«We had a hard winter and a late spring,» I said. «Now we're having a hot summer. And we had a storm but it's over. You're not acting like yourself, Stephanie.»

«That wasn't an ordinary storm,» she said in that same husky voice.

«No,» I said. «I'll go along with you there.»

I had heard the Black Spring story from Bill Giosti, who owned and operated-after a fashion-Giosti's Mobil in Casco Village. Bill ran the place with his three tosspot sons (with occasional help from his four tosspot grandsons … when they could take time off from tinkering with their snowmobiles and dirtbikes). Bill was seventy, looked eighty, and could still drink like twenty-three when the mood was on him. Billy and I had taken the Scout in for a fill-up the day after a surprise mid-May storm dropped nearly a foot of wet, heavy snow on the region, covering the new grass and flowers. Giosti had been in his cups for fair, and happy to pass along the Black Spring story, along with his own original twist. But we get snow in May sometimes; it comes and it's gone two days later. It's no big deal.

Steff was glancing doubtfully at the downed wires again. «When will the power company come?»

«Just as soon as they can. It won't be long. I just don't want you to worry about Billy. His head's on pretty straight. He forgets to pick up his clothes, but he isn't going to go and step on a bunch of live lines. He's got a good, healthy dose of self-interest.» I touched a corner of her mouth and it obliged by turning up in the beginning of a smile. «Better?»

«You always make it seem better,» she said, and that made me feel good.

From the lakeside of the house Billy was yelling for us to come and see.

«Come on,» I said. «Let's go look at the damage.»