Good, Kevin said. He pulled a flashlight from his raincoat and placed it on the table beside the door.

I’m leaving this here, you might need it.

He didn’t wait for an acknowledgment. Clearly the man was not coping well. He wondered why his escort had let him stay alone in his condition. He’d have to remember to bring it up with Mrs. McIntyre.

Kevin trudged to the next cottage, and then the next. Everyone else understood well enough and thanked him. The Italians. Ana Gathreaux. The Cliff Cottage was last. He had to talk to the Chinese couple (Taiwanese, Mrs. McIntyre had corrected him). He approached the cottage with trepidation. He hadn’t seen Mr. or Mrs. Liang all morning. The first day they’d come with a translator, but the translator had slipped away unannounced once they’d gotten settled. The husband at least spoke some English. The cedar steps lay slickened with leaves, the deck door left partly open. The curtains had blown outside and hung plastered against the shingles. Something was obviously amiss. Kevin stamped on the deck to announce himself, shouted hello. It was too dark to see inside the cottage.

Hello! he shouted again.

Mr. Liang appeared in the open deck door, his glasses off, a coat on. He waved Kevin inside. A puddle of water stood by the open door. Why had they left it open? Mr. Liang put a finger to his lips and pointed inside the darkened room.

Sleep, he whispered.

Someone lay in bed, blankets piled on top—Mrs. Liang, Kevin assumed. The room was freezing cold. Apparently they didn’t know how to use the thermostat.

The door? Kevin gestured questioningly. Why leave it open?

Mr. Liang slid the glass door partially shut and nodded vigorously.

Ceremony, he said. Ceremony.

He pointed to the kitchenette. On the table two candle ends twitched in front of a framed photograph. Beside it stood the bowl of fruit Kevin had brought the day before, with a stubble of burnt joss sticks sticking out of an apple and a pear. The wind blasted through the deck door. The candles bent and almost blew out, but Mr. Liang seemed intent on keeping the door partly open.

Kevin walked to the thermostat and turned the dial and heard the heater click in the closet.

Heat, Kevin said, and pointed to the thermostat and rubbed his hands together. Warm, he said.

Ah, Mr. Liang nodded. Thank you. Thank you.

Kevin told him about the naval yard and the storm and the generator in the main house. Mr. Liang kept nodding, yet Kevin wasn’t sure how much he actually understood. He walked to a light switch and turned on an overhead light.

Electricity, Kevin said and pointed to the light. If it doesn’t work, he said, and switched the light off again, come to the big house.