HOUSE

AND

HOME
;

Kathleen McCleary

To Paul,
who dragged me kicking and screaming across country,
and started it all.

Contents
Chapter One
THE HOUSE WAS yellow, a clapboard Cape Cod with a

Chapter Two
IT WAS ONLY 7:00 A.M., and Ellen was already hot

15

Chapter Three
NO, HE DIDNT tell me, said Ellen with annoyance. She

27

Chapter Four
ELLEN ARRIVED AT the shop later than usual on Thursday 47
Chapter Five
THE NEXT MORNING dawned clear and bright, without
too much

57

Chapter Six
ELLEN WAS WIDE awake, definitely too wide awake to slip 73
Chapter Seven
THERE WERE TWO fire trucks parked in front of her

85

Chapter Eight
ELLEN WOKE AFTER a night of fitful sleep. She lay

97

Chapter Nine
ELLEN PICKED UP the stiff plastic brush and scrubbed hard 107
Chapter Ten
ELLEN CLUTCHED HER book to her chest and squeezed her 119
Chapter Eleven
ELLEN WAS SO distracted by the idea that Jeffrey wanted

133

Chapter Twelve
JORDAN? ELLEN SAID.

151

Chapter Thirteen
ELLEN ARRIVED AT the store on Thursday morning
exhausted from

163

Chapter Fourteen
JEFFREY STOOD THERE in jeans and a sweater, looking at 179
Chapter Fifteen
WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, start at the beginning, Jo
commanded. Ellen

193

Chapter Sixteen
SHES NOT GOING to let us stay until five, Sam

207

Chapter Seventeen
ELLEN LEAPED OVER the puddle in the street next to

221

Chapter Eighteen
ELLEN STOOD FOR a second outside the door, her heart

239

Chapter Nineteen
ELLEN LEANED AGAINST the blue Formica counter in the
kitchen

251

Acknowledgments
About the Author
Credits
Cover
Copyright

H A P T E R

N E

he house was yellow, a clapboard Cape Cod with a

white picket fence and a big bay window on one side, and
Ellen loved it with all her heart. She loved the way the wind from
the Gorge stirred the trees to constant motion outside the windows, the cozy arc of the dormers in the girls bedroom, the
cherry red mantel with the cleanly carved dentil molding over the
replace in the living room. She had conceived children in that
house, suffered a miscarriage in that house, brought her babies
home there, argued with her husband there, made love, rejoiced,
despaired, sipped tea, and gossiped and sobbed and counseled
and blessed her friends there, walked the halls with sick children
there, and scrubbed the worn brick of the kitchen oor there at
least a thousand times on her hands and knees. And it was because of all this history with the house, all the parts of her life unfolding there day after day for so many years, that Ellen decided
to burn it down.
At rst she thought she wouldnt have to. While she had known
at every step that moving was a mistake, she could almost picture
someone else in the house, perhaps a nice retired couple who
would stay a few years before moving on, or a quiet bachelor who
1

Kathleen McCleary

would love the garden and the big bedroom on the main oor. She
was totally unprepared for Jordan, whose brisk efciency and patronizing air of possession and pity just turned Ellens stomach.
I want to assure you that the house will be well-loved, Jordan
told her repeatedly, after showing up unexpectedly at the back
door one day, tape measure in hand. I adore it and we have great
plans for it.
Ellen was silent. She didnt want Jordan loving her house, any
more than she would want Jordan loving her husband, even if he
was her soon to be ex-husband. She didnt even want to meet Jordan, who had bought the house just weeks ago, with the stipulation that Ellen could rent it back until the end of May. Ellen didnt
want to be able to picture the new family who would be living in
her house, the other children who would make a clubhouse in the
attic under the eaves and measure their growth against the doorjamb of the closet in the master bedroom. She had attended the
closing last week by herself, signing the papers after Jordan and
her husband had signed their part, signing away a whole life embodied by the little yellow house.
Ellen instantly mistrusted Jordan, quickly assessing her straight
blond hair, cut in the usual suburban-mom bob, her small size (she
stood barely ve foot three, Ellen guessed), and her persistently
upbeat tone of voice, and making an immediate judgment that
this was someone she would never like. Jordan had a heart-shaped
face, with a sharp, almost eln chin, china blue eyes, and a spattering of pale freckles across her nose. She had probably been a
cheerleader, Ellen thought, and a sorority sister. Ellen, as a petite
person herself, felt strongly that small people should avoid perkiness at all costs.
I know this must be hard for you, Jordan said. But you
2

House and Home

should know that Im very good with houses. I was an art history
and architecture major at U.Va. Where did you go to school?
The question irritated Ellen. To begin with, it had been more
than twenty years since shed been in any kind of school, so she
had no idea why that should be important. And it was also a question that was so completely East Coast as to be embarrassing.
No one in Oregon ever askedor caredabout your school afliation.
This is the West Coast, Ellen said, a little sharply. Youre not
supposed to ask what college someone went to here.
Jordan smiled. I need to measure the kitchen window again for
my contractor, she said, putting her bag down on the tile countertop. Ill only be a minute.
Ellen watched Jordan, standing on tiptoe in her tiny black capri
pants and gray U.Va. sweatshirt, stretching the tape measure from
one end of her windowsill to the other. Ellen felt suddenly and unreasonably enraged. And thats when she rst thought of burning
down the house, picturing Jordans pert mouth in a perfect little O
of astonishment when she heard the news.
Ellen didnt know what to do with the intensity of her feelings
about the house. If she lost a parent, God forbid, or even a beloved
pet, the outpouring of sympathy from her friends and family
would be enormous and complete and sincere. But no one seemed
to empathize with the huge sense of loss she had over the house,
the grief that felt as real as any she had experienced. It was the
death of a life, the life she and Sam and Sara and Louisa had had
here and now would never have again.
To be perfectly honest, the house had its aws. The kitchen was
too small and dark and the upstairs bathroom ridiculously crowded,
up under the eaves. The stairwell from the rst oor to the second
3

