O random collision of molecules, thank you for not letting us be born with physical deformities; thank you for not turning us into Richard Specks and Charles Mansons; thank you for televised golf, and prime rib, and … good teeth.

“Well,” he began, bringing his free hand up against the hand that held the plastic fork, “we’re, uh, we’re glad that we’re here, safe. That we’re … not out in the storm.” There was more. There had to be. He knew prayers; the entire Apostles’ Creed fell from his mouth by rote every Sunday, but that was like standing in a choir and lip-synching the words. “We’re thankful for this food, and for shelter,” he heard himself say. “That’s it. Amen.”

“Amen,” Frankie said, and delivered a forkful of Jell-O into his mouth.

Teresa sighed and lifted her sandwich. “Frankie, that’s for dessert.”

“You know what?” Joe said around a pickle he was mouthing like a cigar. “We’re like the Swiss Family Robinson.”

“Yeah,” Karen said, “except we aren’t marooned, or Swiss.”

“Close enough,” Roy countered. “We’re survivors—of this storm, anyway.” He shouldn’t have said anyway. “We did the right thing in coming here,” he added quickly, knowing Teresa wanted to hear this, and when he glanced at her, she smiled a genuine smile, and he smiled back, and winked. Then he shifted his glance to Karen and saw her rolling her eyes. She knew he was looking at her; she wanted him to see this reaction. Worse, she didn’t make eye contact with him afterward but looked down at her plate and began pushing dents into her sandwich with her finger. Did she hate him? Resent him on a hunch? He twisted his fork through his cold spaghetti.

They finished off everything save for the packet of ground beef, which they joked about having brought in the first place. How had they thought they were going to cook it in a motel room? Stomachs full and an aggregate tiredness settling over the six of them, they fought very little about what to watch on television, settling on The Six Million Dollar Man. They made it right up to the ending, when Steve Austin demonstrated to his doctor why his hand needed adjustment by breaking a table in half with his pinky. Then lightning flashed, thunder cracked overhead, and the power went out.