The second squall wasn't so hard, but we heard the crash of several trees weakened by the first onslaught. As the wind began to die down again, one thudded heavily on the roof, like a fist dropped on a coffin lid. Billy jumped and looked apprehensively upward.

«It'll hold, champ,» I said.

Billy smiled nervously.

Around ten o'clock the last squall came. It was bad. The wind howled almost as loudly as it had the first time, and lightning seemed to be flashing all around us. More trees fell, and there was a splintering crash down by the water that made Steff utter a low cry. Billy had gone to sleep on her lap.

«David, what was that?»

«I think it was the boathouse.»

«Oh. Oh, Jesus.»

«Steffy, I want us to go downstairs again.» I took Billy in my arms and stood up with him. Steffs eyes were big and frightened.

«David, are we going to be all right.»

«Yes.»

«Really?»

«Yes.»

We went downstairs. Ten minutes later, as the final squall peaked, there was a splintering crash from upstairs-the picture window. So maybe my vision earlier hadn't been so crazy after all. Steff, who had been dozing, woke up with a little shriek, and Billy stirred uneasily in the guest bed.

«The rain will come in,» she said. «It'll ruin the furniture.»

«If it does, it does. It's insured.»

«That doesn't make it any better,» she said in an upset, scolding voice. «Your mother's dresser … our new sofa… the colour TV…»

«Shhh,» I said. «Go to sleep.»

«I can't,» she said, and five minutes later she had.

I stayed awake for another half hour with one lit candle for company, listening to the thunder walk and talk outside. I had a feeling that there were going to be a lot of people from the lakefront communities calling their insurance agents in the morning, a lot of chainsaws burring as cottage owners cut up the trees that had fallen on their roofs and battered through their windows, and a lot of orange CMP trucks on the road.