“Well I honestly don’t get it.” Dorothy wouldn’t get it because she couldn’t be bothered with Lucy, and that’s another thing I need to let go of.

We head downstairs, a rambunctious puppy bulldog and slow old greyhound at our heels, and in the kitchen Janet has the window open over the sink. The sound and smell of the rain is carried in on warm steamy air, and my thoughts are pulled away, outside into the storm. Desi is setting the table in the dining room while Dorothy makes more coffee but I’m not in here in my head.

I’m back in my Miami neighborhood, and I see the child I once was, small and slight with white-blond hair, light blue eyes and cheap clothes. I see my yellow shoe box of a house and the scraps of overgrown yard with sagging chain-link fencing on three sides that kept nothing out including local cats and dogs and an occasional escaped parrot. I see all of it as if I’m watching a movie or back in time, and then thunder splits the air and lightning illuminates the windows.

“Uh-oh,” Desi says as he walks back into the kitchen, and the power has gone out. “The lights in the dining room don’t work all of a sudden.”

The backup generator has kicked in. But only certain areas of the house will have power. Fortunately the kitchen does, and then someone is pounding on the back door.

“It’s Marino,” Janet is looking at her phone. “I’m just seeing his text. He was at the front door, now he’s in back and needs to see you, Kay.”

“I didn’t hear him pull up.”

“The rain’s too loud to hear much of anything,” Janet says as I follow the hallway past the pantry, to the back of the house.

When I open the door Marino is standing hunched over in a yellow slicker with the hood up, and he says, “We need someplace private to talk. The doorbell in front is broke. I rang it trying to be polite for once.”

“The doorbell you pressed is original to the house and not connected to anything. Didn’t you see the modern little box with the lighted button that’s been there as long as we’ve lived here?”

“It’s dark as shit. What about you grab an umbrella or something and we’ll talk out here.”

“In the pouring rain with thunder and lightning? How about you come inside and I’ll pour you a coffee?”

“Nope. Right here.” He points next to him. “Really, Doc? I’m not kidding,” and I can tell he’s not as I grab a waterproof jacket off the coatrack.

I put it on, pulling up the hood, tightening the drawstring. Stepping outside, I close the door and face him in the splashing downpour.