“I’m so sorry,” I say. But I don’t ask questions. Alice peeks out from where she’s buried her face. “I’ll just leave the clothes in the laundry room.”

I walk toward the door slowly, thinking they will clear a path. But they hold their position. They hold me in place with their bodies, trapped in this room.

“They’re still a little wet,” the man says. “Give it a few hours. You’ll be more comfortable staying in dry clothes. Sorry if it feels strange—the house, the clothes.”

Again, he apologizes. I pause long enough to think.

“I suppose I can wear these to town,” I say.

He looks at me now, curious. “Town?”

“To make the call on your cell phone. We talked about that last night—about driving to town where there’s a signal. I need to call my family. I need to let the police know that I’m safe—I left my car . . . and my phone . . .”

“Oh, right,” he says. But he does not say yes. He does not move toward the door and the truck and the road that will take us to town.

I feel apprehension now. I won’t call it fear. I can’t.

“Can we go, then? To town?”

My voice is firm. He can’t keep me here. He can’t make me stay one second longer. He can’t just take my clothes, and she can’t just crawl into my bed while I’m sleeping. They can’t . . .

“I can go to town,” he says now. “But I really need you to stay here with Alice. It’s not safe without the phone working or the power. Lots of trees still weak. Some are close to the house.”

No, I think. I am going to town! I am going home!

I shake now, head to toe. It’s in my cheeks and on my tongue as I try to shape words in my mouth.

“We can bring Alice with us. Like last night . . .”

“She has allergies, remember?” He says this like I should feel ashamed. Like I have been inconsiderate of this poor little girl. “She gets sick when she goes outside. I had to bring her last night because no one was here to be with her and I needed to fill the tanks and get the water. There’s no need to take the risk today. Do you mind?”

I struggle with this information. It comes at me fast. I cannot get my clothes. I cannot leave this house. I cannot call my family. Disbelief bleeds into acceptance and acceptance triggers fight or flight, adrenaline. I feel my skin flush and burn. My vision is unclear, muddled now with floating white circles. I breathe.

I breathe.

He turns to leave and Alice steps into me, clinging to my waist. She looks up at me with that smile and those wide eyes.

“You can make me breakfast!” she says cheerfully.