Kathleen McCleary

was so steep and narrow they couldnt even t their queen-size

box spring into the opening and had had to special-order one that
was split in two. But their bedroom window looked out across the
orchard next door, an overgrown tangle of espaliered apple trees,
and beyond that over a row of Douglas rs to the purple and blue
mounds of the Cascades in the distance. She had ripped up the
carpet there herself, and stripped and sanded and polished the old
oak oors until they glowed. Shed spent weeks poring over paint
chips and mixing colors and painting swatches on the walls to
come up with just the right shade of blue-lavender, the same color
as the mountains that ribboned across the horizon outside the window. Shed stood each of the girls against the doorjamb to Sams
closet twice a year and carefully marked the date and their height
and their initials. It was not just rooms, not just a house; it was an
expression of Ellen herself, nurtured as carefully as the people
shed loved inside its walls.
Jordan, standing in Ellens kitchen, tapped her little foot impatiently. Ellen noted that she was wearing Tinker Bell sneakers.
Why on earth a thirty-something woman who clearly had given
birth and seen something of life would want to wear a Disney
character on her feet was inexplicable to Ellen.
Ellen? Youll be out by May thirty-rst, right? I really need to
get my carpenters in here as soon as possible.
Carpenters. Ellen saw hammers smashing great holes in the
plaster of her walls, crowbars prying loose carefully painted moldings and cupboards.
Yes, she said. By ve on May thirty-rst.
Good. Jordan picked up her big brown handbag, overowing
with pens, blueprints ( for my house! Ellen thought), and a sterling
silver key fob attached to a ring of at least sixteen jangly keys.
4

House and Home

Oh, and Jordan?

Jordan turned, running a hand possessively over the smooth ceramic countertop.
Yes?
Harvard. Early decision. Magna cum laude, Ellen lied awlessly. See you in a few weeks.
The last day of May was little more than three weeks away. Immediately after Jordan left, Ellen poured herself a cup of tea and
sat down at the computer. Of course she couldnt do anything
obviousshe had two girls to raise, and no intention of spending
the next twenty years in jail. She had to make sure no one was
hurt. It had to be a contained re, one that couldnt spread to the
neighbors homes or injure the reghters. It had to be just
enough to gut a room, pour thick smoke through the rest of the
house, just enough to leave the house unsalvageable. Then Jordan
and her carpenters could tear it down and build a perfect new
house, one that wouldnt include the room where Ellen had lain in
bed for ve days after losing the baby, her middle child, or the
rooms where Sara had taken her rst step and Louisa had whispered hot, hother rst word.
Ellen looked up electrical hazards. Overloaded sockets. Loose
wires. Bare wires. Water near wires. The house was almost seventy
years old, after all. Then again, the intricacies of electrical wiring
terried Ellen, who still had those little plastic protectors stuck in
the sockets even though the girls were no longer babies, just because it made her feel better. No, she needed an accidental re,
something simple. Candles.
The screen door to the kitchen slammed, and Ellen quickly
turned off the computer screen.
Ellie?
5

Kathleen McCleary

Here, in the ofce.

Sam walked in and sat on the arm of the blue and white striped
couch. His wavy, almost black hair stuck out in every direction.
He was dressed in baggy tan corduroys and a navy blue Henley
shirt that lay untucked over his pants. A two-day stubble of beard,
black speckled with gray, covered the lean angles of his cheeks and
chin. Ellen had always loved his rumpledness, even when he drove
her crazy. Part of it was simply that he was so physically beautiful
and didnt even know it, and clearly didnt care. With his high
cheekbones, thick dark brows, and brown-black eyes, he looked almost foreign, exotic. A gifted athlete, he moved with an unthinking grace, with a complete ease and familiarity with his body that
Ellen envied. She looked at him and realized that, even though
she was about to divorce him, she was still attracted to him and
probably always would be.
Are the girls home? I promised Id take them for ice cream.
No, theyre not home yet. Theyre staying at Joannas for dinner, Ellen said. But Jordan Boyce was here. She just left.
I thought you didnt want to meet her, Sam said. He picked
up Louisas pink rubber ball from the oor and began to toss it up
and down absentmindedly with one hand, catching it without
even seeming to look at it.
I didnt! She called and asked if she could come take some
measurements. I told her Id be out until six but would leave the
back door unlocked. She showed up twenty minutes after I got
home. I know she did it just so she could meet me and tell me how
wonderfully shes going to take care of the house. I hate her.
Thats silly, Sam said, deftly tossing the ball above his head
and catching it behind his back.
Its not silly, Ellen said. And stop throwing that ball.
6

House and Home

Its silly to hate someone you dont even know, Sam said, with
some exasperation. He placed the ball down on the couch and
looked at her. You dont know Jordan Boyce. You just met her.
You hate her because you hate moving.
No, Ellen said. I hate moving and I hate her.
This is like having a conversation with a three-year-old, Sam
said.
Oh, come on, Sam. Shes an idiot, with her little U.Va. sweatshirt and her fake sincerity. And the Realtor told me shes named
her children Lily and Daisy and Stamen, so they all have ower
names.
She didnt name a child Stamen, said Sam. Really?
She did! When she had her son, she couldnt name him Poppy
or Iris or another girls ower name, so she named him Stamen. It
sounds close enough to Holden and Caden and all those other
trendy boy names you hear at every preschool now. And she kept
telling me again and again how the house will be so well-loved
as though I didnt love it well enough! Ellen felt like crying again.
Oh, come on, Sam said. Its a house. Its four walls and a roof
and its been a good house for us and now our life is changing.
Youll have another house.
But it wont be this house, Ellen said. Thats like saying if
Sara dies I can just have another child.
Its nothing like that, Sam said. He made a disgusted tsking
sound with his tongue that really irritated her. Thats a totally inappropriate analogy. You wanted this, remember?
I didnt want this, Ellen said. I never wanted to leave the
house.
Right, said Sam. He stood up in front of the couch, both
hands on his hips. You just wanted to leave me. Its no big deal to
7

