“Jokes aside,” he says, “this is an artist’s dream. Avalanche isolation. No possible contact from the dirty world. Now, that’s for the brochure. Karo, do we have to pay extra?”

Karo stops pumping the radio and shakes out her hand, middle finger lightly extended. Justin reaches under his chair, but whatever he’s hoping to find isn’t there: he gropes around, then drops to his knees for a better look.

“Where’s my camera?” He straightens, scanning the room.

“Where’d you leave it?” Sadie says. She gets down on the floor, imitating him, her voice rising high in feigned horror. “Where’s the case?”

He doesn’t answer but his brow furrows. Maeve was right—he is drunk. But Sadie’s way of mocking him is too catty, childish.

“Maybe Dan took it. Dan hates that camera—” Sadie keeps on, up on her knees now. “Isn’t that right? You had, like, a bad interrogation experience or something?”

“Leave it, Sadie—” Dan says, starting to ramp up again. But Justin jumps in, his voice louder still.

“This avalanche is the craziest thing that’s happened here in years—it’s a real opportunity. Not just, you know, to make some ad for Karo—” He glances over to her as he says it. “But really. Actually.”

“You know if you weren’t always dragging it around like a toy—” Anna says. She turns her back to him, and focuses on Maeve. “Listen, there’s no reason to panic,” she says. “I’m from New Orleans, right? You know where I was in Katrina? Not in a tastefully decorated mountain lodge, I’ll tell you that.”

Sim looks at her, interested.

“Where were you in Katrina?”

For once, his tone irritates Anna, and her voice sharpens.

“Evacuated out to Jackson. My whole family.” She looks back at Maeve in an effort to ignore him. “But there was no electric in Jackson for five days either, and we didn’t know if our house was standing or fallen down or what. You’d just sit and watch the news and see all that water, and the people on the I-10. And bodies. It was the end of the world,” she says. Then she leans in, reaching for Maeve’s hand. “We’re going to be okay here. It’s just a matter of time. Time and patience.”

“Okay,” Maeve says. She stretches her legs out long and folds her body over them, feeling the tug along the back of her hurt thigh and into her hip. Glancing at Dan, she gauges his mood now versus out in the snow. “I think there was a bear,” she says—not to him, but to the group. “Outside my studio. I told Dan already. But I thought I should say it again, out loud. In case anyone’s walking around.”

Karo’s head snaps up.

Dan looks annoyed. “I already told you not to worry about that.”