“We can go in the morning—as soon as the sun is up,” he says when I stop talking. He places his hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I know it’s strange to be in someone else’s house. I would feel the same. But we’re not in the suburbs here. You could have gotten hurt out there—that wind would have knocked you right off your feet. And the cold—it’s going down below thirty degrees tonight.”

He looks at me. I look at him, frozen until he takes his hand off my shoulder.

“You okay?” he asks.

Again, I nod politely, as I wonder why he mentioned the suburbs. How does he know where I live?

He leaves me alone then. I stare at the space where he stood and I let his words sink in. I let the words find reason inside my unreasonable head.

I am the very embodiment of suburbia. And the car, the Audi. Surely he just put pieces together. He must see people like me driving through here every day, on their way to the schools, stopping to get gas.

And there is a dangerous storm outside. Wind. Rain. Cold. Roads are likely blocked. Lines are down—power, phone. Everything on a wire is dead. And there’s no cell phone reception. All of those are facts that I either know to be true or are likely true.

Stop being so Molly! I command myself.

I close the door to the bedroom. I look in the dresser and find clothing. Women’s clothing. I find pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt. They are dry. And they smell of laundry detergent.

They are freshly washed. And I wonder if this means they are freshly worn.

Where is their owner?

I go to the bathroom and close the door. I take off my wet clothes, put on the dry clothes of a strange woman. Back in the bedroom, I hang my wet clothes on everything I can find. A chair. A radiator. A dresser. A bedpost.

I climb beneath the quilt and sheets. I curl myself into a ball. The tiniest ball I can make myself into. I leave the lantern on at the foot of the bed because I am not quite ready to be in the dark.

I let the fear show its face and then I tell it exactly what it is. Just like my unreasonable thoughts are remnants from the past, this fear is just guilt. That’s all. Just guilt. I did something stupid and now my family will worry and the police will come looking. But I will make it right in the morning. Like the man said. As soon as the sun is up.

Facts are facts and the facts add up. Fear is just guilt finding a way in. Finding a way to masquerade because I don’t want to face it.