Kathleen McCleary

leave me, and to take the kids away from their father, but its huge
to have to give up the house.
Ellen looked at him mutely. She was forty-four, and she was
tired. For the rst six years of their marriage they had moved, on
average, once every eighteen months. Sam was an inventor. After
getting a degree in chemical engineering followed by a brilliant
early career in product development for Procter & Gamble, hed
decided to start his own business, SamCan, Inc., where he created a series of wildly imaginative new products. The problem
was that every new idea seemed to be accompanied by his conviction that he had to live in just the right place to launch it. They
moved to Fort Worth when Sam invented the line-dancing boot,
footwear that contained a small metronome that tapped out the
dance beat for the rhythm-impaired. When that didnt take off (no
one in Texas seemed to consider themselves rhythm-impaired),
they moved on to Los Angeles, Salt Lake City, and then Brooklyn.
Finally, twelve years ago, they arrived in Portland to perfect the Gutter Buddy, a motorized little broom that t inside a gutter, chopped
the pine needles and leaves into bits, then pushed them down the
drainpipe.
And then Ellen simply refused to move again. After years of
putting off having children, and working endless hours to get her
decorating business up and running in one town after another, she
was done. She wanted to buy a house and paint the walls red, not
some neutral rental color. She wanted to get pregnant and have
babies. She wanted to plant bulbs and know shed be there in the
spring to watch them bloom. She wanted to make friends and
reminisce over shared memories that went back more than twelve
months.
So they stayed. Sam took a job at Oregon Health & Science
8

House and Home

University, working in biomedical engineering, and she opened her

shop, Coffee@home, where she sold espresso drinks and home furnishings, and she had the babies and worked on the house and
planted a perennial garden. She became best friends with Joanna,
her next-door neighbor. They went through pregnancy and breast
feeding and croup together, and their children were so close that
Joannas daughter, Emily, became known as Three, the third
child Ellen and Sam had wanted but couldnt have. After twelve
years in Portland, Ellen had nally allowed herself to believe that
this was it, that she had roots that were deep and strong and permanent. So when Sam came home one day and announced that
he had an absolutely brilliant idea that could y only in Boston, she
said, simply, No.
The hot dog diaper was his best idea yet, Sam said. It was a
special absorbent wrapper for hot dogs cleverly crafted to keep the
mustard and ketchup from squirting out the other end. Hed been
struck by the idea one day when theyd been watching the Portland Beavers, the local AAA team. The girls had been alternately
giggling and whining over the mess they made with the mustard
and ketchup that seemed to shoot out from their hot dogs with
every bite. Daddy, look, Louisa had said, holding up her dripping hot dog, which had a sticky napkin, soaked in mustard, stuck
on one end. My hot dog pooped!
And Sam was thunderstruck. Diapers, it had to be said, were
his thing. Ellen had insisted on cloth diapers for both the girls, and
Sam had quickly become an expert at folding, wrapping, and
pinning, much more adept, in fact, than Ellen herself. He seemed
to love changing the babies, perfecting his elaborate diaperfolding technique, nuzzling their warm bellies with his nose. Ellen
always rolled her eyes but felt secretly and foolishly proud that she
9

Kathleen McCleary

had a husband who was the rst to whisk away the baby who
needed changing.
Once the idea for the hot dog diaper hit, Sam spent hours trying to develop a fabric that would contain spills but keep the hot
dog moist and juicy. He wanted to quit work and devote himself to
the hot dog diaper full-time. He made a few prototypes and sold
them at the Beavers stadium. He drew up a marketing plan.
There was no place in the world like Fenway Park for hot dogs, he
said, and Boston was the place to be if they were really going to
make the hot dog diaper a success.
Ellen was doubtful, and adamant. What if the hot dog diaper
didnt take off ? she argued. (The very idea that Sam expected
people to put something called a diaper near their food was
ridiculous enough, as she pointed out repeatedly.) What if they
ended up eighteen months from now with their savings depleted
and Sam out of work? They had children in school, with friends
and routines and all the familiarity that years in one place nally
had brought them.
And they had the house. It wasnt just four walls and a roof, as
Ellen tried to explain to Sam again and again. It was the thirtynine pages of carefully crayoned pictures of turtles that Sara and
Emily had taped to the basement wall when they were four and
created the Turtle Club, whose original purpose was long forgotten even while the drawings, yellowing and curled at the edges, remained. It was the faded spot in the paint on the stairwell where
Louisa had tried, somewhat in vain, to scrub off the elaborate mural she had penciled there at age three. It was the view out the
window of the girls bedroom, overlooking the garden with the
enormous white hydrangea, its trunk held together with duct tape
ever since the ice storm six years ago.
10

