He was wearing a baggy black t-shirt with a picture of Heath Ledger’s Joker on it. His conversation with Seema had allowed him to avoid making any eye contact with me, right up until Howard convened the meeting and suggested we all take a seat, and even then, Kyle barely managed a glance in my direction. It seemed like an eternity since we had last spoken, and I had felt the absence like a physical ache. I wondered what lie he had told Brenda before leaving home that morning; or if she had even noticed. He looked worn down. But then, we all did. There was a palpable sense of exhaustion in the room. We were a circle of broken spirits, animated with the faint hope that perhaps, at last, we were on the brink of some shared catharsis.

Howard essentially began the meeting by saying, Look, I know you have all been struggling with this noise, and it’s confusing, but I know exactly what it is, and you have nothing to worry about. And frankly, though that seemed like a bit of a ludicrous thing to say, it was exactly what I wanted to hear right then and there in his mahogany voice. The easy confidence with which he made that overarching claim made it almost seem plausible. He then began guiding us through a kind of thought experiment.

How many times do you think lightning strikes the Earth in a given day? he asked smiling, obviously enjoying presiding over this small captive audience. Anyone?

Damian shrugged and broke the silence by guessing twenty-three.

I think it’s higher than that, Seema said.

What would you say then? Howard asked her.

A few thousand maybe. Say five thousand?

Five thousand, okay. Anyone else?

Leslie said she thought five thousand sounded about right. Howard asked Kyle what he wagered.

Five thousand five hundred, Kyle replied, which made the group laugh.

What is this, The Price Is Right, Seema joked. Five thousand five hundred and one!

Howard waited a moment for any last-minute guesses, and then said—So it’s actually eight million times a day, which elicited more laughter. Which works out to about a hundred times a second, he continued.

Twenty-three, Damian repeated to himself, chuckling.

I was like twenty-three, Seema said, I’ve seen twenty-three bolts in the same storm.

So that’s about three billion times a year, Howard continued, and so as you can imagine—He suddenly looked up and stopped. Oh, hello.

Everyone turned to see an elderly couple standing in the entryway to the front hall. With no sound of knocking or the doorbell, it was as if they’d been conjured from thin air.

Please, come in, Jo said, waving them into the room.

Sorry we’re late, the man replied, stepping forward. He wore a baby-blue dress shirt and seemed athletic for his age, like he might be a member of a tennis club.