Ray pulled back the bedclothes, and Frances’ nose whistled with air. The atmosphere in the bedroom was one of contained quiet, as if the little room itself were keenly balanced on a pole. And at the other end of the pole, creating the balance—what was that? Maybe all the pills and pots of coffee, Frances considered wryly, turning over, eyes open.

She looked up. Everything seemed all right.

“Asleep?” Ray said.

She made no answer, and soon heard a muted clicking: the sound of Ray picking at his front tooth. She dozed.

In the late morning, Frances and Ray dressed together and unrolled their town paper. The sun was bright and high. Frances had awoken rather easily, with less exhaustion than usual, and in a burst of energy, she giggled at something Ray said.

Then, there came the sound of a blast. The house vibrated. Another booming noise seemed to burst hollowly into the first, causing both Frances and Ray to yell reflexively as the bedroom window shook. In the backyard, a small wooden fence toppled over.

She raised her eyes to the ceiling. Yes, it had happened again! A volcano was situated in the sea outside Munson, though Frances so often forgot. Sometimes it rumbled like this. The vibration manipulated the ground such that it trembled; this was at times followed by fierce winds, fires, an d even steam puffs dotting the sky. Townsfolk occasionally referred to the volcano as “Sharla,” but just as often, they didn’t think about it at all.

The house rattled with a moaning wind, and, in spite of herself, Frances was frightened, her heart beating hard enough that she felt her pulse in her eyes. She looked around the room: but where to go? “This is awful!” she cried, diving onto the bed next to Ray.

“It’ll probably be fine!” he shouted reassuringly.

They lay still. The sounds of rushing wind and debris continued; briefly, the sky dimmed. A few fist-sized chunks of rough rock tumbled across the roof onto Frances’ lawn. It’s as if another world has come crashing into this one, she thought.

Ray clutched a tissue. “That damned volcano!”

“Let’s just wait,” she said.

They did.

Soon, light eased into the room again. The pair relaxed, then fell asleep; after waking, Frances felt better for the extra rest.

“Ray,” she muttered dreamily then, looking to his glossy eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you directly. How old are you?”

“Thirty-six. And you?”

“Thirty-eight. We’re the same age, really.”

They smiled together.

When Ray stood, he remarked, “Why, you look as helpless as a little girl, all wrapped in that blanket!” Then he moved to the bathroom.