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***January 25, 2026***
Someone was tapping at the bedroom door. "Mama?"
Alexandra Eames Goren had been sound asleep on her right side, cushioned by Bobby's bulk behind her as good as a toasty heating pad, with his arm thrown carelessly around her belly. Now, as her nose and one eye peeped from under the covers, she knew instantly what was wrong.
"Come in, Min," she said, wiggling under Robert Goren's embrace. He murmured, "If you keep doing that..."
"Not in front of the child," she murmured, but not softly enough for Olivia, who stood framed in the doorway, arms hugging herself and hunched up even in a warm robe, to ignore. Instead she giggled, then complained, "It's cold."
"Power's out," Bobby groaned, then they said as one, "Bandit!"
"Where's the tension rod and the curtain? Still in your office?"
"Yes," she said.
Olivia had already wandered away to the front window in the hallway, kneeling on the salvaged church pew and calling, "Ah, le vache! Look at the snow!"
Randall opened his bedroom door halfway. "What's all the noise?" He squinted without his glasses and was barefoot. "Why's it so cold?"
"The mains are off."
"Speak English, willya?"
She giggled again. "I am speaking English, that's the problem. The electricity's off. Put something warm on and come see the snow. Maybe over 30 centimeters."
Olivia was teasing him deliberately now, and he rolled his eyes and returned to his room.
Alex came rushing out of the bedroom in sweats, wool socks, and fuzzy slippers, with a bright red cotton scarf over her ears. "Olivia, change into something warm, please, and come help."
Bobby emerged behind her, in a similar outfit, save for his Doc Martens and a baseball cap, as Alex descended the stairs. "Be down in a jif."
They'd taken the news warnings of a potential power failure seriously the night before, and Alex was grateful that the back parlor door to the kitchen was closed tight. It was already chilly in the room, and she immediately pulled a fleece covering from under the budgie's cage and draped it over the usual flannel cover to hold in the bird's body heat. "Hold on, little bug, help's coming."
Next she went to the fireplace, made sure the damper was open, turned the key for the gas log, then used a butane lighter to start the fire. By then Olivia was back downstairs in sweatshirt and sweatpants, knee socks, and fur slippers, and had stopped in the hallway to grab her hat.
"Min, open the far window just a teeny crack, then get me that wooden TV tray."
They operated like a well-oiled machine. Next, Bobby clattered down the stairs carrying a tension rod to mount between the built-in bookcases which separated the back parlor from the front. Hung from it was the thick dark curtain Bruno Volpe had used to close off the rear of his house during his final years. It extended to the floor and would retain the room's heat.
Once the curtain was up and heat coming from the fireplace, Alex made comforting sounds to the little parakeet and set his cage on the TV tray in front of the fire, pulling back only the front of the covers. Bandit, fluffed up and still on one foot, tweedled at her, then stretched his neck to stare at the fire in curiosity. From a drawer under the top shelf of the table that acted as a birdcage stand, Alex withdrew a thermometer and hung it on the bars.
"Everyone keep an eye on this," she said, tapping the item. "He can't get too warm, either. Thanks for the help, sweetie." She gave Olivia a kiss on the cheek.
Bandit now hopped down to where the thermometer hung and began to peck at it from the back, muttering, "Bad bird. Bad boy."
Randall peeked from around the curtain, now also clad in sweats and wool socks in his school shoes, with a jacket on top. "Wow, warmer already. Dad--can I light the stove? Please?"
They had still not invested in a new range--Alex figured that wouldn't happen until the old Glenwood was on its last legs--and the oven required lighting with a long match. Randall still found it a fascinating process.
"You need me, Eames?" Bobby asked.
"Maybe later," she grinned. "Go make something hot."
He bent to grab the two big battery-powered LED flashlights from under the silent television when Randall asked, "May I help, Dad?"
Bobby noticed how attentively he always watched when their friend TJ, who was the chef in their favorite restaurant, the Dark Crystal, worked at the grill. "Start the oatmeal while I get to the eggs? Saucepan, three and a half cups of water, set it to boil, measure two cups of oats, then find the spatula I use."
"And when the water boils, I dump the oats in and turn the fire down. But first I have to light the burner."
"Hold on." The kitchen was dim with silvery morning light from the snow, but Bobby upended the two flashlights, one on either side of the stove, so that their light bounced off the white ceiling. This supplied illumination to cook by. Then he fished a long matchstick from the vintage match holder on the wall, lit it with a long scrape against the strike pad, opened the oven after turning on the gas, then touched the match head into the hole at the base of the oven. It lit obediently with a satisfying "poof!" and Bobby carefully handed the lit match to Randall.
