Ray — Tuesday, November 17, 2026, evening
June was in the sweatshirt he'd brought back to her. Ray noticed that first, before either woman said anything. He had come in through the outer utility door with one of the bags, opening it from outside and carrying the first things on into the main room. There was more in the pickup. He put down what he had and went back to the interior doorway.
“Something warm tonight,” he said.
“Where were you?” Nadia asked.
“Getting this.”
“All day?”
He looked at her. She was on the edge of a chair, elbows on her knees, holding her hands together as if to keep them out of the conversation. June's bag was on the floor beside her feet. The utility room was smaller than the space where he'd let them eat last night. It had been easier to leave them there when he needed to go out, the interior way secured. He had only meant to be away part of the day.
June asked whether she could use the washroom before he started serving things. He told her she could in a minute, and she said she wasn't asking for something to drink. Nadia put a hand over her eyes.
He was tired of hearing his own voice say wait. He had spent the afternoon having to answer questions, explain where he'd been, fix what somebody else wanted fixed. There was supper in the pickup. He could put it on the counter, let them eat, sit for a little while without being asked for anything he couldn't give.
“There's another bag,” he said. “I'll get it and open up.”
“Can you just leave it?” June asked.
“What?”
“The food. You don't have to watch.”
“I wasn't watching you.”
“I can eat by myself.”
Nadia lowered her hands. “Let him get it.”
He went back into the main room, leaving the interior way secured behind him. He couldn't see the outer door from there. The first bag had left a wet patch on his coat. He rubbed at it, then went out for the rest, thinking about whether the food would have cooled by the time they allowed themselves to want it.
Its handles broke as he got out of the pickup. One can struck his foot. He stood in the dark holding two pale strips of plastic while apples rolled beneath the vehicle.
He could hear June inside. He thought she was laughing. It was a sharp sound, cut short, and he was so immediately ashamed of being laughed at that he didn't recognize pain until the second sound came.
He put the rest of the bag on the seat and went toward the cabin.
The utility-room door stood open. Cold light spilled across the ground. Nadia came through it backward, one arm extended into the room.
“I can't,” June was saying. “Wait. Wait.”
Nadia turned her head. For an instant she looked straight at Ray, though he wasn't sure she could see him where he stood. He stopped moving. June's hand was on her forearm, her pale fingers fixed there. Nadia tried to draw her arm away.
“Let go.”
“Help me.”
There was something under June's other foot, a shoe or the edge of a mat. She was holding herself wrong, her shoulder against the frame, one leg lifted from the ground. Ray heard himself call Nadia's name.
She pulled free. June caught the edge of the door before it closed. It swung out again, bumping Nadia's shoulder.
“Take me,” June cried. “Nadia.”
Nadia tried to back away. June reached for her again.
“Stay,” Nadia said. “Let me go.”
She drove the door shut with her shoulder. Ray had started running. She kept her weight against it while her hand found the outside fastening.
“I'll come back,” she said. “Stay there.”
Then she turned from the door and ran downhill.
It was not a chase like anything he had pictured. He was angry that he couldn't catch his breath. He couldn't see properly. Nadia was ahead of him one second, then had stopped against the rough edge of the track to keep from falling. When he reached her she turned with both hands raised, her mouth open. He caught her coat. She jerked away and struck him in the shoulder.
“Stop it,” he said.
He said it again as if she was the one who could make the two of them quiet. He had hold of her sleeve; the fabric was twisting against her wrist. He could feel how badly she wanted to get away, a physical thing passing from her body into his. It was intoxicating and it made him sick. If he tightened his grip she moved where he moved. He knew how quickly this could become something he would be remembering for years.
“I wasn't going anywhere,” she said.
The lie was so poor he almost let go.
“Up,” he told her.
“My arm.”
He loosened his hand. She didn't pull away then. They walked back with a space between them, his fingers still caught in her coat. He slowed when she stumbled. He could almost ask if she was all right, except then he would have to hear her answer. He kept walking.
At the utility-room door he stopped. June was knocking from the other side, irregularly. He could hear her saying Nadia's name. Nadia looked away from him.
“You left her?”
“She couldn't move.”
“You shut her in.”
“You were coming.”
He wanted to keep asking, make her say it again. Her eyes moved toward the door. He waited.
“She was holding on to me,” Nadia said. Her voice broke on me, with anger rather than tears. “I couldn't get her to let go.”
June hit the door again.
“All right,” Ray called. “We're here.”
He opened it. June was sitting just inside, the heel of one hand planted on the floor. She tried to stand when she saw him and stopped, her eyes closing. The room smelled of dust disturbed from places nobody cleaned.
“Don't,” Nadia said.
June looked at her. Ray saw the effort it took for her not to speak. He had expected accusation; the silence was worse, full of a conversation he'd interrupted before it could happen.
“What did you do?” he asked.
June said, “I stepped wrong.”
“Where?”
“There. Here. What difference does it make?”
Her shoe was still on. She drew the foot nearer with both hands. When Ray bent she pulled back so fiercely that he straightened again.
“I'm trying to see.”
“Then see.”
Nadia knelt on the other side. June flinched from her too. She had been clinging to that arm in the doorway, and now she would rather balance herself on one shaking hand than touch it.
“Can you put it down?” Nadia asked.
“I did put it down. I couldn't run on it.”
“I'm not asking you to run.”
“You wanted me to.”
Nadia looked at the floor. A button had come off somebody's coat; Ray could see it beside her knee. He wanted to pick it up. He left it there.
With time, with both of them clear of her, June got herself upright. She set the injured foot down and made a little sound through her nose. She could stand. Ray wanted that to be the important fact. Nadia reached to support her and was refused. June used the wall, moving a few inches at a time until Ray stepped aside and she could get to the chair.
He brought the groceries in. Nadia had gone to fetch a blanket. He watched her pass the utility-room doorway, where the low window looked black in its old frame. There was no open way through to the main room from inside when he secured the interior route. June had known it. He set the apples down too hard and one rolled out across the floor. He let it go. He had put them here.
He sat down without intending to. His heart was beating in his neck.
June was talking to Nadia now, low and rapid. He heard, “You said,” and then, “I was right there.” Nadia answered something he couldn't catch.
“What?” he said.
Both women stopped.
He could hear the clock again.
“Nothing,” Nadia said. “She needs to get that foot looked at.”
June began to cry, quietly, with no effort to hide it from either of them. He waited for Nadia to say the thing that would make her stop. Nadia put a glass of water within reach. That was all she did.
The apples were on the floor beside his chair. He picked one up. A large bruise showed beneath the skin, exactly where it had hit the ground. He found himself turning it to show the clean side to the women. Nobody was looking.