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approach corridor to Atlanta for most flights coming out of the northeast. At any given time there’d be two or three planes visible. Now the sky was sparkling blue, not a trace of a contrail.
    The chill . . . it reminded him of 9/11. How quiet it was that afternoon, everyone home, watching their televisions, and the sky overhead empty of planes.
    He stood up, walked to the edge of the railing, shaded his eyes against the late afternoon sun. Up towards Craggy Dome there was a fire burning, smoke rising vertical, half a dozen acres from the look of it. Another fire raged much farther out on the distant ridge of the Smokies.
    In the village of Black Mountain, nothing seemed to be moving. Usually, before the trees filled in completely, he could see the red and green of the traffic light at the intersection of State and Main. It was off, not even blinking.
    He looked back at the grandfather clock. It was usually this time of day that the “million-dollar train” came through, so named because it hauled over a million dollars’ worth of coal, mined out of Kentucky for the power plants down near Charlotte. When the girls were younger, an after-dinner ritual was to drive down to the tracks and wave to the engineer as the five heavy diesel-electric locomotives, thundering with power, pulled their load and crawled towards the Swannanoa Gap tunnel.
    The silence was interrupted by a throaty growl as Grandma Jen came up the driveway in her monster, the Edsel.
    She pulled in beside his Talon, got out, and walked up.
    â€œDamnedest thing,” she announced. “Power’s out up at the nursing home. And you should see the interstate, cars just sitting all over the place, not moving.”
    â€œThe power at the nursing home?” John asked. “What about the backup generator? That’s supposed to automatically kick in.”
    â€œWell, the lights went out in the nursing home. I mean completely out.”
    â€œThey’re supposed to have emergency generation. That’s required,” John said.
    â€œNever kicked on. Someone said there must be a broken relay and they’d get an electrician in. But still, it’s a worry. They had to shift patients on oxygen to bottled air, since the pumps in each room shut off. Tyler’s feeding tube pump shut off as well.”
    â€œIs he all right?”
    â€œHe was nearly done with the feeding anyhow, so no bother. They said he’d be OK. So I go out to the parking lot and all the five o’clock shift of nurses and staff were out there, all of them turning keys, and nothing starting . . . but that old baby, the one you call the monster, just purred to life. Had to be here for my little girl, and that monster, as you call it, worked as it always has.”
    She nodded back proudly to her Edsel.
    â€œCan we go for a ride and see everything, Grandma?” Jennifer asked.
    â€œWhat about your party?” John asked.
    â€œNo one else showed up,” Jennifer said sadly.
    Grandma Jen leaned over and kissed her on the top of the head.
    â€œLord’s sake, child, you’re a mess.”
    â€œThey were up playing in the field.”
    â€œAnd wearing your necklace when doing that?” Jen asked, horrified.
    John grimaced and realized he should have made sure Jennifer had taken it off before running around with the dogs. If she had lost it or it got broken in the roughhousing with the dogs, there’d have been hell to pay.
    â€œA burger, Jen?” he asked quickly to distract her.
    She shook her head.
    â€œNot hungry.”
    â€œAt least some cake.”
    â€œOK.”
    He went back into the kitchen and lit the twelve candles on the cake, a special one of course, no sugar, and brought it out singing “Happy Birthday,” Pat and Jen joining in.
    The other gifts were now opened, a card from Bob and Barbara Scales with a gift certificate for a hundred bucks for Amazon, the Beanies he had carried over from