“Holy shit, that was a big one,” Meredith said, sounding calmer than she felt. “I guess it was earthquake weather.”
“Are you okay?” Debbie asked her. She looked badly shaken herself.
“I think so,” Meredith answered. “Are you? Where’s Jack?”
“He’s behind the house at the meter, trying to turn off the gas.” As always, he knew just the right thing to do, and Meredith was grateful to have them there. “It was like climbing a roller coaster, trying to get up the stairs to get to you,” Debbie said, still breathless from the shock of what had happened.
“Thank you for coming up.”
“Jack said we should go out to the courtyard, in case things keep falling in the house for a while.” They heard a loud crash downstairs, and when she shined the light on the chandelier, it was still swinging. She handed a flashlight to Meredith, who turned it on to look for her shoes, found them, and as she put them on, she saw that her foot was bleeding. “Are you okay?” Debbie asked her, and Meredith answered that she was and followed her to the stairs. When they shined their lights on the big chandelier in the main hall, it was still swinging from side to side, and all the hanging crystals sounded like chimes as they bumped into one another. “Don’t walk under it!” Debbie warned her, as they made their way gingerly down the stairs, and saw the paintings on the floor in the hall. The large frames on several of them were broken.
They walked around them, and opened the front door. Meredith could see, as she had from her bedroom window, that the entire neighborhood was dark.
“I wonder how big it was,” Meredith said as they stood in the doorway, and Debbie shined the lantern outside.
“Big,” she said, as they walked cautiously into the courtyard, and Jack found them a few minutes later.
“Are you two okay? The gas is off in the house now,” he said in a reassuring tone.
“We’re fine,” Meredith said, starting to feel calmer. They could hear people talking in the street, and she wondered if they should open the gate.
“Don’t go out in the street,” he warned them both. “There are power lines down. One of them is shooting sparks. I saw it when I moved some of the netting on the gate to take a look.” As he said it, all three of them could feel a mild aftershock, and Debbie looked panicked.
“What if there’s another big one?” she asked, clutching Jack’s arm. “What if that was just the first one? A warm-up?”
“There won’t be another one,” he said, sounding more hopeful than certain, trying to calm them, as Meredith wondered what the rest of the night would have in store for them, and how much damage had been done to the house, as paintings and fragile objects fell.
“We ought to check on our neighbors,” Meredith said, concerned. “Somebody could be trapped, or hurt. Where’s the first aid kit?” she asked Jack, and he glanced at Debbie before he answered.
“You can’t go out there, Meredith. Everyone knows who you are and that you live here. You don’t want people shoving their way inside. We don’t know how bad it is outside. There could be looters.” He made it sound ominous, as though there were people waiting to invade them. Meredith didn’t care.
“Get the first aid kit, and we’re going to open the gate, Jack,” she said in a voice he’d never heard before. It was the voice of unquestionable authority. He hesitated and then disappeared into the house, as Debbie looked terrified.
“Don’t open the gates. We don’t know what’s out there.”
“No, we don’t. But we’re going to find out,” Meredith said in a calm, firm tone that left no doubt in Debbie’s mind.
Five minutes later, Jack was back with the first aid kit, and a stubborn look on his face, as Meredith took the key and manually opened the gate. It resisted at first, and then slowly it swung open. Meredith walked through the gates to the street, and Debbie and Jack followed. This wasn’t what they wanted to happen at all. But Meredith was in charge now, for the first time in a very long time, and her eyes were bright and alive.
Chapter 2
Tyla Johnson was just taking a meatloaf out of the oven when Andrew came home from work. She knew he wouldn’t like it, but she had promised the children. It was her grandmother’s recipe and one of their favorites. She served it with mashed potatoes and corn on the cob. She had a steak in the fridge for him if Andrew preferred it.
“It’s like coming home to a second-rate diner,” he grumbled as he went to wash his hands with a sour expression. She hated it when he came home like that. She wondered if something had gone wrong at the office. She could usually tell. She had worked for him for three years as an O.R. nurse before they started dating and he married her. She’d gotten the job right out of nursing school. She was thirty-eight now, and he was forty-seven. He was an orthopedic surgeon at one of the best hospitals in the city, and had a booming practice.
Andrew was tall, blond, athletic, and handsome, with powerful shoulders. He had grown up in Southern California in a blue-collar suburb of L.A., and had lived in Venice for a while, which he thought was the perfect beach town, with lots of college girls to pick up, who were dazzled by him. Even now, as a busy physician, he ran three miles every day to stay in shape before he went to work.
Their daughter, Daphne, was seven, and their son, Will, was eleven. They both went to private schools, and Andrew never let them or Tyla forget how much it cost him. His parents had been poor when he was growing up, and had scrimped and saved and borrowed to put their only son through medical school, and now he was one of the most successful orthopedic surgeons in the city. From where he had come from, it was a huge achievement.
Tyla was from a poor Irish family in Boston, and had gotten a full scholarship to nursing school. She came to San Francisco as soon as she graduated, and when she married Andrew, her whole life had changed. Andrew was obsessed with money and success and worked hard.
They’d bought the house on Washington Street when Daphne was two. Tyla had stopped working when Will was born, and Andrew reminded her regularly how lucky she was to have a husband like him, who provided for her, and an easy life. He was proud of the money he’d made, and owning a house like this. He paid a hefty mortgage. He watched every penny she spent, and Tyla was never extravagant. She loved their house, and the advantages they could give their children that she had never had growing up. Her mother had stretched every dollar, made their clothes, and put food on the table for them by working as a maid in one of the finer houses in Boston. One of her brothers was a plumber, and the other one was an electrician. Both of her sisters were domestics as her mother had been. Tyla was their pride and joy, married to a doctor, living in a big house in San Francisco. She would have continued working to help him, but Andrew didn’t want her to, and made enough money that she didn’t have to work. He was proud of that too.