Chapter 8
When he spoke, his voice rough and low, Jana let out a stupid yelp and pulled me inside by the waist, trying to drag me into the dark of the living room. I didn't go. I stood there in the doorway, heart pounding in my throat, but I didn't back down. It was scary as fuck, yeah, but it was also just one person standing in the rain, lantern in hand, looking at us like he wanted to help.
I shouted back, my voice shaking a little.
"Yeah, but the porch roof caved in and we're without power!"
He tilted his head, the lantern swinging and casting dancing shadows across his face.
"You girls alone? Where are your parents and your two brothers?"
Right then, I relaxed a bit. Either he really knew me, or he'd pulled off the biggest bluff on the planet. Nobody up in the hills would know about my brothers without knowing the family.
"I'm here with my friend, that's it."
He took a step closer, his boots sinking into the mud, but he stopped respectfully, not invading the space of the wrecked porch.
"Little flower, you're gonna have to trust me. You can't spend the night there—the whole roof might come down. Come take a look from out here."
I hesitated, but I went out. I stepped into the cold mud that was wrecking the grass and the front flowerbed, my dress sticking to my legs, bare feet sinking into the chilly muck. I lifted my head and looked up. From inside the house, I hadn't seen it clearly, but now I could tell: the main roof was totally compromised, broken tiles, exposed beams. God knows if the concrete slab underneath wasn't affected too. A chill ran up my spine.
"Grab your stuff and come with me. I'm your neighbor."
Neighbor.
The word echoed in my head. Neighbor? With that whole look? But his voice was calm, almost gentle, and he didn't come any closer.
"You got a phone? I wanna call my parents and let them know."
"Nobody's got signal, sweetie—the best bet is a landline. But there's a guy nearby with satellite internet. We'll talk to him later, see if he can get through."
He held the lantern a little higher, lighting the path between the fallen trees, like he was showing it wasn't a trap. Jana appeared behind me, still clutching my shirt, eyes wide, but she didn't yell anymore. I looked at her, then at him, then at the cracked roof dripping water on our heads.
I took her hand and squeezed it tight.
"Okay. We'll go. But just to call our parents."
He nodded, that smile still there, but now softer.
"Sure thing, little flower. Now grab your stuff and let's get going."
The little town that couldn't have more than fifty houses in what they called the center looked like it had just woken up from a nightmare, but nobody was freaking out. The few cars on the streets were buried under branches and fallen trees, everything plunged into deep darkness, but people didn't seem worried. On the contrary: they were smiling, like this was routine, like the storm was an old friend who shows up, wrecks everything, and leaves behind the smell of wet earth and stories to tell. Lanterns swung in their hands, lights flickered in windows, and there was a quiet festive air in the breeze, like the whole hillside had woken up to watch the show.
We got to her house after trudging through mud up to our calves, soiling the hem of my dress completely, feet heavy with cold muck. When the door opened, I was amazed. Inside, there was a little piece of the whole world scattered around. Souvenirs from trips hanging in every corner: seashells from distant beaches, hand-carved wooden dolls, colored glass that caught the light and threw weak rainbows on the walls. Wardrobes full of dresses, old and extravagant clothes, all with some tiny glass detail sewn on—beads, stones, little mirrors that winked when we walked by. On the walls, tribal masks, woven straw hats, silk scarves faded by time. On the floor, shoes and more shoes of every kind, but mostly extravagant: sky-high heels with feathers, leather boots with gold embroidery, jeweled sandals that looked like treasures. Jana stared at it all with her mouth open, eyes shining in the dim light.
The room's light was a pale white, cold, coming from some emergency bulb that flickered faintly on the ceiling.
"Girls, go to the bathroom and wash those feet, change clothes if you need to. I'll make some tea, okay?"
I went deeper into the house, stepping carefully so I wouldn't break anything. She told bits of her life while fussing with pots in the kitchen. It was a long life, full of travels, loves, losses, and reunions. I walked around using the last bit of battery on my phone's flashlight, illuminating dozens of photos on the walls: her young, hugging people who looked famous, posing in cities I'd only seen in movies, laughing with strangers at old parties, always with that big smile that was now right there in the kitchen.
"Rebeca, check this out—we didn't even ask the lady's name!"
"You're right..."
I headed toward the kitchen noise, pot hissing, smell of anise rising up.
"Hey, sorry, you're helping us out and I don't even know your name..."
She laughed like it wasn't a big deal, lighting the stove with a lighter, blue flame dancing in the dark.
"Sit down, girl—you young folks are all the same. My name's Lunna Liz, but call me Lunna or just Lu if you want. I even prefer it."
I sat in the old wooden chair in the kitchen, legs still caked in mud. I had a million questions in my head about who she was, where all that beautiful stuff scattered around the house came from. I told her I'd found it all amazing, like a living museum.
She smiled, pouring hot water into the teapot.
"Tomorrow we'll check out the clothes properly, little flower. Tonight we can't see a thing right—it's all a mess and you girls need to sleep. The storm took the day, but it brought you here. That made the night worth it."
She set cups on the table, smell of chamomile and honey filling the air. Jana appeared in the bathroom doorway, feet clean, wrapped in a towel Lunna had left for us, eyes still wide from everything she'd seen. I picked up the hot cup, feeling the steam rise to my face, and took a long, comforting sip. I felt like a refugee from a disaster, body heavy, mind spinning, but the tea went down warm and eased the knot in my throat a little.
A moment after we'd hashed out the plan for when the sun came up, she leaned against the sink in the small, old, no less cluttered kitchen and said to me.
"Look, I wanted to say I think you're really brave."
"Brave?" I looked at her curiously, not sure what she meant, because up till then I'd just been scared shitless and shaking. "But why brave?"
"I saw your post, I know your family—your mom's friends with me on Instagram." She took another sip and went on. "Now you need to be strong. Life's tough on us."
Us...
I didn't identify with "us." Not like that. But it was Jana who cut in, direct as always.
"You're trans, right?"
My eyes went wide at Jana's bluntness, but Lunna just laughed, a rough, warm laugh that filled the kitchen.