"Just a little gas or it will 'whump' in our face," was the caution, but Randall found the burner setting immediately so that the right front burner lit satisfactorily, and he handed the match off to his father to light the remainder of the burners.
"Pretty soon, buddy," Bobby teased, "your mom and I will have breakfast in bed, a la Randall."
"I bet I could do that," Randall said importantly, filling the smaller saucepan with water and setting it on the burner.
Bobby smiled to himself, remembering eighteen months earlier and the little boy in the interrogation room who could barely lift his eyes and stammered when he spoke.
"Just remember that 'a watched pot never boils'" he added, as Randall fixed his attention on the pan.
"Huh?"
"It won't boil any quicker if you stare at it. Go out to the sun porch and get the coolers."
Randall did so and brought them next to the refrigerator. "Quick, now. I'm taking the eggs, butter, and ham. You grab the milk. Last one out shuts the door fast."
The breakfast ingredients were all in one bin, part of their power failure prep, which Bobby swooped up. Randall yanked out the four gallons of milk and distributed them in the two coolers, then hastily also grabbed the rest of the ham slices and lunch meat, and the door was closed. Bobby then darted into the freezer to pull the overflowing ice bin, closed the door, and distributed the ice evenly in both coolers. When he returned the bin, he pulled out ground beef enough for spaghetti sauce for two meals.
"Don't touch the freezer again," he warned.
"Yes, sir."
They worked together now with efficiency. First Bobby put ground coffee into the filter top of the old percolator, filled it with water, and set it on a back burner. Next he filled the teakettle and put it on the second back burner. Having chopped the ham the night before, all that was left for him to do was cook the eggs and ham together with seasoning and chives while Randall tipped the raw oats into boiling water and stirred it as it cooked. The steaming water and food made the kitchen warm and delicious-smelling. The finished coffee was left on a low burner, as was the water in the kettle, and by the time Alex and Olivia entered with trays, Bobby was dishing out ham and eggs while Randall ladled hot oatmeal into bowls.
Alex poured two cups of coffee, then set them with creamer packets and sugar on two of the trays, followed by two cups of instant hot chocolate courtesy the water in the teakettle on the second pair. Bobby set the oven on low with the kitchen window cracked. He paused only to fill Sam's bowl with food and bring the dog's water and food bowls, and their "slop tray," into the back parlor. The collie lapped water noisily and crunched on his breakfast while they settled in front of the fire to eat.
Bandit's thermometer was holding steady at 64 degrees and soon the sound of a budgie's beak hulling seeds and crunching on pellets was added to the mealtime sounds, accompanied by the soughing of gusting wind against the side of the house.
"So," Randall said, after cramming several mouthfuls of scrambled egg and oatmeal into his mouth, "when breakfast is over, we can go out and build a snowman-"
"After we shovel," Olivia reminded, rolling her eyes at his hurried eating. "'First we do the chores, then we get to do the things.'"
"You're sure bossy," Randall complained.
"I'm your sister," was Olivia's lofty reply. "It's my vocation."
Alex, recalling her younger brother's complaints about her and her older sister, started to laugh, coughed on a crumb of ham, and had to dislodge it before continuing to chuckle.
"Bad news, buddy," Bobby warned. "Brothers are just as bad, and they give you noogies when you don't listen."
"Give you what?" Olivia asked in surprise and Bobby had to explain.
"How cringe is that?" she said with distaste when he went back to his meal.
Bobby's phone chirped and he glanced at the text. "Cal says he'll be here in a half-hour to do the driveways. Eat up." He slipped out of the back parlor to put the dutch oven on the stove filled with water at high flame, then returned.
"It's not like you have to encourage Randall to eat," teased Olivia and her foster brother glowered at her under dark hair. "What did you just do, Papa?"
"We'll have to make do like Ma Ingalls did in the old days," said her father, taking his seat to finish. "Boil the water to wash the dishes, rinse in cold."
Which they did soon afterward, in assembly-line fashion, and then the kids raced to get their coats.
"In the old days," Bobby repeated reflectively when they were gone, "and when dad forgot to pay the electric bill because he blew it at the track."
Alex gave him a hug and then quickly checked on Bandit. "Temp's holding steady in there. Let's 'do the things' so we can get back inside and get warm."
A bellow of an engine outside announced the arrival of Calvin O'Leary, and Olivia and Randall, Sam romping after them, exploded out of the sun porch into the snow. There was already a foot of it outside, and Sam went plunging into it in pure joy, woofing and bounding like a rabbit. The children romped after him, and both ended up rolling in the snow along with the dog.
