“Good bones, Em,” Nate said.

“Really good bones.”

He pushed through the waist-high ragweed around the south corner of the house, his heavy work boots flattening a path through the dry stalks.

I followed in his tracks, my knuckles brushing rough stems that soaked straight through my jeans.

At the side wall, he stopped under the gray siding where the power line came into the house.

He reached up and ran his calloused thumb along the frayed gray insulation on the wire.