Chapter 12 - The Summer Storm
July brought heavy summer thunderstorms to the Chicago suburbs, the kind that rolled in fast off the lake, turning the afternoon sky the color of bruised slate and rattling the windowpanes with sudden, violent gusts of wind.
Owen and I were in the middle of a fierce Monopoly game in the living room when the first crack of thunder split the air, followed immediately by a sharp flicker of the overhead lights before the house plunged into darkness.
“Whoa!” Owen yelled, dropping his plastic token onto Boardwalk. “The power went out!”
“Hold on, let me check the utility closet for the emergency flashers,” I said, standing up from the rug.
As I walked toward the hallway, a sudden flash of lightning illuminated the front windows, casting long, dramatic shadows across the floorboards.
Instantly, Owen’s posture changed.
He didn't run to the stairs. He didn't slouch into a miserable huddle. But I saw him freeze, his shoulders tensing slightly as the low, rolling boom of thunder shook the house foundations. It was a reflex—a muscle memory left over from months of living under a microscope of manufactured fear.
I stopped walking, turned around, and walked back over to him, sitting down cross-legged on the rug right in front of him.
“Hey,” I said softly, catching his eye in the dim light.
Owen looked down at his sneakers, biting his lower lip. “It’s just... it’s loud.”
“It is loud,” I agreed gently. “Storms get pretty intense around here in July. Do you want to go sit in the basement? It’s completely soundproofed down there. We can listen to music on the portable speaker.”
Owen looked up, a small, grateful smile touching the corners of his mouth. “Can we play the soundtrack to Star Wars?”
“We can play whatever you want.”
May you like
We grabbed a pile of thick blankets, a flashlight, and the portable Bluetooth speaker, heading down the newly painted basement stairs. Surrounded by his comic books, his ping-pong table, and the warm glow of fairy lights we had strung along the bookshelves, the rumbling thunder outside sounded like nothing more than a distant, harmless drumbeat.
We sat wrapped in blankets, eating leftover pizza by flashlight, talking about nothing and everything. And for the first time, I realized that the ghosts of our past weren't going to vanish overnight—but every time we faced them together, they lost a little bit more of their power.
