By the time we reached Makati the sky had begun to grow dark and the wind was picking up. Trees were nodding and on the sidewalk newspapers were spiraling up in an ominous way. When we got out of the car, I could hear dogs barking, although where we were, in a landscape of concrete and glass, I could not see the dogs that were responsible.

“Is there a storm coming in?” I asked.

“Yeah, but it’s not supposed to be so bad. Just stay for dinner. The cook’s making bagnet.”

“She’s always making bagnet.”

“That’s because you’re always eating it.”

By the time we had finished dinner, the rain was blowing against the windows in sheets. I rested my face against the cool glass, seeing people—tiny from this distance—running along the sidewalks to take shelter.

“I have to head home,” I said. “It’s not looking very good out there.”

Chet checked his phone, scrolling through, I assumed, to follow up on the weather, when the phone began to ring. He picked up and after an initial angry response, he began to deliver directions on how to secure a construction site that must have been one of his projects. He was being very specific at making sure that they stored all the corrugated iron safely as that had a tendency to blow around in storms and had been known to kill people. He reassured whoever was on the other end of the line and said to call him when all the actions had been completed.

“Ting,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere. Power lines are coming down. It’s not safe.”

I thought about the implications of this statement. “And here, is it safe?”

Chet rolled his eyes. “I just want to hold your hand.” He took my hand and began to bend back the fingers one at a time. Then he flipped my hand over as if he were reading my palm.

I left my hand in his. I wanted both to take it back and to leave it there, but my mind had left my body and seemed to be hovering over the proceedings as if I had no say in what was happening. I said, “It’ll be my hand and next thing you’ll want my elbow.”

Chet nodded, his hand now on my elbow. He closed his fingers, which now touched, encircling it. “Yes, and then your shoulder.”

“It’s like being eaten by a snake,” I said. Whatever was about to happen seemed inevitable. I could have pushed him off, stepped away, but I was curious and, also, strangely sad.

Chet laughed. “There you are, thinking and thinking.”

“I don’t want to be inside the snake,” I said.

“Ting,” Chet replied, putting his arms around me, pulling me to him. “Inside the snake is the safest place to be.”

II

II