House and Home

But what to Ellen was a life beloved and well-worn, like a favorite pair of jeans, was to Sam a life of unending boredom and
predictability. He craved the risk and excitement of a new entrepreneurial adventure; he didnt want to end up at fty-ve or sixty,
he told her, still sitting in the same cubicle every day and mowing
the same patch of lawn every weekend.
Finally, Ellen agreed to take out a second mortgage on the
house so Sam could develop and sell a rst round of hot dog diapers. The money was spent before they knew it, and then he had
to borrow from their savings, and then, just as Ellen had feared,
the money was all gone.
Sam had quit his job at OHSU to work on the prototypes;
Ellens shop, while it was turning a small prot, wasnt bringing in
enough to cover the payments on the rst and second mortgages.
She was frustrated that her business, which shed worked so hard
to grow, had become their sole source of income. Coffee@home
had always been a treat for Ellenwork, yes, but fun work. She
loved escaping for a day or a weekend to go on buying trips to nd
furniture and collectibles for the shop, and then arranging it all
in a way that made Coffee@home seem completely inviting. She
loved working behind the counter and getting to know all the regular customers, and becoming part of their lives. She loved her little staff. Now, with the pressure to earn more and more, much of
the fun was gone. She bought collectibles with an eye for prot, not
passion. She pored over websites trying to gure out new ways to
market the shop and started to pay for advertising in the local paper. She kept the shop open longer to squeeze a few extra dollars
out of each day.
Finally she grew so angrywith herself and with Samthat she
could barely speak and spent months in a constant state of rage. In
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Kathleen McCleary

the end they agreed to separate and sell the house. Six months ago
Sam had moved into a small apartment in Beaverton, about fteen
minutes away, and taken on consulting work while still commuting
back and forth to Boston in a persistent attempt to get the hot dog
diaper off the ground. More than once he had asked Ellen to
reconsiderfor the kids, for their own relationship, which stretched
back over twenty years, a living history of each of them. But for
Ellen, the one wild spark in her personality that had driven her to
marry someone as unconventional as Sam had been extinguished
by the loss of the home and the security she had built so carefully
over so many years. If she had to be the grown-up, so be it, but she
was not going to be the grown-up for a forty-ve-year-old man.
We cant have that conversation again, Sam, she said nally,
looking into his eyes. Youre the one who mortgaged the house
for the hot dog diaper, and whos choosing to spend half his time
three thousand miles away from his family.
Right, he said abruptly. Ive gotta go.
She stood up and walked back to the kitchen with him.
Sam?
He paused at the screen door, one hand on the latch. The sadness in his face was painful to look at; she stied the impulse to
reach out and put a hand on his shoulder.
Instead she said, Can you take the girls Friday night? Im going to have a little party, and it would really help me out.
Sure. Whats the party for?
Its kind of a farewell party for the house.
Dont you want the girls there? And Im not invited?
Ellen heard the edge in his voice.
No, its a girls night out thing. Just Jo and Laurie and some
others.
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House and Home

Fine. Ill pick the kids up at six.

Ellen watched the door click behind him, stared at the pattern
of ltered sunlight on the grass through the branches of the big
cedar tree in the backyard.
She wondered if it was against the law to buy two hundred candles at once.

13

H A P T E R

W O

t was only 7:00 a.m., and Ellen was already hot and dirty.
She could feel her hair slipping out of the big tortoiseshell clip
she wore when she was working, and her T-shirt and jeans seemed
to be covered in a ne layer of dust. Shed spent the early morning
back in the tiny storeroom, searching for the boxes of pillar candles she had ordered last September to sell for the holidays. There
had to be at least four dozen left, she thought, big, fat candles in
warm shades of red and gold. Theyd be perfect for her party. After almost half an hour of perching precariously on the little red
stepladder and rooting through coffee lters, boxes of antique salt
and pepper shakers, packets of sugar, and other miscellany, she nally found them, stashed underneath a box of Christmas lights
and several unsold vintage snow globes.
She barely had time to stash the candles in the trunk of her Toyota before she had to open the store for the usual morning rush of
before-work customers eager for their coffees. Cloud, the store
manager, had called in sick, meaning Ellen was alone until Stacy
arrived for her shift at three. Ellen tucked her hair behind her ears
and began to steam milk for another latte.
The store was doing surprisingly well. Coffee@home had
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Kathleen McCleary

started out when the house had grown too small for the treasures
Ellen picked up at ea markets and estate sales and on little driving trips along the Oregon coast. She loved good furniture and
quirky accessories and the often-rich history behind old things.
She had a good eye for color and shape and unexpected mixes,
and she loved turning the house into a home rich with comfort
and beauty and memory, piece by treasured piece. She had picked
up the bright red corner cupboard six years ago in Seattle, knowing it would t perfectly in the corner of the dining room. Shed
found the old carved Chinese wooden bench at a thrift store in
Eugene and knew, even with her eyes closed, that it was the perfect size to ll the nook beneath the sunny bay window in the living room. When she realized that she had enough, that the house
was full and felt right, she set up a booth at a local antiques mall
for leftover treasures, like the duplicate pieces of milk glass and
the bentwood rocker that didnt really t in the bedroom.
When the booth did well, she rented her own space in a shopping center in West Slope anchored by a large grocery chain on
one end and a framing gallery, a barbershop, an ofce supply
store, and a gift shop on the other. Ellens shop was next to the gift
store. It was a large, square space with a wall of windows opening
onto the sidewalk. She installed bead board paneling halfway up
the interior walls, with a plate rail above it to hold small treasures.
She painted the paneling a soft turquoise, and the walls above it a
sunny yellow. The oor, a worn golden oak, she left as it was.
She lled it with the overow from her house and her antiques
booth: a mahogany dresser with drawers of golden oak and shiny
brass drawer pulls; a kitchen table from the 1930s, with white
painted legs and a soft green enameled top with owers stenciled
in bright yellow at the corners; a rustic armchair made of hickory
16

