefully pointed at the door,  “Wahder ebrywhere down dere!” and boldly went for the knob.

Linz grabbed Gus’s hand, told Mel, “Wait. I’ll go with you,” and to Brian, “I’ll get him settled and be right back.”

“Noooo.  Daddy?”  A plea to a rival Big Gun.    

“Go with Mom, Sonny Boy,” Brian tousled Gus’s hair, got a pouty face.  “Now.”  Most other times he took Gus’s side to please his son or piss off Mel.  Not for THIS situation.

Covering bases, Gus gripped Linz’s hand with, “I wanna stay wit Daddy,” rubbed an eye to fight sleep.  Linz’s, “Maybe later,” worked and he went quietly.

Justin watched Brian open the door. “I’ll run down and grab what I can.  Anything valuable I should look for?” 

“Not anymore.” Brian watched a plastic laundry basket float on deep murk, stepped aside for Justin.  “And I wouldn’t try going down there, Cousteau.”

“Fuck.”

Blackout.  No lights.

“NOW what?” Justin blinked.  The sudden total darkness was disorienting.  He heard frantic voices and footsteps upstairs, felt Brian’s hand on his arm.

“I think there’s a flashlight on top of the refrigerator.”  Brian turned toward the kitchen and smacked his left shoulder against the edge of the open basement door.  “Ah.  Fucking....”

“Are you okay?” Justin reached out and traced Brian’s right arm to a grip on his shoulder.

“Peachy,” Brian winced.  Then his cell phone rang.

“Want me to get that?” 

“I got it,” Brian pulled his cell.  “It’s one of two things I do well in the dark,” then answered, “Brian Kinney.”

Across town, Michael stood in a drenched jacket, stared through the drifting film of rain on the apartment living room window and pressed the phone to his ear.

“Brian.  I can’t get Mel and Linz.  Their line is out and something’s wrong with Mel’s cell phone.  You are?  They ARE?” Michael calmed, “Well THAT’S a relief.  I just got back from picking up my Mom and Emmett.  Her basement flooded, the power’s out and it’s too much for her right now.”  He glanced at the couch - Debbie sitting stoically quiet, Emmett beside her and rubbing her hand, Ben setting a tray of hot tea servings on the coffee table, Hunter on the floor and glued to a sci-fi battle on TV.  “At least we still have power, but I don’t know how long.  I also talked to Ted and he’s -”

“Hosting a candlelight after-dinner party with friends and family.  The best way to weather a storm, as a very good friend of mine would say,” Ted smiled and lit a trio of fat holiday candles, switched off the guide light atop his biker helmet  “There.”  He backed away, watched the intensifying glow warm the despondent faces of his Mother and three older ladies on stools at the kitchen counter.

“It’s very…cheery,” Mother tried to lighten, “And that’s such a useful hat.”

“Always be prepared,” Ted self-consciously removed and set it aside.  “Oh.”  He opened a drawer and handed out mini maglights.  “Here’s one for you…and for you, Edna…

and…” stopped when one sad-faced elder didn’t reach out.

“Forty years,” she stared at the candle flames.   “I lived there forty years, and nothing like this has ever happened before.”

“And probably won’t for another forty,” Ted assured, thought a moment and gave a decisive nod.  “Okay.  After I fire up the fondue pot for tea, I think we should take turns sharing how we feel about what’s happening.  But we’ll also remember we’re here safe, we’re together, and we all didn’t get this far in life by giving up, right?”

Mother smiled immediate approval; the other Ladies shared hesitant looks of agreement before nodding to Ted.

“Good.  Now when’s the last time any of you were at a slumber party?”

Edna giggled with a mix of nostalgia and absurdity.  “It’s been…centuries.”

“Well tonight you’re all invited to the First Official Schmidt Family Senior Sleepover.”  Pumped by the giggly exchanges of all but Sad Elder, Ted donned his helmet like a Roman General, proudly flicked on the light.  “I’m off to kindle the living room luminaria.  Mom, would you be so kind as to help me with the blankets?  We might even find Lupe.”

