Winslow knocked on the cabin door and waited, running through the list of tasks for the rest of the day. Just this guest, then the kitchen of the Circean Delight. It didn't matter that he wasn't an electrician: anymore, the switchboard paged him for any problem that involved some kind of machine, and Winslow was happy to be occupied. It kept him from feeling lonely.
"Miss, it's maintenance," he called, his Tennessee accent cutting the word into two gently slurred syllables.