“A house like this is full of stories. It should have a name.” He gives me a delighted smile. “Name it.” Wind batters the roof like we’re in the eye of a tornado. We’re so far removed from everything we’ve experienced as a couple. I shouldn’t love it. We’re Heathcliff’s and Catherine’s ghosts, marooned in the wilds of Morris. I blurt out the one thing I can think of. “Disaster.” His smile slips. “I’m not living in a house called Disaster. That’s inviting bad luck.” “Buddy, we’ve got that already.”
