I’m ripped from my dreams in my former bedroom the next morning. For once, it’s not because I’ve got an idea for a song or a line I need to write down. It’s because of shrieking in the distance. I tug on tailored black shorts and a white tank top I brought from New York and head downstairs, but by the time I get there, it’s quiet. The morning sun spills in through the huge kitchen windows and the slider doors. The only sign of life is Haley moving around the cavernous space, making coffee in a flowing black top. “Everyone alive?” I ask. She turns, smiling. “Your dad took...