"Not me, Princess Ozma," Bobby said, when Alex made an "after you" gesture.
"Spoilsport," she said with a grin, scooped at the ground and made a quick snowball, which hit him just under the chin.
Bobby said in his best, dry Bugs Bunny approximation, "'I suppose you know, this means war,'" and followed it with two big handfuls of snow which covered the shoulders of her parka and dribbled under her collar.
That's what they wanted to hear, after the discovery of Paulette Poudrier in the woods, and Callandra Benoit's false friendship followed by Olivia's recriminations against herself, the shrieks of laughter from both children that were worth snow down the neck and a stinging nose. Even Calvin, who had finished plowing out the driveway of the "Dovecote" and was maneuvering his riding snowblower as he worked on clearing the space behind their Honda Pilot and Bobby's Mustang, was chuckling, and Alex and Bobby finally dusted themselves off and found some shovels.
Carlos and Ana Serrano came trudging through the snow to help, bundled up in heavy jackets and hats, carrying their own snow shovels.
"Where's Aunt Abbi?" Randall asked, cutting the snow around the sun porch with a small flat shovel.
"Abi-Abi," giggled Ana, referring to her grandmother, who was the Serrano children's guardian, "says she'll stay by the stove making chocolate caliente for all of us, thank you!"
Carlos nudged Bobby. "C'mon, Mr. G, or we'll never get this done."
With six of them working, the sidewalks and stoops were cleared quickly, and the shoveling devolved into a snowball fight that ended with Alex inviting Abbi Diaz and the kids to dinner. Then Carlos and Ana retreated, having promised to play Ochos Locos with their abuela.
"Maybe we should play cards, too," Randall said excitedly as they divested coats, boots, and other outerwear in the foyer. When Bobby had finished, he pulled an old towel from the bin and rubbed the snow from Sam's fur, trying to avoid being licked by the happy dog.
"I wanted to play Scrabble," complained Olivia as she tugged off her boots.
"You know we can't beat Dad at Scrabble," objected Randall.
Bobby dropped the towel back into its bin and Sam went skittering off into the kitchen, leaving the swinging door swaying back and forth, then romped back into the back parlor through the front, to get to his water dish.
Alex laughed and Bobby came up behind Randall and put his hands on the boy's shoulders. "So that's it? Playing Scrabble is all about winning?"
Randall tipped his head backward. "But you're the one with all the words."
"You mean like 'quokka,' which he won with last time?" teased Alex.
"Even I had to look that one up in the encyclopedia," Olivia said, aggrieved.
"We could play Uno," suggested Alex, and fished the cards out of the game table in the front parlor, before they settled in front of the fireplace in the back parlor.
Olivia's eyes went wide. "Mama, you picked Uno No Mercy."
"Did I?" Alex asked innocently.
"No holds barred?" Bobby blinked at her, amused.
Randall propped his chin on his hand. "'Livia, I think we shoulda stuck with Scrabble."
. . . . .
"Next time," Olivia warned as they finished their third game of Uno, "we get to pick the game." Then she giggled. "But it was fun."
"My grandma used to let me win," Randall agreed, handing Alex his leftover cards, "when we played Hearts. It wasn't near as much fun." He scrambled to his feet, then asked, "Do you need help, Dad?"
"Not yet," Bobby said, but rising from the floor, even in as good shape as he was, was awkward considering his size, and he had to momentarily balance himself on the bricks of the hearth. This was accompanied by a soft pop. "I think that was my knee telling me not to make such rash statements."
Bandit, fluffed and chirbling, piped up, "Whatcha doing?"
Alex could still easily rise from a cross-legged position and grinned at him. "He's creaking to his feet, little bug."
The budgie offered a few soft notes and then tweedled happily and uttered, "Good boy!"
Bobby enfolded her in his arms. "We can discuss my infirmities later, sweet lady."
Olivia rolled her eyes as her parents kissed. "I'm fetching my drawing things. If you two want to canoodle, go ahead."
"I'll find a book," Randall said promptly and headed for the Hardy Boys.
By the time Olivia had returned from her bedroom with her pencils and a drawing pad--"It's freezing up there!"--and Randall had a book, Bobby was seated in one of the two armchairs, Alex perched on the left arm with her legs across his lap, and they were mostly gazing into the fire and talking quietly about lunch. Olivia regarded them thoughtfully, then opened her drawing pad and began to sketch.
In a few minutes Randall looked over her shoulder as she tried to work the proportions using her thumb and fingers. "Wow. I wish I could draw like that."
Olivia shrugged. "I've always drawn, and I had lessons for a couple of years. Anybody can draw."
"I was told I wasn't good at art," Randall said, squirming.
