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I
went
downstairs
.
Billy
ran
to
me
and
clung
to
my
legs
.
I
lifted
him
up
and
gave
him
a
hug
.
Then
I
lit
the
candies
.
We
sat
in
the
guest
room
down
the
hall
from
my
little
studio
and
looked
at
each
other
's
faces
in
the
flickering
yellow
glow
and
listened
to
the
storm
roar
and
bash
at
our
house
.
About
twenty
minutes
later
we
heard
a
ripping
,
rending
crash
as
one
of
the
big
pines
went
down
nearby
.
Then
there
was
a
lull
.
"
Is
it
over
?
"
Steff
asked
.
"
Maybe
,
"
I
said
.
"
Maybe
only
for
a
while
.
We
went
upstairs
,
each
of
us
carrying
a
candle
,
like
monks
going
to
vespers
.
Billy
carried
his
proudly
and
carefully
.
Carrying
a
candle
,
carrying
the
fire
,
was
a
very
big
deal
for
him
.
It
helped
him
forget
about
being
afraid
.
It
was
too
dark
to
see
what
damage
had
been
done
around
the
house
.
It
was
past
Billy
's
bedtime
,
but
neither
of
us
suggested
putting
him
in
.
We
sat
in
the
living
room
,
listened
to
the
wind
,
and
looked
at
the
lightning
.
About
an
hour
later
it
began
to
crank
up
again
.
For
three
weeks
the
temperature
had
been
over
ninety
,
and
on
six
of
those
twenty-one
days
the
National
Weather
Service
station
at
the
Portland
Jetport
had
reported
temperatures
of
over
one
hundred
degrees
.
Queer
weather
.
Coupled
with
the
grueling
winter
we
had
come
through
and
the
late
spring
,
some
people
had
dragged
out
that
old
chestnut
about
the
long-range
results
of
the
fifties
A-bomb
tests
again
.
That
,
and
of
course
,
the
end
of
the
world
.
The
oldest
chestnut
of
them
all
.
The
second
squall
was
n't
so
hard
,
but
we
heard
the
crash
of
several
trees
weakened
by
the
first
onslaught
.
As
the
wind
began
to
die
down
again
,
one
thudded
heavily
on
the
roof
,
like
a
fist
dropped
on
a
coffin
lid
.
Billy
jumped
and
looked
apprehensively
upward
.
"
It
'll
hold
,
champ
,
"
I
said
.
Billy
smiled
nervously
.