House and Home

branches, with an intricately woven rush seat and back. She used
the plate rail to display her Fiesta ware: cobalt plates, turquoise
creamers, bright orange teacups, cream-colored saucers. On the
walls she hung old maps and paintings of Oregon, framed in rustic wood.
One day on a whim Ellen purchased a beautiful copper espresso
machine, with a gleaming dome and a brass eagle on top. She
learned how to make cappuccinos and lattes and espressos, how
long to steam the milk to build up a creamy head of foam without
scalding it, how to grind the beans to the right consistency so the
espresso was rich but not muddy. Soon she had installed a counter
and a case for scones and mufns and crisp biscotti that she bought
from a local baker. She changed the name of the store, which had
been simply At Home, to Coffee@home and got a black-andwhite 1950s-style sign made with a big coffee cup logo and the
name of the store in pink neon.
Soon she had a steady stream of customers who liked the fact
that they could buy the large, comfortable armchairs they sat in
every morning while they read the paper, or the Harlequin mugs
that stood in a brightly colored row atop the hutch against the
back wall. Every three months she held a oor sample sale and
sold all the biggest pieces of furniture at a discount, before the
chairs could get coffee-stained or the sofas too lled with crumbs.
Now she had a manager, a staff of ve, which meant she could
take weekends off and even leave on vacation once in a while, and
an actual income after years of barely breaking even. And she had
work that she genuinely enjoyed. Ellen loved making the drinks,
the warm feel of the steaming milk in the metal jug against her
hand, the grateful way people cradled their cups against their
palms.
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Kathleen McCleary

Ellen pushed her ne brown hair back inside the clip and then
expertly tamped two shots of espresso grounds into the metal sieve,
locked it into position in the warm copper machine, and pushed
the button. Steaming water poured through the grounds, and the
espresso dripped into the cup. She glanced at the customer across
the counter, Mr. Tall Vanilla Latte. Hed been in almost every
morning for the past two weeks now, holding his tan leather briefcase carefully in one hand while he stood in line to order. He was
tall, at least six feet, Ellen guessed, and wore a three-button, charcoal gray suit. The belt of his khaki-colored trench coat was tied in
a rm knot around his waist. His brown hair was closely cropped,
and he had a neatly trimmed beard and mustache, with a few wiry
gray hairs mixed in with the brown. He was probably a lawyer,
Ellen decided, and a regular churchgoer, even here in Oregon, the
most unchurched state in the Union. He was attractive in a neat
and tidy kind of way, which had never really been Ellens type. He
didnt talk much, but he always smiled at Ellen shyly, so that the
corners of his eyes crinkled. He often looked at her very earnestly,
which Ellen found slightly disconcerting.
Thats a very unusual piece you have over there, he said, nodding his head toward the large pine carpenters chest that served
as a coffee table in the middle of the shop. The chest, which Ellen
had picked up at a junk store in the tiny town of Drain, Oregon,
was almost three feet tall and four feet wide, with strips of iron
nailed around each corner and a beautifully carved wreath and
ribbon on the front. Inside were layers of trays and drawers, lled
with old planes and levels and chisels. It was one of the few pieces
in the store that werent for sale, simply because Ellen loved it and
could tell it had been treasured by the carpenter who had owned
it. She didnt want to break up the carefully amassed collection of
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House and Home

tools, gathered over a lifetime and used, as she imagined, for the
creation of dozens of meticulously handmade pieces of furniture.
There was a date1882carved into one corner but no name.
Im sorry, she said, that piece isnt for sale. Most everything
else is, though.
No, no, I didnt want to buy it, he said hastily, as if Ellen
might have thought he was trying to take something from her she
didnt want to give up. I was just admiring it. Ive never seen anything like it.
Thank you, she said. You should see the insideits loaded
with old woodworking tools, and all kinds of neat little trays and
drawers. I had to bring it in here because I couldnt keep my daughters out of it when I had it at home. Are you a woodworker?
Ellen glanced at his hands, which were smooth and neatly manicured. He wore a plain gold band on the ring nger of his left
hand, which made her acutely conscious of the lack of a ring on
her own nger. She had taken it off just a week ago and put it in
the drawer of the old walnut table next to her bed. Every day she
caught herself rubbing the base of her ring nger with her thumb
in an unconscious echo of her old habit of twisting her wedding
ring around and around on her nger.
No, no, he said. I mean, Im handy and all, but no, Im not
a woodworker. He picked up his latte and looked idly around the
shop, as if uncertain whether the conversation was over or not.
Actually, Im a gardener, he said.
Ellen raised one eyebrow quizzically, with a tilt of her head at
his suit and briefcase.
I mean, as a hobby, he said.
You should check out the cupboard at the back, she said,
pointing toward the old oak Hoosier cupboard against the back
19

Kathleen McCleary

wall. Ellen had opened all the doors to the various compartments
and lled them with books. I have a great collection of old gardening books.
Mr. Tall Vanilla Latte glanced at the cupboard, at the rows of
faded cloth book spines, the crumbling paper jackets. Ill look
them over, he said. Thanks. Ive been searching for an out-ofprint book my mother wants for her birthday.
Well, if its not related to gardening, cooking, or home decorating, I dont have it, Ellen said, as she nished making two mochas for the person in line behind him. I just buy what I like. But
if youre ever going to the coast, stop at Hole in the Wall Books, in
Manning. Thats where I buy most of the books I get for the shop,
and the owner knows how to track down anything.
Thats good to know. Thanks.
The bell by the door rang. Mr. Tall Vanilla Latte picked up his
briefcase.
Youre busy, he said. I should go.
He headed out just as Joanna walked in, dressed in a Portland
Beavers sweatshirt and baggy blue plaid annel pants that might
have been pajama bottoms. She was a runner, with a lean, athletic
body that she seemed for the most part to ignore, since much of
her wardrobe consisted of similar sweats and pajamas. Mr. Tall
Vanilla Latte stepped aside to let her pass just as she stepped in the
same direction, and the two of them did an elaborate little dance
until Mr. Latte, blushing and apologizing, nally darted through
the door.
Clearly, I need your biggest grande, Venti, giant cup of coffee,
said Joanna, removing her baseball cap and shaking out her thick,
kinky dark blond hair. She wore no makeup, as usual, and with her
dark blond eyebrows and lashes and large blue eyes, she always
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House and Home

