Chapter 12 Midst of Storm
SERAFINA
Rafael's hand tightens on mine. I loosen my grip on his shirt enough to look up at him.
"I won't." His voice is rough against the rain. "But we need to get out of this. There's a shelter close by."
I know which one he means before he says it. The old groundskeeper's cabin at the boundary of the north grove, the one we used to hide in during summer storms when we were children. I didn't know it was still standing.
"The path back is blocked." I have to raise my voice over the wind. "I couldn't see where the track went after I turned off."
"I know. The cabin is closer, and we can wait there until the worst passes." He shifts his grip on my hand, steadying me. "Can you walk?"
I nod, not trusting my voice. I'm cold and wet and shaking, but I can walk. I've been walking for what feels like hours already.
Rafael turns and starts moving through the trees, keeping hold of my hand, checking over his shoulder every few steps to make sure I'm still with him. The rain is still coming down hard, but he seems to know exactly where he's going. He always did know these groves better than anyone.
We walk for maybe five minutes, though it feels longer.
The ground rises slightly, and then I see it through the sheets of rain: a low stone building with a slate roof, tucked into a clearing at the edge of the grove.
It looks smaller than I remember, but the walls are solid and the roof appears intact.
Rafael reaches the door first and pushes it open, holding it for me. I step inside, out of the rain at last.
The cabin is dim, but dry. A little mud has been swept against the threshold.
There's a small fireplace against one wall, a wooden bench, a rough table and two plain chairs.
A wooden storage chest sits in the corner, its lid secured with a simple clasp.
The estate workers must still use this place during long days in the grove.
I stand in the middle of the room, dripping onto the stone floor, shivering so hard my whole body shakes. Rafael closes the door behind us and the sound of the rain becomes muffled, almost peaceful.
"There should be dry wood." He moves past me toward the fireplace, his wet shoes leaving dark prints on the stone. "And matches, if the box is still stocked."
I watch him crouch beside the hearth, his movements quick and efficient despite his own soaked clothes. He finds an airtight tin on the mantel, opens it, and pulls out a box of matches. Within moments, he has kindling arranged and a small flame catching.
"Come closer." He stands and turns to look at me. "You're freezing."
I am freezing. Now that we're out of the rain, I can feel exactly how cold I've gotten. My jacket is soaked through, useless for warmth. My shirt clings to my skin. Even my walking shoes are waterlogged.
I move toward the fireplace, drawn by the growing warmth. Rafael adds larger pieces of wood, building the fire until it crackles and pops, casting flickering light across the small room.
"The blankets in that box should be dry." He gestures toward the corner without quite looking at me. "You should get out of that jacket. I'll turn around."
I hesitate. This feels too intimate, too close to something I'm not ready for. Then another shiver runs through me. I can accept a dry blanket without deciding anything else.
"Fine." I move toward the box while he faces the wall. "Don't turn around until I say."
I unfasten the chest, then peel off my wet jacket and drape it over the back of the bench, then pull my soaked shirt away from my skin.
It's not going to dry while I'm wearing it.
I strip it off and grab one of the blankets from the box, wrapping it around my shoulders before I can think too hard about what I'm doing.
I work my way out of my waterlogged shoes and trousers, keeping the rough wool around me. Once the wet clothes are on the bench, I tuck the blanket under my arms and move nearer the fire.
"Okay." My voice comes out steadier than I expected. "You can turn around."
Rafael turns, and I see him take in the pile of wet clothes, the blanket wrapped around me, my wet shoes abandoned beneath the bench. Something flickers in his eyes, quickly controlled.
"You should do the same." I nod toward the box. "You're just as wet as I was."
He looks down at himself, at his soaked shirt and trousers, like he'd forgotten. "Right."
I turn toward the fire, giving him privacy. I hear the rustle of wet fabric, the soft thud of shoes being set aside, and then he's standing beside me with a blanket wrapped around his waist, his chest bare in the firelight.
I keep my eyes on the fire. We have shared a home and a bed, yet I don't know where to put my hands around him now. The blanket slips off one shoulder, and I catch it too quickly, annoyed with myself.
"I should try to call my father." I pull my phone from where I tucked it into my discarded trousers. The screen is wet but still working. "Let him know we're safe."
