“Nothing.” She looked at me like I was lying, and suddenly it felt like I was. The heat from the oven was gulped up by the open windows and door, and the temperature change was violent. “Just peppers. I was roasting peppers on the flame on the stove. I thought I’d make a sauce to go with the fish cakes I made.”

“Oh Jesus, what a mess.”

“I was going to clean up when I was done. Are you hungry? It’ll be finished in a few minutes.”

“No, dear. I had a late lunch.” Then she looked away, like she was lying. “I have to finish some reading; I’m back on the mainland tomorrow to finish up this consultancy job. I’ll be in my room if you need me. And can you please remember to switch on the fan when you cook? Otherwise smells get everywhere.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

She looked over her shoulder as she left the room. I’d set two places at the table. She looked at me. “No, I’m sorry.”

* * *

The crack man is whistling but he won’t pick a tune. He fills the house with the high pitch of the Atlantic wind, the one that drags the waves to my back door. I try to hear something else—house sounds, island sounds—but this thin shriek dominates like a needle through my eardrum, the breeze outside becoming a blade because it shouldn’t be here, inside, taking down the walls with the patience of a senior citizen. If I just stay here, mouth shut, in the quiet of my body, which is soft and still from the Valium, maybe they’ll just forget about me. Please, please just leave me alone.

My muscles are going soft. The room is spinning slowly. I can’t make anything out distinctly. The deep growl of my stomach barks back at the crack man’s whistle. I should eat something. Lolly liked a quiet house and I’ve ruined it.

She never asked me questions. I guess she wanted to keep the peace and quiet she’d built out here. She’d earned it. I wasn’t the only one she didn’t talk to. She could have chosen a house closer to the center, but she wanted to be out here, away from everyone else’s shit. And then I dropped into her lap.