looked, to Ellen, young, almost childlike, in spite of her crows-feet

and laugh lines. How are you?
Oh, awful, Jo. The woman who bought the house stopped by
yesterday. At the house, not the shop. Her name is Jordan Boyce.
She came to tell me all her wonderful plans for transforming it
into her dream home. But its my dream home. I know Im biased,
but I just hated her.
I know, I met her, too, Joanna said. As soon as she left your
house she saw me in the driveway and came over to introduce herself. If it makes you feel any better, I hated her, too. Does she really have a child named Stamen? She thinks Lily and Emily will
be best friends. She also admired my red purse, right before she
told me that red purses were so popular last year. I wanted to throw
something at her.
Oh, Jo, said Ellen, pushing her eyeglasses up on top of her
head. I cant believe I signed the papers and turned the house
over to her. I should have gured something else out.
What? The house is mortgaged up the wazoo and you cant afford the payments. What could you possibly have done?
I dont know, Ellen said. Nothing. Something. Anything. Its
just killing me to give it up. And its killing Sara. Shes so mad at
me I cant stand it, although of course, its not just the house, its
the separation, everything.
Sure shes mad about everything. She has a lot to be mad
about, sweetie. But she wont stay mad forever, and youre a wonderful mom. Youll get her through it. Youll get all of you through
it. Oh, shit.
Joanna put her coffee down on the worn wooden counter to
scramble for her cell phone, which was ringing loudly. Im supposed
to be home so I can take a call from the president of something
21

Kathleen McCleary

called the Better Sleep Council. Im reporting a scintillating story on

mattresses, she said, pushing a button and turning the cell phone
off. My glamorous life as a writer just gets better by the minute.
Ellen laughed. Today its mattresses, tomorrow the Pulitzer,
she said. Listen, Im going to have a little going away party for
the house on Friday. Just you and Laurie and some of the others
no kids, no spouses. Can you be there?
Yes, Joanna said. What can I bring?
Bring some wine, Ellen said. Oh, God, I dont know how
Im going to do this. Im not going to be able to walk out that door
for the last time on moving day.
Ill walk with you, Joanna said, leaning forward to kiss Ellen
on the cheek. Maybe we can booby-trap the house for the shedevil before you gohide some dead goldsh inside the curtain
rods, or a dead rat inside a wall somewhere.
Ellen sighed. Id love to, she said. But I dont think it would
work. I think Jordan is going to take out every last curtain rod and
screw, and half the walls. She was an art history and architecture
major at U.Va., you know.
Fuck her, said Joanna and smiled.
Joannas regular use of four-letter words was a trait that Ellen,
as a nonswearer, admired. It must be wonderful, Ellen thought, to
swear without thinking about it, or feeling self-conscious.
Yes, fuck her, said Ellen, surprising both Joanna and herself.
Ellen, for the rst time in her life, felt recklessand almost
giddy with the idea that she, a very good girl who had always
painstakingly followed the rules, actually could be reckless. Ellen
was the one who always carefully walked through the house at
night, closing and locking the windows and doors. She was the
one who changed the batteries in the smoke detectors every April
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House and Home

and October, when the time changed over to daylight saving time
and then back again. She ate all her meat well-done, in case of
E. coli or other dangerous bacteria, and never missed an annual
physical or mammogram or Pap smear.
The riskiest, most daring thing shed ever done in her life was to
marry Sam, who was denitely not careful, safe, and predictable,
and was prone to doing things like sitting in empty front-row seats
at a baseball game, even if their tickets were for the upper bleachers. Sam drove just a tad too fast, liked to cliff-dive even now that
he was in his forties, and had been known to whisk Ellen away
from the shop for a day of skiing at Mount Hood or windsurng
in the Gorge or even, once, to hang out at the Pumpkin Ridge golf
course because some hotshot young golfer with a strange name
(Tiger?) was trying to win his third straight U.S. Amateur title.
Sams spontaneity and daring pulled her out of herself, gave her a
respite from the constant sense of vigilance and responsibility that
at times threatened to mummify her.
It also brought out her silly side. She made cornball jokes
around Sam that shed never make to anyone else, just to see him
roll his eyes and snort, and then laugh in spite of himself.
And she, in turn, seemed to balance and steady him. When
they had rst gotten married, Ellen had been surprised by how
much Sam loved her, and by the almost scary sense of her ability
to hurt him because he loved her so deeply. Youre better than I
deserve, he wrote her in one note. He loved her intellect, the fact
that she was well-read and smart and funny, that she could respond to his quick wit with zingers of her own. He loved her domesticity; the soft sheets and the table set with place mats and
owers, even when it was just the two of them, no matter who
cooked. She remembered things he could never seem to keep in
23

