Allison sat comfortably in a softly lit room and stared out the window. She sank deeper into the cushion of the overstuffed leather chair, her forearms draped on the plump brown armrests. Behind her, in Tony's great room, the jerk from the graveyard chatted quietly with an older, tan-skinned woman, both of them cast in shadow that the hearth's warm fire did not dispel. Further afield, her uncle Brad was in the kitchen, helping their host to set the table. Allison couldn't hear either conversation if she wanted to, on account of the music filling the house.

  On the mantelpiece above the crackling fireplace, a long-barreled shotgun with wood furniture hung in a place of pride. Above it, a pair of speakers pumped with a mid-century oomph as a round-voiced Italian man sang a litany of woes about a woman named Mary.

  She sounded like a real charmer. Is there a man anywhere that knows how to talk to, or about, women? Allison wondered. Mostly, she ignored it, alone in a crowd.

  She gazed out the window, to the east, over the pond and trees. The sun had set, but the rising moon shone clearly on eastern peaks. She could make out two, close at hand, separate from the Jay range's spine.

  "Charcuterie?"

  A plump, hairy hand descended between her and the window, lowering a wooden board spangled with a variety of cheese and deli meats. The sudden appearance of prosciutto and provolone startled Allison. She flinched, bringing her hands up into a defensive boxing stance. The curled fist of her prosthesis collided with the charcuterie board, sending cubes of cheese and half circles of meats flying in all directions.

  Tony swore, eyes wide as lightbulbs, his face full of panic as the hefty wooden tray slid from his hands, landing upside down on Allison.

  "Ack." Allison winced. She glanced down to see cheese and sausage splattered onto her shirt and jeans. The singing grew louder as conversation stopped. A quick look around the room confirmed that the rest of the town was in fact staring at her and Tony.

  "Mannaggia," Tony moaned, reaching to clean the meat off of his guest's lap, before stopping himself. "I am so sorry, that was on me, oh geez, the meats…" He trailed off.

  Allison grabbed the wooden tray and pushed it into her host's open hands. "It's okay, I jumped," she said, standing to peel the food from her flannel and her jeans. She looked around for a place to dispose of the ruined food, then settled for the still available board.

  "I can cut some more," Tony said helpfully. "I'm starvin' here. Got appetizers for twenty in the kitchen."

  "No thank you," Allison answered. "I don't have much of an appetite." She stepped away from her flailing host and gazed back out the window.

  "No appetite?" Tony's face fell. "No appetite? I've got a spread you ain't gonna believe." He tilted his head, studying Allison's reflection in his window. The mirror image frowned back into the room, arms folded, a red light pulsing on its synthetic left hand. "What were ya lookin' at out there anyway?"

  "Nothing? Just the moon, the mountains."

  "Ah," Tony nodded. "Got quite a view from here. It's why I bought the place. Peace and quiet, in the shadow of Bitch Mountain."

  "Excuse me?" Allison turned, nose wrinkled in disgust. Just be calm. Brad said he's not a bad guy. But it was clearly possible to be a nice guy and an utter moron at the same time.

  Jael came to the rescue, hustling in from the kitchen with a wad of wet paper towels in hand. "He's talking about our mountains," she said, passing Tony and handing Allison the towels. Jael smiled apologetically at Allison, then plucked an overlooked chip of bread from her shoulder. "Bitch Mountain. It's the southern peak, there," she pointed. "The northern one is Jug Mountain."

  "You can always tell when something is named by a man," Allison replied. She was glad to have Jael among the testosterone-heavy environment. She'd only met the other woman that evening, but already felt a kinship with her—like an older sister, or cool aunt.

  "Eh, could be weirder." Tony shrugged, his motion threatening to tip the ruined food to the floor. "On the other side of the range they got one named Pok-o-Moonshine. Maybe that inspired your uncle," he said with a wink.

  Allison stared at the man blankly.

  Tony continued, "You know, 'cause of his—" Jael laid a hand on his shoulder and gave him a stern look.

  "Tony, give her some space," Jael interrupted. "She's already had a solid dose of the old Gelato charm. Why don't you go make sure Brad isn't sorting your silverware drawer again."

  "Gesù, I said I was sorry," Tony muttered. He walked back to the kitchen, his head hung low over the spoiled gesture of hospitality. Jael rolled her eyes, then crossed the room to stand near the fire. Allison followed. She felt comfortable chatting with Jael, especially with the lunkhead from the graveyard out of sight for the moment.

  After all that, she was glad for conversation and tried to learn about the older woman's story. Instead, her new acquaintance kept asking her questions.

  "So where were you from before the Great Cold Cuts rain of '25?" Jael asked, smiling with the easy manner of someone used to drawing people out.

  "Los Angeles, lately." Allison shifted from one foot to the other. She'd expected to be the one asking questions. "Here before that. Well, not here, but New York. Fultonville area."

  "One coast to the other. Bet that was a change."

  Allison nodded, unconsciously rubbing her prosthesis. "Yeah. Different world out there. I thought I was going to spend the next chapter of my life there, working for Tetherly, breaking ground on wearables and augmentations."

