The nighttime breeze floated through the upstairs bedroom window and tapped Miranda on the knee. She was close to sleep but the coolness on her bare skin filled her with energy.

Come with me, it beckoned.

Miranda looked up from her book but could see only inky blackness through the window. The breeze caressed her face arms legs like a cool drink of water.

“I can’t leave,” she said. “Besides, where would we go?”

Come with me, it said. Or don’t. But I’m not staying long.

“God dammit! You gotta hang onto the goddamn ball!” her husband railed from the living room couch. “What the fuck do we pay you for? Jesus Christ, you suck. YOU SUCK!”

Well, this’ll be an adventure, Miranda mused. What to wear? She hopped up from the bed, threw on a pair of leggings, a sweatshirt, and her all-purpose Brooks running shoes. She lifted the window screen. Hesitated for a moment.

You coming or not?

Miranda climbed out onto the eave. She shimmied down the drainpipe alongside her Japanese maple tree. Landed with a –thud!– on the ground.

She paused, frozen. Did he hear that? Not over the referee’s whistle and her husband shouting, “Flag! It’s a fucking flag!”

Miranda exhaled.

She crossed the front yard, careful to avoid her security cameras. Then she found herself on the street. Looking at her neighbor Kelly’s house across the way. Pulling away from the vortex of home. The further she walked the less she felt its pull. She followed a night runner whose headlamp and reflective vest provided a bobbing beacon. For a moment, she felt free.

Just as the street turned the corner, the breeze dissipated. Leaving Miranda in stillness and humidity. Her pace slowed.

“That’s a fucking personal foul!” pierced the darkness.

Miranda felt herself being sucked backwards backwards backwards along the street, across her yard, up through the window, and onto her bed … where she had been all along.