By the end of the week, I had most of the hurricane-induced issues resolved around the apartment complex—those I could fix myself, that is. The block of homes without power would remain dark until the electric company could come out and replace the downed lines, but at least the tree that had taken them out was nothing but firewood and mulch now. Yards were cleared, terraces mended, the pool cleaned…it took a full five days, but at least things were starting to get back to normal.
When five o’clock rolled around on Friday evening, I pocketed the emergency call pager and headed home. I had nothing on my mind but a relaxing weekend with—hopefully—few interruptions. Of course, I should’ve known better. At quarter to seven that evening, the pager went off. I called into the answering machine
