There is a house in Columbia, Maryland that sits on a fault-line in the multiverse.
In laymen’s terms that means it is on “venue of reflection.” It reflects, down to the stained glass door and hummingbird feeder, the house inhabited somewhere else in the universe by Emily and Truman.
They have lived there for a long time. Or at least since lunch. They have little use here for clocks, planners, memory, or historical accuracy.
They bicker gently, like an old married couple. But unlike their other “truer” selves, they fear nothing.
It is quiet here. The sun is always yellow, painted in the sky with crayon (yes, like a Van Gogh imitation drawn by a precocious child.)
They brew coffee, or at least Tru does, adding to it his customary chicory and repartee, only to be waved away by Emily, who keeps her eyes on the hummingbird family at the feeder as she tells him–
Tea, dear. I think I’ll have tea with one of those… French cookie named after a girl…the ones in the tin we keep above the knife drawer…the ones we both love.”