All windows had to be blacked out. I’m not really sure why, but for me, that was the tipping point. “Why?” I asked Charles as he painted the living room window with a brush. “We’re at war.” “Yes, but no one has attacked us from the sky,” I pointed at the blue-grey strip at the top. It was empty and silent, the dull roar and seagull silhouettes of airplanes only a memory. Charles sighed, and I knew what he was thinking before he even opened his mouth. “It’s the law,” he set his brush on the edge of the can, “It’s for safety.” “I’m not sure I believe it. Besides, we can’t see the roses. They were just about to bloom and we’re not supposed to go outside.” “You can go outside,” he picked up his brush, “as long as you’re engaged in purposeful business.” “Picking roses is not purposeful business,” I turned away from him. Every inch of me longed to speak to someone who would understand, but trivial use of the phone was forbidden. The lines needed to be kept clear for