“Why hydro?” I asked.

“Frees up the rest of the stuff for folks without running water nearby. Though the way you talk, I could run a goddamn dance hall on old bicycle parts and a car battery.” I was about to protest when she smiled at me, and I decided I didn’t need to.

I talked; it was Frances who was quiet. Her face was pale and pinched, and sometimes her fork would pause in midmotion, and her eyes would lock on nothing at all. I was halfway through dessert before I understood. She was afraid.

Did she share Mick’s doubts? Was she wondering if she was fast enough, strong enough? Or was she only worried about getting in and getting out?

I could tell her the number of steps in all the staircases. But she never looked at me. Had Theo told her that I had knowledge she could use? Had he realized, yet, that I did?

Theo was pushing his chair back. “Can I talk to you?” I asked.

Sunlight flashed on the lenses of his glasses. “Sure. C’mon upstairs.”

I caught sight of Sherrea as I rose from the table. She looked pleased.

Theo had a room on the second floor. It was larger than mine, but it had the same character; it was a guest room, not a regular habitation. “Heck of a house,” I said, to see how he’d respond.

“Scared the shit out of me,” he said, dropping lightly on the bed and prying his sneakers off one-handed. “When Sher brought me here, right after that Frances hauled you away, and I saw this big old house with the lightning going off behind it… I thought she was checking me into the Bates Motel, man.”

He knew I’d understand the reference. I would have used it with him, secure in the same knowledge. I looked into his face, the pale face of a confirmed nighthawk or a rich kid, and said, “I’m not a man.”

The light on his glasses interfered with his expression, but there was no great surprise in the lines of his mouth. He was nice-looking, I realized suddenly, by any standards. “It’s just a figure of speech,” he said.

“I’m not a woman, either.”

He sat quiet for a few moments. Then he said, “Oh. That explains some stuff.”

I don’t know what I’d expected. Or wanted. “What stuff?”

“Well, Sher and I once, when we’d had a lot to drink, had this discussion. I said… that I felt, sometimes, like I had a crush on you, and it made me uncomfortable. And she looked at me like I was nuts, and said she didn’t know why it would, because you seemed like someone it would be pretty easy to have a crush on. I was really embarrassed, and I laughed and said maybe for her, but you weren’t, like, my type. Then we both looked at each other funny and changed the subject. But that was when I realized that maybe I didn’t know what sex you were, and maybe Sher didn’t either.”