Kathleen McCleary

front of his brain: his mothers birthday or the elderly neighbor in

the hospital. They lled each other out.
But it wasnt enough. In the end, Ellens vigilance wasnt enough
to prevent their slow slide into debt, and her lighthearted joy with
Sam wasnt enough to keep them together through the disappointment and nancial hardship of one failed invention after another.
Now here she was: separated, about to move out of the house she
loved, with a ten-year-old daughter who was threatening either to
run away or to lock herself in a closet so she wouldnt have to
move. Being a good girl for forty-some years hasnt really done much for me,
Ellen thought. I might as well try something else.
Fuck her, she said again.
Joanna laughed. I think thats the rst time Ive ever heard you
use the word fuck, she said. You really must not like her. Hey,
whos that guy who was walking out as I came in? Hes kind of
cute. Joanna wiggled her eyebrows at Ellen in a hubba-hubba
kind of way.
Thats Mr. Tall Vanilla Latte, Ellen said. Hes been here
every morning for two weeks now. He doesnt say much. He reads
The Wall Street Journal, he always wears a suit, his favorite color of
tie is blue, and he likes the carpenters chest over there, although
hes not a woodworker. He likes to garden. Hes wearing a wedding ring, and even if he werent, hes denitely too tucked in and
neatly trimmed to be my type. Thats everything I know.
What, no shoe size and literature preferences? Joanna said.
Youd make a lousy reporter. I think hes good-looking. Too bad
hes married. But maybe hes separated, like you! Grill him tomorrow when he comes in.
Right, Ellen said. She poured a batch of coffee beans into the
big grinder and clicked the switch on. What if Mr. Tall Vanilla Latte
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House and Home

is separated? she thought. Maybe the new, reckless Ellen who was
about to burn down a house could nd passion with a new type of
guy, even a charcoal-suited, neatly combed guy. That is, if she
didnt end up in jail for committing arson.
The bell dinged again, and in walked Alexa, Ellens real estate
agent, a sleek-looking, late thirties brunette dressed in black pants,
a black sweater, and stiletto-heeled black boots. Her thick, brassy
hair was parted in the middle and hung in chic, choppy layers
around her face.
Hey, Ellen, said Alexa. Give me a large skim latte with an extra shot. So you met Jeffrey Boyce!
No, I met Jordan. She stopped by at the house yesterday. Did
she tell you? I thought you told her I really didnt want to meet her.
She showed up at the back door and insisted on talking to me.
Are you kidding? Alexa said. She put her large brown leather
handbag down on the counter and began to root through it. Im
sorry. I told her this was all really emotional for you and you didnt
want to see her. But shes just so excited about the house she can
hardly stand it. She really loves it. She showed me the plans for the
remodel. Its going to be lovely.
Its lovely already, Alexa, said Joanna pointedly, giving her an
evil glare even though she was wearing plaid annel pajama bottoms and clogs versus Alexas form-tting ne wool trousers and
high-heeled boots.
I know, I know. Sorry, said Alexa. She shed her wallet out of
her purse and handed a ve-dollar bill to Ellen. It is lovely. Jordan just really likes the house. So does her husband, Jeffrey. It
doesnt seem to have upset you so much to meet him.
I havent met him, said Ellen. I hope hes not as pushy as
she is.
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Kathleen McCleary

Well, having met her, Im sure hes quite compliant and fully
pussy-whipped, said Joanna. She couldnt be married to any
other kind.
Of course youve met him, said Alexa. I just ran into him
outside. The guy with the brown beard and trench coat.
Ellen looked at Joanna and then at Alexa. You mean Mr. Tall
Vanilla Latte is Jordans husband? Hes the one moving into my
house?
Yes, said Alexa. Didnt he tell you?

26

H A P T E R

H R E E

o, he didnt tell me, said Ellen with annoyance. She

felt violated, somehow, as though Mr. Tall Vanilla Latte
had read her diary, or secretly slipped something precious of hers
into his pocket and left. Hes been in here every day for two
weeks now, and he never said anything.
Maybe he didnt know who you were, said Alexa. I mean,
you went to the closing separately.
Of course he knows who I am, Ellen said. Hes read the
clips, and my name is all over them. She gestured to the framed
newspaper articles on the wall by the front door, reviews of
Coffee@home by The Oregonian and Willamette Week and the Portland
Tribune. Mr. Tall Vanilla Latte had spent one morning carefully
reading the stories while he sipped his latte and waited for a break
in the downpour outside. Hed even asked Ellen what an tagre
was because The Oregonian mentioned the antique wooden tagre
by the window that Ellen used to hold the days newspapers.
Maybe Jordan sent him to spy on you, Joanna said.
Why would Jordan want to spy on me? She owns the house.
Shes moving in in three weeks. Shell do her remodeling and get
on with her well-organized life. Why would she care about me?
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Kathleen McCleary

Because she knows all the neighbors love you, and everyone
around here knows you because of the shop, Joanna said. Portland is a small town. Its three degrees of separation between you
and someone who knows you here, right? Maybe she feels some
kind of competition with you. She probably thinks she has to
make the house better than you made it. So she wanted Jeffrey to
scope out what the shop is like, to gure out your style.
Well, thats just silly, said Ellen. I cant imagine she thinks
about me at all. But Jeffrey is really strange. Hes been so quiet,
but he always looks at me, you know? These very intense looks, as
though he wanted to say something but couldnt.
Maybe he wanted to introduce himself but was afraid to, because Sam and I told him how traumatized you were about selling
the house, Alexa said.
Or maybe he just likes lattes, Joanna said.
Well, its good of you and Sam to paint me as some kind of
psycho, so people are afraid to talk to me, Ellen said to Alexa.
Im surprised he was brave enough to walk in here. I might have
come unglued and thrown all the Fiesta ware at him.
Well, you have been very intense about this whole thing, said
Alexa, rooting around in her handbag for her keys. Not that I
blame you. I know you love the house. But really, Ellen, as someone who sells houses for a living, I can tell you its a nice house, but
there are better houses out there. A lot of them. She picked up
her latte. All right, Ive got to go. Ive got an open house in a few
hours, and the place is a mess. If I dont see you before, Ill meet
you at the house on May thirty-rst, around ve, okay? I want to
do a walk-through so there are no issues about getting back the security deposit you gave them for renting back the house this
month.
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House and Home

Will Jordan be there? Ellen said.

