That evening, with the sun still high over the lake, I carried the oak frame in from the van.

I had cut it from a scrap of white oak and sanded it twice.

Diane held the level to the hallway wall while I measured.

“An inch lower,” she said.

“Two minutes ago you said an inch higher.”

“I changed my mind.

I’m allowed.”

The hallway smelled of floor wax and the lemon soap she kept under the sink.