She showed him the living room with the antique sofa and the television . . .

She never told anyone else about the television—they’d be so jealous. The house always made people jealous at first. Then, over time (it usually took longer than three minutes), they saw it as something pitiful. And then, over more time, it scared them. The older ones wouldn’t come anywhere near it. They acted like it was haunted. Like Anna was the ghost.

But James wouldn’t be around long enough for that. She showed him her bedroom, with the homemade quilt and stuffed animals. “I don’t know why those are still here. Everything’s a bit haphazard.”

She showed him the bathroom with the pedestal sink and the cast-iron tub. “Do you have to go to the bathroom?” she asked.

“No.”

“No,” she agreed. “No one ever does.”

They ended up on the front porch, on the old wooden swing. “This is really lovely,” James said. He was looking out over the wheat fields and unconsciously rocking the swing with one foot on the floor.

Anna crisscrossed her legs. “Thanks.”

A fat orange cat ambled up the front walk. Anna held out a hand, snapping and clicking her tongue. “Here, Peaches.”

The cat came to her, jumping up into her lap. Anna laughed, petting him.

“Even your cat has a name,” James said.

“Well . . .” she said. “Sort of.” She was blushing. “I mean—I named him.”

“Can you do that?”

Anna glanced up at him. “Who’s going to stop me? I’m sure she’ll rename Peaches if she ever uses us. But she might not use us. She might make Peaches a dog in the end. He may as well have a name while he’s here, right?”

James was watching Anna, smiling just with his eyes and one side of his mouth. “Yeah.”

“You can pet him if you want.”

James reached out and scratched Peaches between the ears.

“That is your first cat petting,” Anna said.

“No,” he said. “I’ve petted plenty of cats.”

“In your backstory,” Anna said. “But not here. It’s different—can’t you feel it?”

He kept scratching. Peaches closed his eyes, purring. “No,” James said. “I don’t think that I can.”

“You will,” she said, “if you try. If you have enough experiences here. You’ll feel the difference.”

“I feel like I’m being pulled,” James said. He seemed agitated. He stopped touching Peaches and looked out over the fields. “Do you feel it, too? It’s like I’m meant to get into my book. Like I can’t be delayed.”

“I’m not delaying you.” Anna tried not to sound defensive. “I’m not a trap.”

“No.” James looked back at her. “I didn’t think you were. But do you feel it?”