By the end of the second month, the construction contract was running well, but the money was thin. After the charcoal, the meat, the helper's pay, the rent, and Madam Harper's Friday interest, there was almost nothing left.
Grace was not complaining. She did the math each night on a school exercise book, with a pencil stub, by the light of a small bulb.
Until the bulb went out.
It was a Thursday evening. Evelyn was in the middle of her homework when everything went dark. The fan stopped. The little radio in the corner died mid-song.
"Mama, the light is off," Evelyn said.
"I see."
Grace went to the meter outside. A yellow disconnection tag hung from the wire. She had forgotten the electricity bill completely. In the chaos, between loan interest and fees, it had slipped through.
"How much?" she asked the man from the electricity company, who happened to be nearby on his motorbike.
He told her. It was not a big amount. It was just more than she had in her purse that night.
"Madam, the office opens at eight in the morning," he said, not unkindly. "Bring the payment and we reconnect."
She went back inside. In the dark, she lit a small kerosene lamp that she had kept from her mother's house. The room filled with a warm, orange light and the smell of oil.
"It's like camping!" Evelyn said.
"It is not camping," Ella muttered. "It is poverty."
Grace stared at her. "Ella."
"Sorry, Mama."
"No. Don't apologize for saying the truth." Grace sat down on the mattress. "This is hard. I will not pretend it is not hard. But it is not forever. You hear me? It is only for now."
"Mama, how do you know?"
Grace smiled tiredly. "Because I refuse to let it be."
That night Ella did her homework by the lamp, hunched over, squinting. Evelyn fell asleep with her head on her book. Grace stayed up even later, cutting tomatoes into a bowl and listening to the quiet of a house without electricity.
Around midnight, a soft knock came at the door.
It was Joyce, holding a small rechargeable lantern and a plastic bag.
"Heard your light went," she said. "Take this. And there is some bread."
"Joyce, I cannot…"
"Grace, shut up and take the lantern." Joyce pushed it into her hands. "You think you are the only woman who has sat in the dark? We all have. Tomorrow it is your turn to be helped. Next time, it will be your turn to help someone else."
Grace turned her face away and pressed her lips together, because she would not cry in front of a neighbor.
"Thank you," she managed.
"Don't thank me. Pay it forward." Joyce squeezed her arm and left.
The lantern stayed on until Grace blew it out at five a.m., just as she was almost done cooking.