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subconscious middle-school certainty every person had that any group was looking at them, that every laugh was directed at their weakness. This is a bad idea. Forcing a light tone, he said, “What are we waiting for, guys?” He started up the walk. He pressed the bell—nothing, right—then knocked. After a moment footsteps approached, and
when he saw the other men. “Hey,” he said. “The neighborhood watch. You catch any bad guys?” Lou bristled, but Ethan said, “Nope, all clear. How are you doing?” “Wishing we’d left for Florida.” “I hear you. We tried for Chicago, got turned back.” “Strange days.” Ranjeet’s eyes skipped past him to the others, then returned. “So what’s up?” “We come in?” Lou asked. Ranjeet hesitated, his hand still on the doorknob. “Yeah, sure.” He stood aside and gestured them in. A short entrance gave way to the living room, a stylishly decorated space painted a precise shade of white. Two modernist couches
animals and stacking cups and a xylophone. The sight of them gave him a flash of their future, Violet someday tottering
girls?” “Upstairs. Eva is trying to convince them that it’s nap time.” Ranjeet didn’t offer them a seat, just put his hands in his pockets and waited. The four of them stood uncertainly in front of him. It was as cold inside the house as out, their breath fogging. Ethan caught Jack looking at him, shrugged. This was your idea, man. “Your place is really nice,” Jack said, a bit awkwardly. “Sharp.” “Thanks. What’s up?” “I don’t know if you’ve heard the news lately, with the power—” “We’ve got a radio and batteries.” “So you know that
that wasn’t a laugh. “Are you kidding me?” Jack spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “We’re not saying anything like that. We just wondered if maybe you’d—” “Hung out with terrorists?” “No, just . . . had any friends that were acting strange.” “Yeah,” Ranjeet said, looking