"Good idea." Rafael retrieves his own phone from his pile of wet clothes. "The signal is terrible in the low part of the grove, but we might get something near the window."
We both move toward the small window on the far wall. I hold my phone up, watching the signal bars flicker. One bar appears, then two.
I try calling. It rings once, twice, and then my father's voice comes through, tinny but clear.
"Serafina? Where are you?" Wind catches his voice, and I picture him still out on the lane looking for me.
"I'm safe." The relief in my own voice surprises me. "I'm with Rafael. We're in the old cabin at the edge of the north grove. We're going to wait out the storm here."
"Thank God." I can hear him exhale. "I've been searching the lane. The storm came in so fast."
"I know. A fallen branch blocked my path, and I got turned around." I brace my elbow against the window ledge to keep the phone in place. "But we're out of the rain, and there's a fire. We'll take the longer path home when it's safe to walk."
"Stay there until it passes." His voice is firm. "Don't try to walk back in this. I'll tell your mother."
"I will. I promise." I glance at Rafael, who's watching me with an expression I can't quite read. "We're fine. I'll call again when we're heading back."
I end the call and set my phone on the table. Rafael lays his beside it, the screen showing a sent message. "I told my father where we are too. He'll let my mother know."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The immediate crisis is over. My parents know I'm safe. The storm is still raging outside, but in here it's warm and dry and quiet.
And I'm alone with my husband, with no gate between us and no car waiting to take me away.
***
Once we have spread our clothes along the table and over its chairs, safely back from the hearth, we sit on the cleared bench with a gap between us. I leave the cloth bag of blossoms beside my shoes.
The storm continues outside, rain lashing the window and wind howling around the corners of the cabin, but in here it feels almost peaceful.
I'm not sure how long we sit in silence. The fire crackles and pops, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. I can feel the warmth seeping into my bones, chasing away the chill that had settled deep.
"I used to think this cabin was huge." Rafael's voice breaks the silence, quiet and almost wondering. "When we were kids. It felt like a castle."
I look around at the small space, remembering. "We thought we were so brave, sneaking out here during storms. Do you remember that summer when we tried to spend the whole night?"
"Your mother found us before midnight." A ghost of a smile crosses his face. "She was furious."
"She was terrified." I pull the blanket tighter. "I didn't understand that until I was older. She wasn't angry. She was scared."
Rafael is quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice is different. Heavier.
"Your father was at the gate when I arrived with your things." Rafael rubs a little dried mud off his wrist. "When the rain started, he asked whether I knew the route you'd taken. He wasn't interested in being angry with me. He just wanted to find you."
"He shouldn't have had to be angry with you." I watch Rafael's hand go still. I don't want to quarrel after he came looking for me. I also don't want gratitude to swallow everything else.
"No, he shouldn't." Rafael turns toward me. "I meant what I told you yesterday. About wanting you to think I could handle everything."
"Did you think I'd love you less?" The question comes out sharper than I intend. "Because a buyer said no? Because your father might disagree with you?"
"I wanted to be the person you married." He starts to reach for me, then rests his hand on the bench. "The one you could rely on. I managed to become exactly the opposite."
"I didn't marry you because you had everything figured out." I shift on the bench to face him more fully. "You were my best friend. That was why I married you. I wanted you there when things went wrong, not waiting somewhere until you could announce you'd fixed them."
His breath catches, but I haven't finished.
"When did I stop being someone you could talk to?" I pull the blanket closer around my knees. "I kept trying to give you an opening. You kept telling me there was nothing I could do."
Rafael looks toward the fire instead of answering.
The cabin feels smaller now. Rain drums hard against the roof, and every few seconds the wind presses against the old window as if someone outside is trying to get in. I wait.
He rubs both hands over his face before dropping them between his knees. "I don't know."
The answer irritates me more than I expect. "You don't know?"
"No." He looks at me then. "I know when I started doing it. I don't know when it became normal."
Something in my chest pulls tight.
He leans forward, his forearms braced on his thighs. "At first, I thought I was keeping you from worrying."
I stare at him. "You thought shutting me out would make me worry less?"
"I know how that sounds."
"Do you?"