“Okay, sure. I hope you feel better,” she said, wondering why he seemed so unsettled. As she was leaving his room, she turned back with a thought. “Hey, who was at the door this morning?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing. No one,” Micah said, uncapping a medicine bottle on his nightstand. Then, seeing her dubious expression, he added, “It was the plumber. He came by unannounced and I told him he’d have to make an appointment to come back.”

“Oh.” She smiled. “Well, let me know if I can help. I can meet him when he comes back.” Sero returned to her room, reassured it was just the tedious responsibilities of the house troubling him, nothing to do with her. She wished she could share and lighten his burden, the way he had for her.

* * *

The next day, Sero was helping to prepare dinner when August walked into the kitchen with a pile of mail and handed it to Micah.

“Want some help?” August sidled up to Zoe, who was shucking corn.

“Thanks, babe,” Zoe said, a mountain of fresh ears of corn piled in front of her. “We’re grilling it with mayo and spices, Mexican style.”

“Mmm.” August nudged her shoulder with his.

Sero liked seeing August and Zoe happy and flirtatious together, especially compared to that first awkward time she’d caught them sleeping on the couch.

“Goddammit,” Micah muttered under his breath, reading a letter he’d just opened from the stack.

His tone was barely audible, but Sero was acutely tuned into his frequency. She walked over to him. “What’s wrong?” she asked softly, leaning forward.

Micah shook his head and she noticed the deep crease in his forehead. She found herself feeling angry at the piece of paper that had made him feel this way.

“Damn neighbors.” He flung his right hand toward the sliding glass doors. “Creating problems again, complaining to the landlord. First, they wouldn’t let us get dairy cows on our property, a full six acres away from their house, just in case some ‘unpleasant odors’”—he put the offensive phrase in air quotes—“drifted over to their precious outdoor party space. You know they are the sole reason we can’t produce our own dairy products? Those two people force us to go to the store every week to buy milk and yogurt!”

“They can do that?” She craned her neck to see the paper.

“And now,” Micah said, shaking the paper in his hand, obscuring her ability to read it, “they’re complaining about the roosters crowing too early in the morning, creating”—he modeled air quotes again—“‘noise pollution’ in an otherwise bucolic setting known for its peace and tranquility.” His hands fell to the table.

Zoe glanced over at them with an inspecting look, as if Sero had done something to cause Micah’s anger. Feeling uncomfortable and responsible—if not for his mood, then for not being able to improve it—Sero put her hands on his shoulders and began to knead gently.

“Do these rich folks even know what a real bucolic setting is?” Micah seethed, ignoring her efforts. “It’s one that includes animals, with all their sounds and odors, for god’s sake. What is wrong with these people?”