Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN I WAS SUPPOSED TO HATE
“No pump?”
Sophie shook her head.
“There's temporary equipment on the property. But it's not the permanent replacement specified in the permit.”
I looked toward Graham.
He was laughing with two investors beside the architectural display.
How easily people smiled when they weren't the ones who might lose everything.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.
“Because you understand what that channel does.”
“And because you used to love Caleb?”
Sophie accepted the question without flinching.
“Yes,” she said. “That's part of why this is difficult.”
I folded my arms.
“Then tell me why you were at his birthday.”
She looked down at her hands.
“Caleb contacted me after learning I was assigned to the project. He said he wanted to talk. He also promised that one of the financing representatives would be at the party.”
“You thought it was business?”
“I knew there was a personal element.”
At least she was being truthful.
She continued.
“I thought he might want to clear the air after all these years. But I also hoped he'd listen to my concerns before I submitted my review.”
“And did he?”
“No.”
She swallowed.
“He barely discussed the project. He kept asking whether I was happy in London.”
I felt something twist inside me.
“Did he ask you to come back?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you say?”
“That my life isn't something he gets to put on hold until he's ready for it.”
For the first time, I looked at Sophie without seeing Caleb between us.
She wasn't the woman who had stolen my boyfriend.
She was another woman who had discovered that Caleb expected the world to arrange itself around his feelings.
“I didn't know he was going to humiliate you,” she said.
“I believe you.”
“He called me this morning.”
I stiffened.
“What did he want?”
“He asked whether last night had changed anything.”
I almost laughed.
Changed anything.
As though my public humiliation had been a proposal she was supposed to accept.
“What did you tell him?”
“That he owed you an apology.”
Sophie looked toward the displays.
“He didn't answer.”
I took a slow breath.
“Then we have more important things to discuss.”
We approached my father.
Sophie explained the equipment discrepancy.
Dad listened, then took out his old notebook.
“There's a maintenance inspection this afternoon,” he said. “The city engineer should be there.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Dana Ruiz. She knows the drainage system.”
At three o'clock, we met Dana outside the fenced construction site.
She was a practical woman in her forties, wearing a yellow safety vest and carrying a clipboard.
Dad had known her since she joined the city's Public Works Department.
“Thomas,” she said warmly. Then she noticed me. “Evelyn. It's good to see you.”
I managed a small smile.
Dana explained that the permit required an operational replacement system before the channel could be sealed.
“The contractor says the temporary equipment is sufficient for testing,” she told us. “But nobody's authorized permanent closure without the required inspection.”
“Then why is Sunday's closure still on their schedule?” I asked.
“That is exactly what I intend to ask.”
From the public viewing area, we could see the old seawall and the steel cover above the East Run.
Temporary hoses crossed the pavement.
A large portable pump stood near the loading dock.
My father stared at it.
“That's not positioned to carry the neighborhood's runoff,” he said.
Dana studied the arrangement.
“It's a test setup.”
“What kind of test?” Sophie asked.
“Pressure and flow.”
As if answering her, a motor roared to life.
A low vibration passed through the pavement.
Water began moving through the temporary hoses.
Dana frowned.
“I wasn't notified that a live test was scheduled today.”
She spoke into her radio.
A worker waved toward the far end of the site.
Everything appeared ordinary for perhaps two minutes.
Then Dad crouched beside a storm drain.
He touched the wet concrete.
“Dana.”
She turned.
“Look at this.”
Water was bubbling through the iron grate.
Not draining into it.
Coming out.
Dana immediately ordered the equipment shut down.
But the motor continued running.
Another grate began overflowing.
Then another.
Dad stood abruptly.
“The pressure's coming back into the street.”
We hurried toward the workshop.
A line of water was already running along the curb.
The old brick building stood lower than the new construction site.
Dad reached the door first.
Inside, the floor drain made a terrible gurgling sound.
I grabbed his arm.
“Dad.”
He looked down.
A dark stream of harbor water burst through the drain.
Within seconds, it was spreading across my mother's old kitchen floor.
May you like
And from outside, someone shouted:
“The emergency shutoff isn't responding!”