"Some teachers will tell you that, because they don't want to bother. Mr. Clancy at Creatwood would say you might never be Gainsborough, but you can still draw," and Olivia tore out a page and handed him a pencil. "Try something simple first, like Bandit's table. Just draw. Don't worry about it. Nobody's grading you. Do it one shape at the time, and make it look as much like that table as you can."
Randall put the book down, lay down on his stomach, and began to work on the paper with the pencil.
Finally Alex unwound herself from her perch. "I'm ravenous, my Wizard. How about some soup for lunch?"
"I'm hungry, too!" Randall said, scrambling up from the floor. "May I go open some cans?"
"Shoo!" Alex said, with the accompanying hand motion, but before he vanished, Olivia called, "Who said you couldn't draw? But ask your art teacher about perspective lessons." She rose gracefully with his paper and pencil along with hers. "See?"
Alex nodded. "You can tell it's Bandit's table, even if the perspective is off. May we see yours?"
To their surprise, Olivia blushed, then handed the drawing pad over and trotted after Randall. Bobby flipped the cover up.
"It's us," Alex said quietly, and even with the yet-undetailed drawing and iffy proportions by a 12-year-old, Olivia had captured Bobby's warm embrace, Alex's face in profile and half-curtained by her hair as she gazed at him, their relaxed ease together, with Bobby's right hand on her knee.
"Maybe some day she'll illustrate my book," he said wistfully.
. . . . .
After lunch the children donned their outerwear and crossed the yard, inveigling Ana and Carlos into more snow play. Ring Burgess, a college-age teen from Charter Street, came tramping by looking for walks to shovel. He had been in high school with Carlos before Ana had started attending, and the three stood around talking about the power being off, school, and Carlos' best friend Tito who had played basketball with Ring the previous year. Olivia and Randall became bored when they began talking of the various class cliques and started a snowball fight that ended up with Ring going home with no extra cash but a quantity of extra snow.
Olivia and Randall came in scattering flakes and snowmelt everywhere, and tried to put their boots, coats, and hats up to drip properly over the boot trays, knowing Alex would only make them redo it again if they didn't.
Randall whispered, "You don't think they're doing anything private, do you?"
"I don't think so," Olivia responded. "I can hear Papa talking."
Still, they peeked around the curtain to find Bobby and Alex back in the armchair, this time with a fleece throw casually over their laps, and, illuminated by a tiny book light, Bobby was reading Robert Frost aloud while Alex leaned her head against his, her eyes half-closed.
They tiptoed into the room and Olivia saw her drawing pad and pencils back on the hearth. Happily, she went back to her sketch while Randall took up the Hardy Boys again, Sam draped himself between them, and Bandit chirbled accompaniment to Bobby's voice.
. . . . .
About five p.m. there was a knock at the kitchen door, and Randall sprang up from his reading position and ran to answer it, Sam barking and wagging by his side. Bundled in pom-pom hat, scarves and a parka, Abbi Diaz looked like little Randy in the film A Christmas Story, so Randall grinned at her and asked, "Can you put your arms down?"
Behind her, Ana and Carlos burst out laughing, and Abbi, who had seen the film half-a-dozen times a month earlier, said tartly, "Not now, but when my coat is gone you might be able to feel my hand on your nalgas."
Now Randall was laughing, too, because tender-hearted Abbi was no more capable of spanking him than Alex was.
"I smell cornbread," Alex said as she emerged from the back parlor. "Mexican cornbread?"
"We colluded on the phone about an hour ago," Bobby reported as he and Olivia appeared. "I made the spaghetti sauce with a touch of chili seasoning, and Abbi made Mexican cornbread."
"With heaps of scallions," Olivia said blissfully, sniffing.
"And sharp cheese and niblets," Abbi finished, patting her cheek, "but no jalapenos because I know you do not like them."
"I browned the meat and simmered it about a half hour ago," Bobby said, lifting the lid of the Dutch oven, so that the collie who had been checking out the cornbread a second earlier was now in front of the stove, nose working rapidly. "It should be done."
He reached for spaghetti, but Alex arched her eyebrows. "Elbow macaroni would cook faster."
"Hungry, Princess Ozma?" he asked mischievously, and she batted eyes in return in a way that made Ana snort.
"You two need to get a room," Carlos groaned.
"Oh, we're saving the canoodling for later," Bobby said seriously, "when it will keep us warm."
Abbi said in exasperation, half-laughing, "Listen to you, in front of the ninos!"
"Don't let them fool you," Alex returned. "they know more than we do."
"After all those episodes of Dateline, yeah," joked Carlos.