  Jael's eyes widened. "Wow, that's impressive. Jake mentioned something about your work, but I didn't know how prestigious it was."

  "Prestigious? No," Allison scoffed. "That's what I wanted, what I thought was going to happen. But really? I was just Allison Myles, Human Cyborg Relations—a token broken girl."

  Jael's expression softened with sympathy, the firelight playing with raccoon-like shadows across the woman's face. The silence stretched between them, filled only by Tony's animated voice from the kitchen.

  Silent pity. The room seemed to shrink. Allison flailed around for an out, latching onto Tony's earlier cryptic remark. "What was he talking about before? About the mountain inspiring Uncle Brad?"

  "You really don't know, huh?" Jael asked. "I wondered. You should ask your uncle about that."

  Allison frowned. Ordinarily, she would have quailed from rebuttal. But not tonight. Tonight, irritated to be there and still low on sleep, she pushed back. "Well, since he didn't, why don't you?"

  "Your uncle has an…interesting side hustle. I know it was a rift between him and Jake. It's his story to tell, not mine." Jael paused and looked towards the kitchen. "And I have a few questions for him, myself."

  Before Allison could ask for elaboration, the three men emerged from the kitchen, each carrying a salad bowl or serving tray loaded with fragrant components of the meal. Her uncle led the way with the salad—a generous mix of lettuce, olives, and parmesan cheese. Matthias followed, bearing a wooden tray with a crusty, partially sliced loaf of bread surrounded by small dishes of olive oil, roasted garlic, and butter. Allison's stomach rumbled, betraying her hunger.

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  "Gimme one second," Tony said. He set down a saucepan of pasta in marinara sauce beside the abundant salad bowl, then fished a slender black remote out of his pocket and pointed it towards the stereo behind the women. The music stopped. "Ladies and gentlemans, thank you for coming to my sagra. I hope you brought your appetites."

  Jael walked from the mantel towards the table. "Quite the production," she said, pulling back a chair and seating herself at the table. "Too bad no one caught you three stooges on camera." Allison followed close behind, unsure of what her acquaintance's remark had meant. Still, she chose a plate next to the older woman. Despite that and her other cryptic remarks about her uncle, Jael beat Tony or Matthias for a seatmate. She felt further relief when Brad sat to her right—until Matthias seated himself directly across from her.

  "Hello again," he said, while heaping a pile of lettuce and olives on his plate, the leaves slick with oil. "I was afraid you might not be present."

  "I told her this was the place to be tonight," Brad said. Allison kept her face calm, eyes focused on her uncle's hands as he spread butter on his slice of bread. Tony's butter knife was a thick hunk of stubby steel, reminding Allison of the blade she'd grasped while fleeing from Hadley. She had an irrational, wild urge to wrest the implement from her uncle and place it between her and the man across the table.

  "Hon, is everything alright?" A slight hand brushed her left wrist. She jumped, registering the question. Jael was looking at her, concern written on her face.

  "Fine. Not hungry, that's all." I wish I could disappear. Jael, Brad, and Tony stared at her in silence. Matthias, across the table, looked back at her with eyes wide and mouth hanging limply like a fish, or an idiot.

  Matthias closed his mouth, seeming to realize how he looked. "I apologize," he said quietly. "I did not mean to stare. I wanted to—" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "—I was not expecting to see anyone earlier. I stumbled in my words to you. I apologize."

  The admission, delivered with such genuine discomfort, punctured some of Allison's tension. She recognized something in his awkwardness—not menace, but the fumbling of someone perpetually out of step. Nothing like Hadley's calculated charm. Matthias wasn't studying her like a conquest, or a snack; he was tripping over his own shortcomings.

  "It's fine," she said quickly, her voice softening. She let out a breath, flashed her uncle a smile, and shoveled salad onto her plate. Brad belatedly uncorked a bottle of red wine from the Finger Lakes region and poured a toast for the table. Matthias tried to turn down the libation, until Jael piped up. "It's only a toast, Matty. Don't be a schmuck. Have a sip." The German relented and raised his glass with the rest.

  "To good food, good times, and good neighbors," Tony said, then leaned forward to clink glasses with his guests. After that, supper began in earnest. Around the table, conversation began to flow. Tony bragged about his mother's time-honored recipes, while Jael critiqued the seasoning, drawing a scowl from their host, then doubled down and pressed him mercilessly on his marinara.

  "No lie, these came from a can. I can taste the steel," she said, popping another forkful into her mouth. "I bet you've got a shelf in your basement stacked three deep with Cento crushed tomatoes."

  "I do not use canned tomatoes," Tony replied. He was already through with his first glass of wine and well into his second, his face a warm pink. "I bought them fresh yesterday at the PriceChopper. Besides, I don't use my basement."

  "You don't?" Jael asked, sounding genuinely surprised. "No office or gym or anything down there?"

  "Nah," Tony replied. "I mean, there's some boxes and crap. Haven't been down there since after I bought the place and moved in. Not a fan of being underground. Makes me uncomfortable."

