You're up before the rest of the house, and the kitchen is cold enough that you can see your breath near the window. The space heater is pulled out from the closet again, glowing orange by the table, cord stretched across the floor to the only outlet that works. The basement door is open behind it, because that's where the noise was coming from an hour ago, a groaning that stopped and didn't start again. You've got a coat on over your pajamas. The coffee maker is the only thing that sounds normal. Outside it's still dark, still January, still Ohio, and the furnace downstairs isn't doing the one job it has.