Count the Seconds After

County Road Nine, pole seventeen. Water to the hubcaps. Line dead clean. I buckle leather round the cedar, set my boot against the grain. Porcelain above me flashes white, then disappears in rain. Mrs. Vale stands by the mailbox, coat held shut beneath her chin. Says, “The kitchen phone went silent.” I say, “Ma’am, I'll bring it in.” Sky goes white across the pasture. One, two, three, four—then the sound. Four miles off, or near enough. Keep both hands. Don't look down. Count the seconds after lightning. Count them slow and count them plain. If the thunder takes its time, I can work another span. Copper, cloth, and one good splice— that's the part I understand. Count the seconds after lightning. Keep your heart out of your hands. At the crossarm, one blackened junction hangs half open to the field. I strip back the soaked insulation, find the copper underneath. Then my handset gives a murmur, not a tone—a breathing sound. Mrs. Vale calls from the gravel, “There is something you should know now.” Sky goes white behind the farmhouse. One, two—thunder shakes the line. She says, “That number isn't mine, sir. Your boy moved in last July.” Count the seconds after lightning. Now they will not hold their shape. He has called since half past midnight. I have let six birthdays wait. Copper, cloth, and one good splice— small repairs arrive too late. Count the seconds after lightning. Hear his breath beneath the rain. Last time, I said, “Call when you mean it.” He said, “Dad, I already do.” I made silence sound like principle. That's a lineman's kind of truth: name the break, replace the damaged, never ask who cut it through. Below me, Mrs. Vale says softly, “He stayed awake for you.” Count the seconds after lightning. One, two, three, four, five. Let the thunder spend its anger. Let the open wire survive. I join the pair and tell the morning, “I will wait here on the line.” Count the seconds after lightning. Son, take all the time you need. I'll answer when you answer me. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Hello?