At 11:52 on a July night in Phoenix, Caroline Avery hit the front door of the house next to hers harder than she intended. She knocked again, but the second attempt had less strength behind it, because after nearly three hours inside a house that had climbed past 108 degrees, her body was beginning to lose the argument with her pride. Sweat soaked the back of the cotton robe she had thrown on over shorts and a tank top, and she stood barefoot on the hot concrete porch trying to force air into lungs that felt too tight. Then the door opened, and Caroline said the four words she hated herself for needing.
“Can I stay here?”
Marcus Bennett stared at her.
He had known Caroline for exactly four months and perhaps twelve spoken sentences.
She lived in the pale stucco house next door, drove a dark gray Lexus, left for work in tailored clothes before eight almost every morning, and usually returned after sunset with a laptop bag over one shoulder and a phone already pressed to her ear. Marcus knew she was an architect because the neighborhood welcome committee had mentioned it, and he knew she lived alone because no other car ever stayed overnight. Beyond that, she had simply been the woman who occasionally said good morning across the fence.
Tonight she looked nothing like that woman.
Her light-brown hair was stuck to her forehead.
Her face was flushed.
One hand gripped his doorframe.
Marcus moved before he finished thinking.
“Come inside.”
Caroline blinked.
“My air conditioner died.”
“I figured something happened.”
“It’s a hundred and eight inside.”
“Then definitely come in.”
“I don’t want to bother you.”
Marcus stepped back.
“You’re going to pass out on my porch while politely refusing help. That would bother me more.”
That got the smallest breath of a laugh from her.
She stepped inside.
Cold air hit her immediately.
Caroline closed her eyes.
For two seconds she simply stood there feeling it.
Marcus shut the door behind her and headed for the kitchen.
“Sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m hot.”
“You can be both.”
She sat.
Marcus Bennett was thirty-nine years old, Black, six-foot-two, broad through the shoulders, with close-cropped hair and a short beard beginning to gray at the chin. He worked full-time as an HVAC service technician for Desert Comfort Solutions and nights three times a week as security at a shopping center near Tempe. The two jobs had become his life after his wife died three years earlier, though he rarely explained that part to anyone.
On his kitchen table sat the disassembled motor from an old condenser unit.
A cold cup of coffee rested beside it.
Marcus had been troubleshooting the motor because fixing things was easier than sleeping.
He filled a tall glass with water and carried it into the living room.
“Slow.”
Caroline took the glass.
“What?”
“Drink it slowly.”
She obeyed.
Her hand trembled enough that a little water ran down the side.
Marcus sat in the chair across from her.
“How long has your AC been out?”
“Couple hours.”
“What happened before it stopped?”
She leaned her head against the back of the couch.
“It started making this horrible humming noise.”
“Outside unit?”
“I assume.”
“Then?”
“There was a burnt smell.”
Marcus nodded.
“Did the fan stop?”
“Yes.”
“Breaker trip?”
“I reset it twice.”
“Thermostat?”
“Changed batteries even though I knew that probably wasn’t it.”
He almost smiled.
“You hit the condenser, didn’t you?”
Caroline looked offended.
“How would you know that?”
“Everybody hits the condenser.”
“I didn’t hit it.”
Marcus waited.
“I pushed it aggressively.”
“With your hand?”
She looked away.
“My shoe.”
“There it is.”
Caroline laughed weakly.
It was the first normal sound she had made since coming inside.
Marcus leaned back.
“Probably a capacitor.”
“Is that bad?”
“Cheap part.”
Her relief came instantly.
“Great.”
“Unless it took the compressor with it.”
Relief disappeared.
“That sounds expensive.”
“It is.”
“You have an extraordinary bedside manner.”
“I fix air conditioners.”
“People are usually happier when I leave.”
She drank more water.
“Can you fix mine tonight?”
Marcus shook his head.
“I don’t have the part here.”
“I’ll pay whatever.”
“That’s not the problem.”
“I can pay triple.”
Marcus looked at her.
“That still doesn’t make a supply house open at midnight.”
Caroline lowered the glass.
“Right.”