Meredith insisted on a workshop for her furniture projects, while I wanted a small office with enough light to keep me from pretending I had to go downtown every evening.

Finally we found a brick house on a quiet road with a wide porch and old maple trees.

The roof needed attention.

The back gate dragged across the ground.

A real estate agent apologized for the imperfections, but Meredith walked through the rooms and looked more at home than I had seen her in years.

I asked if she wanted to make an offer.

She turned to me.