“Of course.”  She grabbed her flashlight, followed Ted into his bedroom and into his closet where his guide light promptly quit.

“Not to worry.  I’ll just get another one.”

Ted’s jaunt through the dark living room stopped when he heard Sad Elder’s nervous whisper: “He may seem nice, but he had that awful business.  Maybe we should go to the shelter.”  

In the pale cast of candlelight, Ted’s face sank from old shame and it’s shadow on his Mother through the people she called friends.  Suddenly he didn’t feel like a hero, and the smile he forced didn’t make it to his eyes.

In similar darkness at Mel and Linz’s, Brian closed his phone away.

Justin was puzzled.  “You told Michael that Mel and Linz were fine?”

Before Brian could explain, they were interrupted by the approaching cool glow from a fluorescent lantern and Linz’s “Brian?” as she led Mel toward the basement door.

“Over here.  I just talked to Michael and they still have power, so there’s power at the Loft.  And the building has an emergency system.  So,” he sighed, “Pack up what you need for the rug rats. You’re coming back with us.”  Fuck.  Can’t leave them here.

Justin cut in, “We’ve got a tent and sleeping bags from the Ride and lots of space.  Gus’ll love pretending we’re camping out.”

“Mel?” Linz checked.

Mel didn’t smile, or like Brian’s tone.  “You and Gus go.  Maybe you can drop me and the baby at Michael’s.”

Brian flatly added, “Before you decide, Debbie and Emmett are already there because HER place flooded -”

Linz’s, “Oh god,” with Justin’s, “Shit.  She’ll be a wreck,” drew Mel’s consideration.

“- Ted has his Mother and a bingo group, flights are cancelled so there’s probably a waiting line in every hotel lobby from here to Cleveland.  Or you could wait for the Fire Department while your batteries run out.”  Then he calmly turned to Linz.  “I could use a flashlight if you’ve got one.”

“Back here,” she nodded, guided him to the refrigerator where he reached up, found and flicked it on.  “What are you going to do?”

“Find my car,” Brian grinned, hiked past Justin and Mel and headed to the front door, “It’s black as hell out there.  Justin?   Our umbrellas?”

Still holding their folded jackets, Justin hurried to hand one over, whispered, “Aren’t we gonna wait for them?” and watched the flash beam whip around as Brian draped his jacket over his head.

“What for?  They have a car.  And we don’t have the Honda anymore.”  He called, “I’ll bring this back in a minute,” jiggled the flashlight and went out the door.

Justin threw his jacket over his head, “Later,” hurried out and was surprised to see the flash beam lighting the steps.  Brian was standing in the rain, waiting. “We could’ve helped them,” Justin caught up. 

“We are.  You lead.” Brian handed over the flashlight, used his good hand to tent his jacket and keep rain off his face.  Fuck these one-handed emergencies.

They splashed a brisk pace behind the flash’s sweeping arc and the passing light from two other departing cars, simultaneously jumped into the Vette and pitched soggy jackets on the passenger floor beside Brian’s feet.

Justin set the flash in his lap, cranked the engine, hit the lights. “We’re just gonna leave?”

“Not much pisses off Mel more than something that’s my idea, especially when Linz agrees with it.  With us gone they’ll battle it out like the two disgruntled divorcees they plan to be, finally decide what’s best for the kids, and be ready juuuuust about…now.”

Justin narrowed a look.  “Scary how your mind works sometimes.”   

Brian leaned back, shut his eyes, “Not as frightening as the thought of a night with a toddler, screaming baby and two warring Amazons.”

“And it’s all your fault,” Justin leaned over and pecked a kiss.

Brian exhaled loudly and sat up. “Drive before I change my mind.  Stay in the middle of the street, angle the nose to Mel’s bumper and leave the headlights on so they can see their way to her car.  Then run the flashlight back.  Help if you want.  I’ll wait here.”  One thing worse than being unable is being in the way. 