"I'll get the elbow pasta, Papa," Olivia said in a mock-weary voice, "so you don't have to let go of her hand."
"You keep growing," Bobby objected, shifting in a flash from Alex to Olivia, lifting her up so their faces were at the same level, "but you're still a little monkey."
He kissed her forehead, lowered her to the floor, and she laughed and hugged him, while he reached into the cupboard and withdrew their supply of elbow macaroni.
"You wanted to cook, Rand," Bobby said seriously. "Here, start these," and, with a confidence that made them all smile, Randall retrieved the saucepan, filled it with water, and did.
"And I'll feed Sam," Olivia offered.
Around the kitchen table since the room was fairly warm thanks to the oven, an extra chair brought in from the dining room, their table centerpiece a big kerosene lantern, they ate dinner in the same teasing affection, slipping bits of cornbread to Sam as he patrolled the floor for crumbs, the children debating whether there would be school next day, Alex discussing what to do if the power stayed out longer than the safety margins on the food in the freezer, Abbi confessing she'd just used Jiffy cornbread mix for the base and how disappointed her madre would be, and Bobby simply eating and watching over them with dark introspective eyes.
Alex knew that look; she'd said the words to herself when he first kissed her in the shed more than four years earlier: Warm...safe...home.
He smiled back when she wordlessly communicated that to him.
As Randall argued that Hostess cupcakes would be a better dessert than biscotti, there was a low rumble and then a thrum. The light in the extractor fan assembly over the stove blinked, faded, went out, then flickered twice, browned out, then blossomed at full wattage. The refrigerator hummed to life.
From behind the back parlor door, Bandit chirped excitedly as one of the lamps came on.
"Bummer," Randall said in disappointment. "I wanted to camp out next to the fire tonight."
"And I guess we have school tomorrow," Ana sighed.
"You might still have distance learning. With the power out all day, the school heating system may need a day to recover. We'll have to wait for a text later," observed Bobby.
Abbi rose, starting to collect the plates. "No hot water yet," she reminded.
"Just scrape and rinse them, por favor," Bobby requested. "We'll put them in the dishwasher and delay start. If the power stays on, they'll be clean by morning."
"I'm going to bump the thermostat up temporarily," Alex said as she disappeared out the door, "to get upstairs warm by bedtime."
"We had better do that, too," Abbi instructed, gesturing toward their coats laid on top of the bookcase full of cookbooks, only to hear four juvenile voices raised in protest.
"I'll run next door and do it, Abi-Abi," Carlos said, snatching his coat. Sam was standing by the kitchen door, and he added, "and take Sam with me."
"And then you can stay and watch Jeopardy with us," Olivia said happily, consulting her watch.
"Set it warm enough!" Abbi called as Carlos departed, and Ana groaned and whispered to Olivia, "She means Puerto Rico warm...we'll have to open our windows!"
Much later, after Jeopardy ended and Abbi and her grandchildren had gone home, Bobby and Alex were still toasting their feet before the fire although the room was now warm enough that Bandit's cage was back in its accustomed place and the bird himself was sitting on Alex's shoulder preening the skin on her neck. The television had been turned off and Olivia was adding details to the drawing she had begun earlier while Randall was stretched out with his head pillowed on Sam's furry shoulder, wiggling his stockinged toes.
"It was cold," he said dreamily, "but this was fun, all around the fire."
"We can set up a no-electronics day any time you like," Bobby suggested. "It might be good for all of us."
"Including your laptop addict?" was Alex's tongue-in-cheek response, and he just grinned and flashed his eyebrows.
Alex's phone buzzed and she pulled it out just enough to check the screen. "Distance learning tomorrow!"
"Yeah!" Randall cheered, then frowned. "Except I won't get to talk to Kenny or go to Astronomy club."
"No History Hunters either," Olivia mourned, "and still have to do bloody algebra."
"School or no school, it's bedtime," Bobby told them.
"We know," Olivia said, gathering up her drawing things and her stuffed fox.
"I could be persuaded to make gingerbread tomorrow," he offered.
She giggled, then tagged Randall with her left hand. "Last one upstairs is a dirty bird," and she dashed through the curtain, which had not yet been taken down.
Randall hugged Sam good night, picked up his book, and scrambled to his feet. "She still hasn't figured out I'm a boy and don't care if I'm dirty."
"You'd better be clean after your shower," Alex threatened him with lowered but dancing eyes.
"Yes'm," he laughed and vanished.
"Hmmn," Bobby said a minute later as they heard footsteps pelting above, "about a half hour till tuck-in. Sofa's free."
Alex's eyes twinkled. "Why, so it is."
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