Morning was still hours away, but the darkness no longer felt endless. She set her phone on the table and released it completely. For once, she did not need to hold everything together. Marcus was there. The house was still standing, and the 12-year-old girl inside her could finally stop trying to save it alone.
The utility crew restored power shortly after 5 in the morning. One by one, porch lights returned across the block. Refrigerators hummed back to life. Ceiling fans began turning above rooms where families had waited through the dark. Marcus stood at the front window and watched the street brighten, but he did not relax.
Not yet. A white sport utility vehicle pulled up beside the utility truck, followed by a black sedan with the name of the property management company printed on its door. A man in a pressed polo shirt stepped out holding a tablet. He spoke with one of the workers, glanced at the houses, then shook his head as though the neighborhood itself had caused the problem. "That cannot be good, " Clare said.
Marcus picked up his tool bag. "It usually is not, " Sophie was still asleep on the couch wrapped in the light blanket. Clare remained beside her while Marcus crossed the street. Through the open window, she heard the manager addressing several residents who had returned from the cooling center. The outage was caused by unusually high demand, he announced.
Residents need to be more responsible with thermostat settings during extreme weather. Mrs. Alvarez stood near her porch, leaning on her cane. My unit is older than my grandson, she said. Your company promised to replace it last summer. The manager barely looked at her.
We have no record of an urgent maintenance request. Marcus stopped beside the old unit beneath her window. The motor was overheating before the outage. The wiring is deteriorated. It should have been replaced months ago.
The man looked at Marcus' work clothes and frowned and you are the neighbor who checked it. Then you are not authorized to make that assessment. Marcus wiped his hands on the rag from his pocket. The machine does not care who authorized me. Clare heard the words from inside her house.
Something in the manager's voice had already become familiar. Polished, dismissive, protected by paperwork. She stepped onto the porch and saw the company logo on his tablet. Her stomach tightened. The property group belonged to Harrison Residential, a firm currently seeking a major investment from Clare's company.
She knew the proposal. She had praised its operating efficiency in a meeting 2 days earlier. The manager finally recognized her. His posture changed immediately. Miss Whitmore, I did not realize you lived here.
I do. He smiled too quickly. then you understand how difficult these older neighborhoods can be. Residents often delay reporting issues and then blame management when equipment fails. Clare looked at Mrs. Alvarez at the young mother holding her sleeping toddler at Marcus kneeling beside a machine that should have been replaced long ago. How many cooling systems on this block have passed inspection this year?
She asked. The manager glanced at his tablet. I would need to review the records. How many? I do not have that information with me.
Then do not blame the residents until you do. His smile disappeared. Miss Whitmore, perhaps we should discuss this privately. Clare's phone began vibrating in her hand. The name of Harrison Residential's chief executive appeared on the screen.