The dog was a belligerent mutt; calf high, with wiry fur that grew the color of burnt leaves, and a unpleasantness that had earned him the name Diablo. But even as he snarled at the wind, Olivia couldn’t help but smile; the dog was all that was left of her old life. The life before the picturesque beaches too hot to walk on, or the straw yellow Spanish-style that all of her friends would have envied; back when Adam spoke without her having to pull out the words of him, and sold pictures to magazines.

“Dee!” she called. He gave one last howl before bounding into the house; she followed, letting the wind slam the door behind her. The emergency warning blared from the television, an electric shriek that sent the dog into another frenzy. Before the monotone voice could start listing off weather alerts, she muted it.

They’d known the hurricane was coming, their home just miles from the evacuation zone; she’d wondered what radar could predict so accurately that one town was deemed safe, but the next in need of evacuation. It seemed most of the neighbors had the same thought. For days she’d watched them pile all they could fit into their cars, disappearing towards the highway; trunks bunged shut and boxes tethered to the roof. But she couldn’t have gotten Adam out of the house, had the coast guard knocked at their door and demanded it. It’s Florida, he’d said when she suggested making the trip north as if that were reason enough when every meteorologist in the state had called the storm violent and unpredictable— some of the more melodramatic even adopting storm of the decade. But she’d sooner have drowned then spend another one of their sparse conversations arguing about a storm he’d already decided to weather.

The morning of the storm he’d muttered that he had work to do and receded into the office—as she always did, she’d asked him what work? His camera hadn’t left its case since their last beach trip, taken before they’d unpacked the house. But he shut the door as if she hadn’t spoken— a reaction she’d grown accustomed to, and one that ignited a frustration that made her imagine a different house far away from the beaches she’d grown to hate, with a person she didn’t have to configure like a jigsaw puzzle. But it was a passing anger— it always was. She continued readying the house, taking occasional pauses to press her ear to the office door, which had become as routine as his standoffishness. Though she never knew what she was listing, just that she felt the need to do so.

By mid-day, the rain had begun, and the house was as secure as she could make it; clunky, aluminum storm shields blocked the windows, the kitchen counters cluttered with photo albums and electronics moved in case of flooding. The dog, exhausted by his own howling, had curled up on the couch beside Oliva. She was reading, but when the room went dark abandoned her book on the coffee table; moving room to room she lit the candles— skipping the office until the rest of the home was lit with a dull, orange glow. When she entered, Adam was in the suede chair that sat in the farthest corner from his desk, auburn hair had grown long enough to obscure his face. He turned his attention towards her, giving the crack of an ingenuine smile he’d taken to greeting her with; she wasn’t sure if it meant hello or get out.

“Hopefully the powers not out for too long,” she said, setting a large, glass candle down on the desk; a fine layer of dust had collected on its oak surface. She turned back towards him, leaning against it. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“No,” he replied.

She wouldn’t ask him if he wanted something; he’d say no. She left the office, the door open behind her, and went to the kitchen.