Justin positioned the car, parked and mumbled, “Shit.”

“What?”

“My Mom and Molly.  And Daphne.  Loan me your phone when I get back.”

Brian handed up a jacket, watched Justin dash out.  Then he leaned back, shut his eyes again and pictured a lineup at the Loft bathroom.  What.  The.  Fuck.  Was I thinking.

“Not much,” Linz breathed out, eyes shifting up, down.  A beer’s-eye-view from Brian’s fridge.  “If I move these…” she clinked bottles aside, “I can get a little more space,” and shoved a gallon milk jug onto the shelf.  “There’s a lot more in here now that Justin’s moving back.”  Silence.  Linz turned to Mel beside Brian’s desk and bending over Jenny in a portable playpen.  “Can we at least be civil while we’re here?”

Mel stood and pushed her hair back.  “Forgive me if I’m not in the mood for a fun getaway.”

“Because I called Brian?  He’s -”

“Gus’s Father.  How could I forget,” Mel stayed icy.  “Do you want the futon cushion or a sleeping bag?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Linz swallowed, grabbed a teapot and filled it in the sink.  If time could forget there ever was a Sam, it couldn’t erase Brian.  And Mel’s connecting them together…how to fight that.  Is it worth a fight.  I’m tired.  I’m so damned tired.  If we could just be friends.  That’s all.

The Loft door opened.  Justin stepped in with a grocery bag of clothing dangling from one hand, cell phone in the other and pressed to an ear.  “Okay.  Later,” then twisted back to Brian hauling a large diaper box, wet jacket on his shoulder.  “Mom and Molly are fine, so they’re not coming.”

“Thank god.” Brian sighed, saw Justin’s stare, “That they’re okay.  That should simplify fucking,” and smiled at Justin’s tongue tip salute. 

Linz darted to Brian, grabbed the diaper box and missed Mel’s eye-roll. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“But it has blunt edges,” Brian eyed the box, grumbled to himself, “It’s one night, not eternity,” then studied his ravaged Boss jacket, tossed it on the landing and shut the door.

“Justin, I’ll get that.” Linz hurried to the counter where he was stacking kid clothes.  “Gus is on the bed with the tent, if you want to give him a hand.”

“Sure.”  Justin picked a cookie from an open container, thought and grabbed another for Gus before traipsing to the bedroom.

“Where’s that going?” Brian raised a brow.

“Not telling you,” Justin took a bite, kept walking.  Relax already.  I’ll watch the crumbs.

Twat.  I’m wet, tired, and fucking outnumbered.  Brian glanced toward the playpen and caught Mel hiding a grin.  “She SMILES,” he paced over.

“I think you’ve finally met your match.”

“If you stay up late, you can catch the sparks.”

“Crude as ever,” Mel guarded, added a perfunctory, “How’s the shoulder?”

“Still attached.  How’s post-partum?”

Mel slid a smile to one side, then quietly serious, “I didn’t want to come here, but since I did, it’s probably best to say thank you and plan to be out early tomorrow.”  That said, she left to unroll a sleeping bag near the window.

More gloom than fight?  Brian watched her, glanced back and saw Linz wiping the counter, watching.  She plastered on a smile faster than Mel had hidden hers.  Must be aftershock from floods in places that never flooded before.  His attention moved to the bedroom where he could see Justin and Gus on opposite sides of the bed, hear their banter.  He pinched his damp sweats, frowned and strolled to the steps.

Beyond glass doors, Justin tried gathering the tent fabric but Gus climbed the bed and knelt on top.  “No, Gus.  We have to take it out there.”

“No.  Right here.”  Gus picked up a piece of frame.  “Dis goes next.  Put dis here.”

“It doesn’t go there,” Justin lifted the instructions.  “See?”

Brian plodded in with, “Hey, Sonny Boy.”

