glance back at the church to see Jeffrey standing in the open doorway, watching as she leaves.
SADIE
There’s a cargo van in the drive when I get home that night. I pull up beside it, park my car behind Will’s. I read the lettering on the van, relieved Will is having the furnace replaced.
I go to the front door. The house is at first quiet when I step in. The furnace is kept in the dingy basement. The men are down there.
I see only Tate, at the coffee table with his Legos. He waves at me and I step out of my shoes, leaving them by the door. I go to Tate and give him a kiss on the head.
“How was your—” I begin, but before I get the rest of the words out, the sound of angry voices rises through the floorboards to us, though I can’t make out what they say.
Tate and I exchange a look, and I tell him, “I’ll be right back.” When he makes an effort to follow, I say firmly, “Stay here,” not knowing what I’ll find in the basement when I go down.
I step carefully down the roughened wooden steps to see what’s the matter. I’m nervous as I do, thinking only of some strange man in our home. Some strange man who neither Will nor I know.
My next thought is: How do we know that this furnace man is not a murderer? It doesn’t feel far-fetched, considering what’s happened to Morgan.
The basement is sparse. The walls and the floor are concrete. It’s harshly lit, only a series of bare bulbs.
As I approach the bottom step, I’m afraid of what I’ll find. The furnace man hurting Will. My heartbeats pick up speed. I curse myself for not having thought to bring something down to protect myself with. To protect Will. But my purse is still with me, and inside it, my phone. That’s something. I could call for help if need be. I reach inside, take ahold of my phone in my hand.
My feet reach the final step. I cautiously turn. It’s not as I expect.
Will has the furnace man pressed into the basement wall. He stands inches from him in a way that can only be viewed as threatening. Will doesn’t hold him there—it’s not physical, not yet—but from his proximity to the man, it’s apparent he can’t leave. The man, in contrast, stands complaisantly back as Will calls him a parasite, an opportunist. Will is red in the face because of it, the veins of his neck enlarged.
He steps somehow even closer to the man so that the man flinches. Will stabs a finger into his chest. A second later he grabs the man by the shirt collar and chides, “I should call the BBB and report you. Just because you’re the only fucking furnace—”
“Will!” I say sternly then. It’s so unlike Will to be profane. It’s also so unlike Will to be physical. I’ve never seen this side of Will.
“Stop it, Will,” I demand, asking, “What in the world’s gotten into you?”
Will stands down, only because I am here. His eyes drop to the ground. He doesn’t have to tell me what’s happened. I know by context clues. This man is the only furnace man on the island. Because of it, his prices are high. Will doesn’t like that. But that’s no excuse.
As Will takes a step back, the furnace man quickly gathers up his tools and flees.
We don’t speak, we don’t mention it again all night.
* * *
The next morning, I wrap the towel around myself as I step from the shower. Will stands staring at his reflection in the fogged-up mirror above the sink. The silver along the edge of it is tarnished by time. The bathroom, like everything else in the house, is suffocating and small.
I stare at Will staring at his own reflection in the mirror. He catches me. Our eyes meet. “How long do you think you’ll keep ignoring me like this?” he asks, referring to our silence in the aftermath of his blowup with the furnace man. In the end, the man had left without doing a thing and so the house is still uncomfortable. The furnace has begun to rattle, too. Soon it will be dead.
I’ve been waiting for Will to apologize for his behavior or at least acknowledge that it was wrong. I understand why he’d have been upset. What I don’t understand is the overreaction. Will’s response was over the top, completely