“I’m gonna move my bike before it gets any worse,” Tom said. “A big limb could smash that shed flat.”

“Or it could fall on you,” Janine said.

“Where are you gonna move it, anyway?” Eric said.

“To my room,” he said. “I want to be able to see it.”

“Tom, you can’t put a motorcycle in your room,” Eric reasoned. “It won’t fit through the door.”

“Fine, gimme the keys to the dining hall, I’ll put it in there.”

“I don’t think it’s safe to go out,” said Janine. “You can always replace a motorcycle.”

“It’s fine, “Eric said. “I’ll go with him. It’s not too bad, I’ve seen worse. The power will be back tomorrow, the next day tops.”

Janine could see that he was enjoying this, being the experienced one among them, though how many years ago was it that he was last here? Ten years ago? Fifteen? Beth had told her that storms were getting worse because of global warming—stronger, more unpredictable—and it seemed to Janine that this was true. Though she also wondered if there was just more coverage of storms, television programs you could watch twenty-four hours a day, like Donald’s mom. Eric pulled on his raincoat. Tom flipped up the collar on his jean jacket.

“Pay attention out there,” Donald called as they shouldered their way into the storm. “We should put something about a hurricane in my novel.”

Janine looked at her phone. “I’m getting a text. It’s Lilian, from class. She wants to know if we have any extra rooms. We do, don’t we?” Janine scrolled through the message. “She says she didn’t evacuate, she was afraid her husband would sneak in and change the locks on the condo. But now she says no one else in her condo is around, and she’s lonely. I should tell her to come, right?”

“Tell her to bring more bottled water,” Donald said.

Janine typed a response, then knelt next to the bed and clasped her hands.

“I thought you said we’d be fine,” Donald said. Janine closed her eyes more tightly and continued praying.

“We all need strength,” she said finally, standing up.

Lilian arrived in her silver Mercedes with several bags of fancy nonperishable groceries, a large cooler full of ice, a battery-powered radio, battery-powered lamps, and two suitcases full of clothes and toiletries. It took several trips into the storm to bring everything inside, and everyone got soaked. Lilian stayed rather dry in her yellow anorak, standing under the eaves and calling out encouragement and instructions.

“A hurricane party!” she announced, once they were inside Janine’s room. Immediately the room’s smell changed, from peanut buttery and mildly sweaty to expensive and perfumed. Janine thought of those women who were so bossy they altered the schedule of your menstrual period—it was all done through smells, wasn’t it?