“Are you going to listen to them?” Monica asked from her armchair.

I picked the top notification from my mother, a ninety-second voice message sent at twenty past seven.

Eleanor’s soft, high-pitched voice came through the small speaker, carrying the gentle, coaxing tone she always used when asking for little favors.

“Iris, sweetie,” my mother said in the message.

“Your father drove out to the mountain cabin tonight to check the foundation pipes, and the power is completely off.

The temperature inside is dropping fast.”