I head to the mudroom. The breaker panel is a metal rectangle with a stubborn latch. I flip it.
Nothing.
Try again. Still nothing.
“Power’s out,” I say. “We can build a bigger fire for light.”
She purses her lips. “In August?”
“We’re in the mountains. It’ll cool down enough for a fire. I’ll find some flashlights and candles.”
“Fine.” She sets the lantern on a shelf. “I’ve studied by worse.”
For a second, we just stand there in the hush, the storm taking a breath between hits.
“You can take the master bedroom,” I say. “I’ll take one of the others.”
She crosses her arms. “I don’t need the master bedroom.”
“Take it anyway.”
She looks at me, tilting her head. “I can sleep on this couch. I don’t even need a bedroom.”
“I insist.”
“Fine,” she relents.
She drifts to the window. Rain streaks the glass. Lightning splinters across the sky.
“What was Angie thinking?” I say, because saying I missed you is a bad idea and saying why didn’t you come is worse.
“She offered the cabin,” she replies without turning. “I said yes.”
“Because you had a bad day?”
She exhales. “Because the seminar is taxing. It’s hard work. I needed a break. I’m not sure what I was thinking. I can’t afford to waste any time. Thank goodness I brought my materials.”
Something loosens in my chest. Not relief. Recognition. “You’re allowed to be human, Tabitha.”
She glances at me. “Are you?”
I look away first.
The storm leans harder into the house, the wind whistling low through the chimney. The lantern’s steady circle makes everything outside look farther away.
“The water heater is propane,” I say. “So we’ll have hot water. The stove is too. We can boil some water. There’s tea.”
She simply nods.
I walk to the kitchen, find the kettle, fill it at the sink, set it on the gas. The flame blooms blue.
Tabitha follows me. “Do you remember,” she says quietly, “the morning after the wedding? The way the light came through the blinds in my room just as the sun was rising?”
I grip the counter. “Yes.”
“It’s stupid.” She shakes her head. “I keep seeing it. The dust in the light. The shape of it on your chest.”
I inch toward her. “Not stupid.”
