The storm has cleared.

I step into the kitchen and search for a phone. It hangs on the wall near the stove and I go to it quickly and lift the receiver. I hear only silence.

Please.

I press down on the button again and again, but still, there is just silence. I place the receiver back on the wall mount.

A man’s voice stuns me. Stops me cold.

“I told you last night. The phones are out.” I turn quickly, instinctively. I do it before I have time to hide what is surely on my face.

The man stands in the doorway. He’s dressed in fresh clothing, but otherwise they’re the same. Jeans and a flannel shirt. He has a slight beard—thicker than last night—which tells me he doesn’t wear a beard. That he is just unshaven.

Beside him, clinging to his waist, is Alice.

She looks up at him. Tugs on his shirt.

“She told me she was going to get water,” she says. Then she looks at me like I’m the child and she’s the mother. And I’ve been naughty.

“I thought I would check the phone first,” I say. It’s normal, wanting to make a call. To call my family. Why do I feel defensive?

I see his eyes run up and down my body, and I remember that I’m wearing the clothes of another woman. A woman who used to live here. Or does live here. I have to stop making assumptions.

“I hope it’s okay,” I say, looking down at the clothes. “They were in the dresser, like you said.”

“They belong to my wife,” he tells me. “But it’s fine. I’m glad they fit you.”

“Oh . . . well, I hope she won’t mind. I can change if you tell me where my clothes went.” I have a cheery voice now because I feel hopeful and because I want things to be okay in this room. In this house. In this family. I feel hopeful that there is a family now. He said my wife.

“They’re in the laundry room. Hanging on a rack,” he says.

I smile. “Oh! Okay. I’ll go see if they’re dry. Should I leave these clothes in the washer for your wife when she gets back?”

Alice buries her face in his side as though she’s watching a scary scene in a movie. A scene she knows is coming. Maybe because she’s seen this movie before.

“My wife is dead,” the man says. His tone is neutral. Maybe he’s been instructed on how to speak about this in front of Alice.

Maybe I feel better now. At least there was a wife. A dead wife, a dead mother and her death would explain some of the behavior.