I stop Sally in the entryway on her way down to the kitchen. The kids are eating breakfast in there with the television on—recorded shows only, now that the antenna’s out too—so it seems like a good moment to slip away and find my missing husband. He’s nowhere on the grounds so far as I’ve been able to tell from peeking out various windows over the past hour, and Max is snoring loudly in a square of light in the sitting room, so if Hugh’s off taking a walk, it’s for his own purposes, which is a much more me thing to do.

“Didn’t see him in town,” Sally says with a frown.

“I did!” Avery rounds the corner, carrying a crate of windfall fruit inside. “You mean Lord Treadway? He was headed into the church maybe fifteen minutes ago?”

“Thank you.” I notice Sally shoot the girl a sharp look, and my own smile pinches a little by the time Avery’s glanced back at me.

“Are Charlie and Emma downstairs?” Avery’s voice is high and hopeful, like she’s here for a playdate. At my nod, she beams. “I’ll watch them this morning, if you like? It’s no bother.”

“That would be great, Avery. Thanks.”

I watch her follow Sally into the kitchen with a faint sting of regret. I wish I could strike up more of a natural connection with Avery. She seems lonely here with almost everyone of her generation gone. I remember her at twelve, so eagerly interested in our wedding plans, the dress, my hair, everything about my life before I came here. She’s more reserved since she came back from her dance studies. I guess I am too in a way.

The past seven years have made me almost as self-contained as I was during those three years I spent living with Gran, strolling the paved edges of the golf course in our retirement community every night at five thirty sharp, our outings consisting of poolside lunches with the other seniors, cocktails on her screened-in patio, and if we were feeling particularly wild, trips out to the local Target. My life now has different walls and borders. I know the basics of the script—the exclamations about weather, the asking after family and pets, remarking glancingly on current events. Safety lives in routine, so every day, I smile and pass Avery, just like I do with most people here. The important thing seems to be not riling anybody up.

I slip outside and suck in a briny breath, setting my mind to my quest: source my husband, reassure myself of his general well-being, and then march onward into the regular programming of a perfectly ordinary day.

Sunlight strobes from between elm branches as I walk down the drive. I have to blink hard every few steps to keep from getting vertigo.