Standing against the counter, eating a banana and enjoying a cup of coffee, I commend myself. My mind-set about Ezra is healthy. In the past, if things went sour with a man, I’d just run away, move on to the next one. It was my pattern both before Leo and during. I won’t do that with Ezra.

Walking to the front door, I wonder if I might be able to convince him to come for dinner. I’ll cook this time, maybe dig a little deeper to get a better sense of him. I bend down to tighten my laces, do a few warm-up stretches, and then pull open the door, ready for my run.

It’s the smell that hits me first—rot, the meaty kind. Then the flies, so many I can hear the loud buzzing. My eyes sweep the verandah, and at first I’m not really even sure what I’m looking at. Dozens of small black specks. It takes a few seconds to connect the smell to what is laid out in front of me. When I do, I stumble backward and fall through the open doorway. Dark carcasses, wings folded tight against the body, black glassy eyes still and empty. A crowd of dead birds littered across the verandah floor.

Crab-walking myself back into the cottage, I shut the door with my foot and collapse onto the floor. My heart is pounding. I gag out of reflex, the smell lingering in my nostrils. How did they get here? What kills birds? Flying into a window, but not that many and I would have heard it.

Taking a deep breath, I order myself to get up. I can’t stay here all day. I go to a window that overlooks the verandah. Having glass separate me from the horror just beyond allows me to stand there and survey the carnage. There are exactly twelve birds out there, all black in color. Smaller than crows, but I can’t tell what kind of bird they are. The longer I stand there and stare at them, the more disturbing it is.

Feeling as though I might be sick, I turn away, pull my phone out of my pocket, and dial Ezra’s number. It’s the only thing I can think to do. It takes some explaining, but he when he finally understands that I have a verandah full of bird carcasses and that I’m scared, he says he’ll be right over. Through the window I snap a few photos. Then I retreat deeper into the cottage.

The sound of Ezra’s footsteps on the porch makes me brave enough to open the front door. He’s standing in the middle of the mess, his eyes narrowed in confusion, his mouth open in shock.

“What the hell?” he says.