Maybe Ethan would call in the next sixty seconds, explaining everything and sparing her from the pitying eyes at the breakfast table. But even if there wasn’t a miracle, she could use these moments to gather her breath, to push away the terrifying thoughts in her head and plaster on a happy face.

Of course, no one called, so after she puttered around for as long as she could, she scooped up Lincoln and trudged down the creaky staircase.

“Have you looked outside?” Renee asked as she slid into an empty chair, bouncing Lincoln in her lap.

“No,” she admitted. She’d been too nervous to face it. “Is it bad?”

“Depends on who you ask.” Bree was standing at the stove. She flipped a large pancake before giving another pan with sizzling bacon a little shake. Renee had luckily brought supplies when she’d landed on her sister’s doorstep with a horde of people. “It doesn’t sound good for Castaway’s. Luckily the inventory is safe and dry but the roof is mostly off.”

“Oh, Bree. I’m so sorry,” Sadie said. “How do you feel?”

“It’s still sinking in, honestly. Jill came by a half hour ago. Chickadee Studios is in the same boat.” Bree stopped cooking, running a dish towel over her damp forehead. “We’re not sure what to do.”

“That’s awful,” Sadie breathed, wondering if her own cottage was obliterated or if the mill was damaged beyond repair.

“I’m just glad it sounds like no one was hurt,” Bree said.

“I’ll drink to that,” Dr. Dan agreed, holding up his cup of orange juice. “I can take you guys home after breakfast. And then come back to help with the cleanup, of course.” Dan took a bite of his blueberry pancake and chewed thoughtfully. Despite the bad news, the edges of his mouth seemed permanently turned upward, and Sadie wondered if it was the maple syrup or the sex.

Her money was on the sex.

“So far, it only looks like a bunch of downed tree limbs in this neighborhood,” Renee said. “At least as far as I can see from the windows.”

“Yeah?” Talking felt impossible this morning with the unknown status of her husband looming so darkly over her head. How was she supposed to manage morning small talk during this sort of crisis? “That’s good.”

Bree set a plate in front of Sadie, and she thanked her, saying she and Lincoln would be fine splitting the meal. In truth, Sadie felt sick to her stomach and knew she wouldn’t be able to manage more than a bite or two (and even then, only for the sake of being polite).