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With it comes responsibility. I’d thought I was responsible until I met Marlena, and then I set out to prove to her just how responsible and mature I could be, because I wanted her to marry me. A year later, I’d impressed her, her parents, my own family and friends, and even myself. Especially myself. The new Evan Fisher was an improvement on the old. We got married and I promised all the things you vow to do on your wedding day—and I meant them. But that responsibility had paled in comparison to the duty I felt once I became a father. Dylan and Marlena and Sanchez were everything to me. It sounds trite to say that you’d die for someone. The phrase has been overused in pop culture, but that doesn’t make it any less true. Fact was, I would die for my family, without a moment’s thought. It was my job—my primal instinct—to protect them from harm, no matter what the cost. For the most part, I did. I made sure we were provided for. Made sure we ate. Made sure we had health care and a roof over our heads. I drove safely. Made Dylan wear his seatbelt. Taught him not to play with matches or talk to strangers. All the things we do to keep our kids safe.  
    I felt frustrated and afraid. There was no way to protect them from what was raging outside our home. Mother Nature is the fiercest predator of all, and you can’t stop her with your wits or a gun or the law. If she wants your loved ones, she can take them any time she wants them, and there’s not a damned thing you can do about it.  
    So I sat there, and I waited.

                   

    It did end, eventually, as all storms do. The power was still out, and the house was quiet, except for Sanchez’s snoring. I gently disentangled myself and stood up. My legs tingled. I rubbed them to get the circulation flowing again. Then I snuffed out the candles and went to the window. Fragrant candle smoke drifted up behind me. It was still murky and dull outside, but at least it was no longer black. Faint sunlight peeked out from be-hind the clouds. A thick layer of fog covered the ground, and I could only see about ten feet—but that was enough to tell that things were a mess. The grass was littered with fallen branches, tree limbs, and leaves. Living as close as we did to the stream, our drainage had never been good. Now, pools of water filled the low spots in the yard.  
    Sanchez stirred behind me. He sat up and shook his head, his ears flapping back and forth. Dylan always called that his ‘helicopter impression’. The sound woke up Marlena and Dylan, and after a few yawns and stretches, they joined me at the window. Marlena gasped, but it was Dylan who summed things up perfectly.  
    “Oh Hell.”  
    “Dylan!” Marlena’s tone was shocked and stern. “You don’t say things like that.”  
    “I didn’t curse,” he insisted. “I said H-A-Y-L, not H-E-double toothpicks. Daddy said it earlier.”  
    Marlena gave me a dirty look. Grinning, I shrugged.  
    “He’s right, though,” I said. “It looks pretty bad out there.”
    “Do you think we’re flooding?”  
    “It’s hard to say. Probably. I can’t see the stream from here. Maybe I should go out and check on things. Survey the damage—see if there are power lines down or anything.”  
    “Can I go with you, Daddy?”  
    “No,” I said. “You need to stay inside with Mommy, bud.”  
    Dylan tried out his well-practiced pout, which worked on me about fifty percent of the time.  
    “But I want to go outside.”  
    “Not yet, Dylan. Let me go see how bad things are. You can go out later. Besides, Mommy is still a little worried, and I need you to stay here and make her feel better. Okay?”  
    He sighed, shoulders slumping. “Okay.”  
    Sanchez trotted over to join us, and cast a longing glance at the door.  
    “He probably needs to pee,” Marlena said. “I’m surprised he didn’t go all over the house, like he did last time there was thunder.”  
    “I’ll take