Tolliver thought that over; I’ll give him that. “I hope so,” he said, sounding unconvinced. He went to the window and looked out into the darkness. “Can you hear it?” he asked.

I went to stand beside him at the window. I could hear a plink-plink-plink as the ice hit the glass. In the light that spilled from the window and the big security light, considerately aimed straight down, that the Hamiltons had fixed high on a pole, we could see tiny bits of ice hurtling toward the ground. It was eerily pretty. I had never felt so isolated in my life.

It didn’t stop while we got ready for bed. I was tired, but not nearly as achy as I thought I would be. My head was okay now, and my arm was at least much better. I was able to cope with getting undressed and into my pajamas with less help, though Tolliver still had to do the bra-unhooking. We both read for a while; as Tolliver remarked, if we still had electric light we should use it. He was reading an old Harlan Coben, and I was reading Gavin de Becker’s The Gift of Fear. Finally, I got too sleepy to keep my eyes open, and the bed had gotten warm around me, and I laid down the book and closed my eyes. Some time later, I heard Tolliver snap off the lamp between the beds, and then the only light that came in the room was a faint glow from the Hamiltons’ security light. I’d been too exhausted to notice it the night before, and I didn’t really think about it now…until I woke some time later and that light had vanished. The cabin was in absolute pitch darkness. The wind was howling around the corner of the cabin like a banshee, and I heard an odd sound in the wind.

“What is it?” I asked, and I heard myself sounding terrified.

“It’s the frozen branches brushing together,” Tolliver said. “I woke a few minutes ago and I’ve been listening. That’s what I decided.”

I scare pretty easy where Mother Nature’s involved. “Okay,” I said, but I didn’t sound any calmer.

“Come over here, I’m closer to the fire,” Tolliver said. “Bring some blankets.”

I got out of the bed faster than I would have believed possible. My bare feet thudded on the boards as I yanked the blankets off my bed and brought them over to Tolliver’s. I tossed them over the bed awkwardly. I slid in beside him and could hardly wait until the covers settled back over us. My teeth were chattering with cold and fear.

“Here, here,” he said, and put his arms around me. “You were just out of the covers for a second or two.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m a chicken. I’m a wuss.” I burrowed into his warmth.