A Silver Photo Frame on Our Porch Ended My Fifteen Year Blind Spot
“Your husband is very thorough, Anna,” Dr. Sterling said, allowing me to take her wool coat. “He sent me a rather detailed prospectus last week.”
Anna did not look at me. Her eyes remained fixed on Dr. Sterling, her skin pale under the hallway chandelier.
“Please,” Anna said after a long, quiet pause. “Come inside.”
We moved into the dining room, where the table was arranged for four. I had spent the previous two hours ensuring the silverware was aligned within a quarter-inch of precision, utilizing the tape measure from my toolbox.
Marcus ran down the stairs, his green shirt untucked, holding a small balsa wood block. He stopped at the entrance of the dining room, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar guests.
“Marcus,” I said. “This is Dr. Sterling and Dr. Vance. They work at the university.”
“Is that a turbine?” Marcus asked, pointing his wooden block toward Claire. “For the windmill?”
“It is a rotor assembly, actually,” Claire said, her voice rising with enthusiasm. “If you are utilizing a vertical-axis model, you will require a three-to-one gear ratio to maximize torque.”