“Daddy!” Gus stood, got a one-arm hug and was lowered to the floor.  “I’m helping!”

“You’re doing great,” Brian smiled, sat on the tent before Justin could gather it up and craned a look at Justin while toeing off sopped shoes.  “After you put this thing up, get out some sheets.  The two-fifties, not the four-hundred count.”  Brian winced, gripped his shoulder.   

“Are you okay?”  

“A touch of alcohol denial.  I intend to be fine soon.”

As Brian rose, Gus climbed back onto the bed, foiling Justin again.  “Are you okay?” Gus mimicked to Brian.

“Super,” Brian smiled at his son, rubbed Gus’s hair. 

Justin noted how Brian, though maybe not consciously, encouraged Gus’s open caring and took pride in his own role in the subtle transformation.  “You’re good with him.”

“I may need him in my old age.”  Brian slung pants onto a shoulder, snapped a dry tee off a hanger, noticed Justin’s wet sweats on the bed platform.  “And hang that up somewhere.” Then he went into the bathroom.

“I take it back. About loving when you’re bossy.”

The bathroom door snapped shut.  Grouch, Justin made a face, laid the instructions on the tent.

“Take dat off,” Gus pointed to the papers, waved another piece of frame.  “Put dis here.”

“You are soooo HIS.”

In the outer sanctum, Mel held the baby and stared out the window, Linz watched the teapot, waiting for it to boil.  Playing the game that had become their norm. Like strangers on an elevator watching numbers to cover the discomfort of knowing they might see each other and not know what to do.

Hours later, the Loft bedroom saw faint kitchen light through the glass.  Nearby - rustling shadows, low murmurs, baby cries.

From the left side of the bed, Brian rolled his head to see the clock.  4AM.  Looked back to check Justin and saw open eyes staring from a side position.

“That makes three,” Justin wearily whispered.

“Two.”

“Three.  You slept through one.”  Justin edged closer.  “Michael doesn’t know yet, does he?  About Mel and Linz.”

“They’ll spread the gossip when they’re ready.  Tonight was not a good night for it.”

“So you kept Mel from going over alone.”

“It wasn’t all for them,” Brian quietly retorted, “I have the creepy-crawly market deadline Monday, which is hard enough without MIKEY disturbing me every two hours.  At least with THIS option, I don’t have to respond.”

“Um-hm,” Justin stared.  Truth in all your reasons, but I know how they’re weighted.  Justin’s face drooped with heavier thoughts.  “Michael and I were supposed to work out some Rage details by Monday.  But Debbie’ll have a mess to clean up tomorrow.  So will Mel and Linz.”

“You can’t talk and clean at the same time?  And you call yourselves queens.” 

Brian rolled in for a brief kiss that soon turned greedy.  Then they really got into it.  Until Justin’s eager arm clamped around Brian’s left shoulder.  A shot of pain made him hiss to clench a silent curse then drop to his back.

Justin recoiled, “Sorry.  Sorry.  Forgot,” bit his lip and also rolled back not sure if he was more irritated at himself or at Brian for being careless on the Ride.

In the living room, the TV was on so low, Linz and nursing Mother Mel had to sit close to it and each other while watching All-Nite News footage of a man wading knee-high water in front of his partially submerged home.  Voiceover “- wide-spread flooding from this unusual Spring storm system in the Mid-Atlantic.  Parts of Ohio, Pennsylvania and West Virginia can expect some relief as the front pushes through later today -”

“I suppose we’ll have to postpone selling the house until we fix the damage,” Linz whispered.  “Those poor people who live along the river.”

“Poor?  THEY probably have flood insurance.”

Linz snapped a look at Mel, got a somber slow blink in return.

A basement drain spurts a single blip of water. Another bubbles a tiny pool.  A third boils up filth.  And a toy bear on the floor watches dark water rise until the world is black.

Song: “Dub Sonar (Original Mix)” by Chris Salt

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