Love Game

“It’s not the storm. It’s the dark.” Then she shook her head as the first raindrops started to fall. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

She climbed into the passenger seat without a word, and we drove back to the house in Lahaina, a tension-filled silence filling the car, like lightning does before it strikes. Outside, lightning did strike, and the storm began in earnest. Rain fell in sheets, and the sky grew dark—a premature night.

“You sure you’ll be okay?” I asked in the backyard, from under the main house’s kitchen lanai.

“Yep. Great,” Daisy said, biting the words out. “Got to get to Keanu. He must be scared.”

She ran toward the guesthouse without another look back.

What the hell was that?

Disappointment bit at me that the fun, light mood of the goat yoga hadn’t lasted. But then—I reminded myself—nothing good does.

The storm was a long one. For three days, rain lashed down and Daisy and I had to take her Reiki sessions into the workout room in the big house. I hated to admit it—even to myself—but my elbow felt amazing and my own thunderstorm of grief felt like it was rolling somewhere else. At least for now.

On the fourth day, the storm took a final, bruising turn, and sure enough, the power went out around nine p.m. I was watching tennis highlights when the TV blipped black and everything went dark around me. The whir of the back-up generator kicked in, and a few lights came back on.

I headed to the kitchen that was empty; Lana having gone home hours before. The guesthouse across the pool was pitch black, and I suddenly remembered the stricken look on Daisy’s face at the prospect of a blackout. She’d been genuinely afraid and here I was, standing there like a dope when she needed me.

Settle down, mate. You’re no hero.

Even so…

The interior decorator of this place apparently had been addicted to pillar candles. I raced around the huge living room, gathering up as many candles as I could hold, and rushed for the kitchen’s back door.

I fumbled the door open, and jumped to see Daisy standing there, hand raised to knock, Keanu by her side.

“Oh, hey,” I said.

“Hey.” She was hugging herself nervously, eyeing my armful of candles. Raindrops hung like diamonds in the curls of her hair. “What are you doing?”

“I was…” I shifted the load in my arms. “I thought…”

“Are those for me?”

“You said you’re not a fan of the dark.”

A faint smile pulled at her lips. “That’s so thoughtful of you.” She hugged herself tighter, and she looked over my shoulder, to the lighted living room.

“Oh, but hey, come in,” I said quickly, stepping aside. “I mean, if you’d rather…”

“That’d be great,” she said, her usually assured voice low and trembling. “If you don’t mind. Just for a little while.”

She stepped inside, Keanu following at her heels. She plopped down on the couch and a sigh of relief gusted out of her.

“Sorry to intrude,” she said. “I’m sure you need to rest.”

“It’s fine,” I said and set down the candles on the dining room table. “You want something to drink or eat? Or…drink?”

“No, I’m good,” she said, still hugging herself.

Her normally calm, peaceful demeanor was rattled, and it made my stomach tighten. I opened my mouth and shut it again; put my hands on my hips, then dropped them again.

“What can I do?” I asked finally.

Daisy’s impossibly-colored eyes turned to me with a softness I’d never seen before either. “I’m fine,” she said. “Or will be. I just…” She sighed again, and Keanu rested his muzzle on her thigh. She rubbed his ears absently. “I suppose you want to know my story. Why a grown woman is scared of the dark.”

I want to help you.