They hopped out looking fresh, showered, and well-rested.
Brooke was already complaining loudly about the traffic on the highway.
As they walked in, Travis headed straight for the basement to flip the power back on.
No “Are you okay?”
No “Thank God you’re alive.”
Brooke tossed her jacket onto the armchair.
“Did the roof hold? I think I saw a spot in the upstairs bathroom,” she said, brushing past me.
Mrs. Gable stood in the doorway, wrinkling her nose.
“It smells like wet dog in here. Martha, you should have opened a window, storm or no storm.”
I stood silently in the kitchen.
I watched them spread out as if nothing had happened.
Travis came up, sweaty and nervous.
“Everything good, Mom?” he asked casually.
“I could have died, Travis,” I said quietly.
The group went still.
Brooke sighed, clearly annoyed.
“Oh, Martha, don’t start with the drama. The house is still standing. It was the sensible choice. We had to protect the valuables.”
I looked at her.
This young woman, living in my house, was lecturing me on what was sensible.
Travis looked away.
He couldn’t meet my eyes.
In that moment, I decided the time for talking was over.
I didn’t make them coffee.
I didn’t offer breakfast.
I went to my room and locked the door.
I heard Brooke whisper outside.
“She’ll cool off. She doesn’t have anyone else anyway.”