“Goddammit!” she mutters. She sets the watering can down hard in the sink and turns to storm outside, the bottom of her cardigan catching on the hook of an orchid hanger as she passes and pulling the orchid to the floor. The pot breaks; the soil scatters. Ruth presses her hands hard against her eyes and sucks a breath in through her teeth. She stands for a moment, trying to calm herself, and then, slowly, she lowers her hands and opens her eyes.

She takes a dust pan and brush from beneath the sink and returns to her orchids. There is a spare pot with the fertilizer underneath the bench, at least, Ruth thinks, though she knows she won’t have time to adequately repot before they have to leave. She crouches down by the mess and is starting to sweep the dirt and wood chips up when Wilson comes back into the kitchen.

“The goddamn door,” Ruth says.

“Look, Ruth,” Wilson is saying. “I have things on my mind, too. I’m sorry the goddamn door slipped my mind.”

“Two minutes after I reminded you, Wilson!”

“What can I say? Look—” He stops midsentence.

“Look, what?” Ruth says. She looks up at him; the expression on his face is one she doesn’t recognize, a combination of horror and bewilderment, and it makes Ruth’s heart skip. “What, Wil?” she says, and she follows his gaze to the doorway behind her, where Isabelle is standing in her parka, her backpack on her back, her tote bag in her hand, her hair a feathered mess of what it used to be.

In their rush to get to the Christmas tree lighting, Wilson has managed to forget his gloves. He could have sworn they were in the pockets of his coat, but all he has found there is the crumbling dog biscuit he’s worrying now between his fingers, his hands shoved into his pockets to keep them warm. He stands with Ruth and Isabelle at the back of the crowd of carolers where there is more room; between the songs he can hear the honking of cars detoured around the block, which has been closed off to traffic to accommodate the crowd. It is windy tonight; his ears and nose are numb, and the bare branches of the trees around them reach northward with each gust of wind.