Melissa Grant, who handled the loading dock and deliveries for the shop, met me at the side door with a hand truck.

She was in her mid-40s, brisk and sure-footed, and she did not waste a word.

Together, we wheeled the machine out into the wind and slid it into the bed of my truck, and I watched her check my ratchet straps twice before she patted the top of the unit and said, “Get that home before the sun’s gone.” I thanked her and meant it.

I did not notice the black SUV idling at the far edge of the lot with its lights off.

My phone buzzed as I climbed into the cab.

It was Rachel and the message said, “The power just flickered again.” I typed back that I was on my way.

The wind had strengthened while I was inside and snow moved across the road in sheets that made my headlights nearly useless.

Somewhere behind me, a large, dark SUV settled about three car lengths back and stayed with me through town and onto the county road.

I did not think about it any further because my whole mind was on getting home.

By the time I turned into my driveway, it was after 5:30 and fully dark.

Rachel had made it home early and she stood on the porch with Noah, who held a flashlight in both hands.

The power had gone out for good 10 minutes earlier, she told me, and the house was already losing heat.

We worked as a team, Rachel and Noah, clearing a path through the drifts while I lowered the tailgate and eased the generator down.

We rolled it into the garage on its wheeled frame and parked it against the side wall where I could check my cables.

I planned to move it outside once everything was ready because a generator never runs in a garage.

Not for a minute, not ever.

I was tracing the connection between my transfer switch and the outdoor inlet, testing an extension cord with a meter when headlights swept across the garage door, and a vehicle stopped in front of my house.

It was the black SUV.

A tall woman in a long camel coat and expensive boots climbed out of the driver’s seat.

Her hair pulled back and a scarf wound high around her neck.

She did not knock and she did not call out.

She walked straight up my driveway, stopped at the open garage door, and looked past me at the machine.

“You bought that one?” she said.

I told her yes and asked if I could help her.