Open by assigning fault immediately and then retracting. Push off from this if it helps: municipal swimming pools.

Okay so this is on me, I should've checked the seal before I — no. No, actually, don't, you're the one who told me it'd hold till spring, so.

Look at it just going. God. That's a lot of water for a house that isn't a pool.

You know what this reminds me of, the county pool in Larsett, the one they built in like '78, and every summer the deep end liner would slip a little more, and instead of fixing it they just kept lowering the "no diving" line with a rope and a laminated sign. Ten years of that. Eventually the shallow end was basically the whole pool and nobody said anything, everyone just adjusted.

We don't have ten years here. We've got — I don't even know, twenty minutes before it hits the wiring in the crawlspace probably.

Back door — yeah, I locked it, I don't know why, muscle memory. There's no team, Vic, it's just us, stop looking for someone else's name on this.

Don't touch the fuse box. Don't. If the wall's wet behind it we're not opening that panel, we call it dead, we shut off at the main outside if we can even get to the main.

Your thumbs are fine, it's cold hands, it's shock, breathe through your nose a second.

It's cold because it's groundwater, it's coming up from under the slab not down from the roof, that's actually — that's almost good, that's a different problem than I thought.

The ladder's not the thing. Forget the ladder. Look at me, not the ladder.

We need to decide the generator before the water's an inch higher. That's it. Just that.

Nobody's burning, stop building that whole movie in your head. Generator with a submerged cord isn't sparking anything, it's just dead, it trips before it arcs, that's what breakers are for — I hope, I'm not an electrician, don't quote me.

We're not moving it. We're not touching the cord. We leave it, we get out of the water, that's the whole decision, it's not complicated, we're making it complicated.

This is Larsett pool again honestly — everyone standing around a slow disaster arguing about the rope instead of just getting the kids out of the shallow end, which, by the way, is what they eventually did, one summer some lifeguard just said enough and closed it, no vote, no sign.

So. Enough. Up the stairs. Now, not after we solve the fuse box.

I hold on. Obviously I hold on, don't even — that's not a real question, stop giving yourself an out.

It's the settling, probably. Old houses pop, it's the joists, wood does that when it's wet on one side and not the other. Probably.

Your legs feel like sand because you're pumping adrenaline through them for ten straight minutes, that's not weak, that's just chemistry, it wears off.

Keep your hand on the rail, not the wall, the wall's the part I don't trust.

One foot. Then the next one. I'm right behind you, I'm not going anywhere, I'm not letting the water decide anything tonight.

The lifeguard didn't carry anyone out, Vic, he just made the call and people followed it. That's all this is. I already made the call. Up. Just up.

Silent's fine. Silent means it's dead, means we did it right, means no spark to have a nightmare about later — quiet is the good outcome here, don't make it sinister.

Last foot, I've got you, hand out, come on. There.

Okay. Okay, you're on dry boards, that's it, that's the whole thing, you're up.

Don't sit down yet, don't look at it yet either, just get your back against the wall for a second.

Not too much to ask. Wasn't ever too much to ask.

Bottom step's still bottom step. It's not climbing anymore, look, it's holding at the same line it was thirty seconds ago — that matters, that means it's finding its own level, not ours.

We did the lifeguard thing. Closed it. Simple, like you said. Breathe. Just breathe, we've got a minute now, we actually do.

Don't touch the wall again, that paint's lead probably, this house is from '61, everything under it is lead or asbestos, that's a whole separate problem for a whole different day.

Standing here's fine. Standing here's the plan. You don't have to have the next plan yet.

Crawlspace — probably to the joists, yeah, honestly. But wet's not compromised, wet dries, compromised is a different word for a different conversation and we're not having it tonight standing in wet socks.

Plumber first. Not insurance, not yet, insurance makes you say things out loud you're not ready to say out loud.

I'll call him. You just stand there and be cold for a minute, that's allowed.

Teeth clicking's the adrenaline leaving, not coming in — that's the good direction, that's actually the good direction, Vic.

Main — no, not yet, I meant to and then you slipped and it went out of my head, I'll do it in a second, that's the last thing before we're actually done.

Calling Denny. Denny Okafor, does the Hollis place every spring when their sump gives out, he's got a truck and he doesn't upsell you on stuff you don't need, which after tonight is basically the only quality I care about in a person.

It's safe enough. Standing here is safe. That's a low bar and I'm setting it on purpose.

Shoes are in the hall closet, dry ones, go get them, actually — that's a good use of the next sixty seconds, better than watching the water not move.

I'll do the main the second you're back down here with me. Not alone. Go.

Promise. I'm not touching that main without you standing next to me, I already said that, I'm not going back on it in the next ninety seconds.

Loafers are good. Ugly, but good, your mother-in-law's right about one thing.

We bought it because of the porch, remember, you stood on the porch in March with the realtor and wouldn't leave, I had to practically pull you off it. Didn't think about the crawlspace once. Nobody ever thinks about the crawlspace.

It's still ours. Leaky and old and ours, that hasn't changed in the last twenty minutes, that's actually the one thing that didn't change.

Come here. Stand next to me. We'll do the main together, then Denny, then we sit somewhere dry and stop talking about water for a while.

Whiskey. Coffee's for people who have to think clearly again tonight and I've had enough thinking for one night.

Silence is better than the humming, I'll take it.

I didn't make you buy it, you cried on the porch, I just carry the guilt so you don't have to. That's the arrangement. That's always been the arrangement.

Denny's not gonna answer, probably. Leave a message, drink something, we deal with the rest of it when there's light out and I can see what I'm standing in.

Take the shoes off inside, don't track the crawlspace through the hallway.

We're alive. Yeah. For now's about as far as I'm willing to plan tonight.

Kitchen's fine, kitchen's dry, kitchen's the whole country tonight.

Front door — no, didn't get to it, and you said don't answer so I'm not answering, I'm just standing here not answering.

Pour it. Two fingers, don't make me ask nice, I already climbed a flooding staircase for you tonight, that buys me at least a generous pour.

House does feel smaller. That's just what happens after — everything contracts down to the room you're standing in, the drink in your hand, the guy on the radio you're hoping picks up. Rest of it's out there in the dark still doing whatever it's doing. Not our problem till Denny's truck is in the driveway.

Sit down before you pour, actually. Your hands are still going. Sit first.