  "Wish I'd known," Brad shook his head. "I could have saved a fortune by skipping a basement dug out for that one."

  "Hold on, you used to own this house?" Allison looked at her uncle.

  "Well, I built it, but never lived here," Brad turned to face his niece more directly. "Same as Jael, and Matthias—and your dad's place."

  "Yeah, he basically owns the town," Tony added. “Too bad he only built the first couple out of logs.”

  “Hey, log siding is good enough for 90 percent of the homes in Lake Placid,” Brad retorted. “After doing mine and Jake’s homes, I’d seen enough real logs for a lifetime.”

  "I didn't know you were rich." Allison looked at her uncle in a new light.

  Brad laughed. "I wouldn't go that far. After getting out of the teams I got lucky and won an auction for an abandoned missile silo and a few hundred acres of forest." He stirred the pasta sauce on his plate, face growing vacant as he thought back. "I lived like a gypsy for a few years, building two houses at once, while living in my van. In the end, I had mine, and this one we're in right now. Tony's purchase bankrolled my next house, the one Jael moved into. After that I built your dad's." He pointed a marinara-coated fork across the table. "Matthias is still making payments on the newest—and last—house in town. After that, I'm done. I've got enough neighbors to last the rest of my life."

  "See, he's stuck with us," Jael said, raising her glass in mock salute. "To Brad, the platonic ideal of a landlord and neighbor. Quiet, friendly, and watchful." Brad reddened while Tony laughed, and even Matthias managed a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

  Allison found herself almost smiling. The food was good, even if it was made by a moron. The warmth of the room, the easy rhythm of the others talking, it felt... normal. Safe, even.

  Then Matthias spoke again.

  "Your hand," he said, gesturing with his fork toward her prosthesis. "It is very advanced, yes? How does it function? Is it reading the nerves, or is it myoelectric? I have read about such things, but I have never seen one so sophisticated in person. May I—" He half-rose from his seat, reaching across the table as if to examine it closer.

  "No, you may not," Allison said, her voice tight. The room went silent. Allison's chair scraped against the floor as she stood, her face flushed.

  "Al, wait, he was just asking a question." Brad set his hands on the table and pushed his chair back, but his niece was already halfway to the door. She whirled, fire in her eyes. "I'm sick of questions. I'm tired of people treating me like an object. And I'm sick and tired of acting like this is some normal meal instead of a bunch of goddamn strangers in the middle of nowhere who haven't got anyone else to hang out with." She looked away and added, "Thank you for the meal, Mr. Dalloto, but I have to go."

  She turned and strode toward the door, grabbing her jacket from the hook. Allison pulled open the front door, then slammed it shut behind her. The room filled with odd shadows as the sudden air currents scurried across the floor and buffeted the fire in the hearth.

  "Wow. She looked pissed," Tony said, eyes ping-ponging from the empty chair to the violently slammed door.

  Matthias stared at the door, the echo of its slam still reverberating in his mind. He turned his head slowly to find Brad standing, his lips flat.

  "Something happened in California. She didn't used to be so…" Brad paused, grasping for the right word. "…volatile."

  "So she lost it?" Jael asked.

  "Fireworks accident. She was fourteen."

  "I thought fireworks were illegal in New York," Jael said.

  "They are. Jake brought some up from Pennsylvania. Al was big into chemistry. Thought she could change the colors by adding in some powdered aluminum." Brad sighed and stared into the fire before continuing. "She was working on a mortar, to show Jake what she could do. It was really dry that day. There was a spark…"

  Tony winced. "No shit? Those things are—I'm amazed she still has a face."

  "Welding helmet saved her. But she lost her right arm just shy of the elbow. Jake found her passed out and rushed her to the hospital in Albany. When I got home from Iraq a few months later, she was already learning to live with a broken body and a broken home."

  "Her parents divorced because of the arm?" Matthias asked, sadness evident on his pale face. He still held the forkful of food, untouched from the moment he'd asked Allison about the prosthesis.

  "They were already fighting," Brad replied. "The arm was the final straw. Ellen threw Jake out the next week, won complete custody. It gutted him."

  "That poor girl," Jael said. She pushed her plate away, rested her elbows on the table, and rested her chin in her hands. "But that reaction. Something has happened to her. Recently."

  "Well, yeah, she lost her dad," Tony said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He was rattled, running a few steps behind, and beginning to regret the party.

  "No, this doesn't seem like grief. I think something happened in California," Jael replied. She looked at Allison's uncle. Brad shrugged. "I couldn't get much about recent affairs out of her last night." He resumed his seat and fell into silence.

  Tony got up, refilled wine glasses, restarted the stereo, and tried halfheartedly to salvage the evening. It didn't work. The pasta grew cold, the bread hardened, and even the crackling fire seemed to dim under the weight of Allison's absence. Even Lou Monte, singing cheekily about Lazy Mary, landed flat. Finally, sadly, Tony bid his guests goodnight, far too early for his liking. The sagra was over before Jael's secret recipe dessert ever had a chance.