“You stay. No jumping.” As Cate opens the door, he jumps up on Dana, then licks her face on both cheeks, as though he’s French. Then, to make a further impression, he does his “spin,” his easiest, default trick. He has only ever seen Dana that one time at the dog beach, so he can’t have a scrapbook of fond memories of her. Then he’s back for some more kissing. It’s becoming clear he’s not going to be much of a guard dog.

“Graham and I are trying to train him to not do this,” Cate says, pulling him off. But then he’s standing again, paws on Dana’s shoulders. She can’t remember if she told Dana about Graham and Sailor staying with her. Dana rubs her cheek along the side of his head, thumbs the inside of an ear. “Who are you, the make-out king?” She laughs in a way that’s particular to her, a rollout of delight. Always appealing.

A serious shot of lightning crashes and bleaches the sky. Sailor rushes into a corner. Dana turns to look outside, then turns back to Cate. “Shouldn’t it be, like, snowing?” She brushes the water from the poncho in sweeping gestures that cause droplets to stipple Cate’s jeans. “The thing is, I knew before. I knew that afternoon. I knew something bad was going down.” The crazy thing is that Cate believes her. Because this is how they see their connection. Like a deserted power station, mysterious and huge; darkened, but always active, sudden orange running sparks skittering through the air inside. This example will be tacitly added to the Myth of Them. Since this turned out to be a belief system of extremely limited value, Cate doesn’t think it warrants any acknowledgment. She goes into the small bathroom to get a hand towel, then gives it to Dana, who wipes her face only a little. She can’t help this.

“How are you here? Shouldn’t you be slinging your hash?”

“I can’t stay long, but I had to come by.” Dana spins around. “Where’d the couch go?”

“I got rid of it when I stopped seeing you. Now all I do here is work.”

“I always fucked you on the table. You should’ve gotten rid of that instead.”

Cate opens the mini-fridge and pulls out a couple of beers, pops them open. Dana takes one, then sets it on the windowsill as she rubs her wet hair with the towel. She has such thick hair that any gesture involving it carries a small erotic payload.

“I just had to see you. See that you’re all right. And Neale. Is she a mess?”