She or Jeffrey will have to be there, said Alexa, to make sure
the house is in good condition before they give you back the
money. Why dont you have Sam there, and you can go out for
coffee or something while we walk through?
Fine. But I dont have to be out for good until then, right?
Sam and I want to spend a little time saying farewell to the house
with the girls before Jordan comes. Its really important to Sara,
especially.
Yes, the contract says ve, said Alexa, turning on her stiletto
heels. Good luck with the move. See you May thirty-rst. Bye,
Joanna.
Joanna bundled her hair back up under her baseball cap. She
was wearing just one pearl earring because, as Ellen knew, she always took the other off to talk on the phone and then forgot to put
it back on. Well, I think Mr. Tall Vanilla Latte came in because
he was curious about you, and then he found you so irresistible he
couldnt stop himself from coming back every day, Joanna said.
Ive got to go, too. Ive got to get home and nish this story.
All right. Dont forget about my party Friday.
I wont, sweetie. Maybe we can start planning what well do
with your new house.
Maybe. See you later.
Ellen sighed as the door closed behind her departing friend.
She felt like a mother with postpartum depression who has no interest in her new baby. She had no interest in the new house at all.
She had gone house hunting in the throes of her bitterness toward
Sam, when all she could see were the chain-link fences in the
backyards, the cracks in plaster ceilings, the rooms darkened by
windows overgrown with ancient rhododendrons. Every house
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Kathleen McCleary

she looked at seemed strange to her, and she was completely unable to imagine herself in any one of them. Even now she could
not picture the girls twin beds in any room other than the creamcolored room with the purple trim under the eaves, could not
envision the luminous Judith Cunningham painting of the
Columbia River Gorge over any other living room mantel. She was
blind to the beautiful bones in any other house, no matter how
hard she tried not to be.
Her new house, the rst house in eighteen years that she would
not share with Sam, was a perfectly pleasant 1940s bungalow,
small but certainly enough space for Ellen and the girls, with two
large bedrooms and a big pink-and-maroon-tiled bathroom. It
was in a perfectly nice neighborhood of other little one-story bungalows, with lots of azaleas and rhododendrons and big old Douglas
firs. The girls would stay at Bridlemile, the local elementary school
theyd attended since kindergarten. They would still be in the
same district as Joannas daughter, Emily, and they would still be
within ten minutes of Ellens shop and their favorite grocery store
and the little Italian restaurant they went to most Friday nights for
Italian sodas and spaghetti.
But Ellens heart didnt leap when she turned onto the street to
drive up to the new house, the way it had always lurched for her
old house, especially in the spring, when the candytuft and phlox
were blooming in great mounds of white and pink along the rock
garden in front of the fence.
Ellen knew she could paint the rooms in the new house in a
palette of colors designed to show off the arched doorways and
the big picture window in the living room, could turn the kitchen
with its old cabinets and tile counters into a warm and inviting
haven of retro kitsch. But she just couldnt seem to drum up the
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House and Home

energy or enthusiasm to do it. She had taken the girls to the paint
store to pick out colors for their new bedroom, hoping at least to
be able to muster some excitement on their behalf. Louisa had
squealed and danced and grabbed dozens of paint chips in bright
yellows and oranges and reds. Sara had pointed to one chip, the
same wisteria purple that accented their bedroom now, and said
she liked that color and didnt want a change. Ellen was overwhelmed, not knowing if it would be better to re-create their old
room in the new house, as Sara wanted, or to start fresh with
something new, as Louisa wanted. So she did nothing.
The phone on the counter rang. Ellen? Its Kathleen Mahoney, at Bridlemile. Can you come get Sara? She needs to come
home.
Is she sick?
Nooooo, Kathleen said slowly. Shes not sick, exactly. Shes
just having a rough day, and we think it would be better for everyone if she came home for the afternoon.
Whats wrong? What did she do?
Shes in Mr. Kreskes ofce. You can talk to him when you
come.
Ill be there as soon as I can.
Thanks, Ellen. Ill tell Sara and Mr. K. youre on your way.
Ellen hung up the phone, feeling guilty. Sara, her older child,
was such an intense and private person. She had always been serious, with large, dark eyes and a wise expression that made her
seem much older. Sam and Ellen had called her their Buddha
Baby, because she was such a plump and solemn infant, carefully
studying their faces, her food, the books they showed her, every
blade of grass she crawled across. Now, as a ten-year-old, she was
still studying, keenly observing every person and situation before
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offering either a comment or her participation. Yet her smile,

when it came, was radiant, transforming her whole face like one of
Portlands sunbreaks, a sudden, brilliant glimpse of light and
warmth between the clouds.
Sara was the one who seemed the most deeply affected by the
separation, pouring all her grief and anger into the move. She just
didnt understand why they had to leave the house, and her best
friend next door. Emily, all straight blond hair and long limbs, was
Saras counterpoint, physically and emotionally. Emily was loud
where Sara was quiet, fearless where Sara was cautious, reckless
where Sara was responsible. They balanced each other; they
nourished each other. It was a friendship Ellen cherished for her
daughter.
Ill never see Emily after we move, Sara had cried. Of course
shed see Emily, Ellen had pointed out, at school, for playdates, for
sleepovers. But it wont be the same, Sara had said. Which was
true. No more rolling out of bed and into each others houses, no
more leaning out the upstairs bathroom window to toss pebbles at
Emilys window, no more spur-of-the-moment lunches and runs to
the ice cream parlor.
Its all Daddys fault, Sara had said, darkly. At ten, she was
old enough to absorb the late-night conversation from downstairs,
Ellens resentment, Sams guilt.
Its not all Daddys fault, Ellen had said. Its nobodys fault.
Ellen wanted to believe it herself, although her anger at Sam
kept getting in the way. She understood that he wanted more. He
wanted to create something revolutionary, no matter how trivial,
not for the fame or money as much as for the satisfaction of knowing that hed invented something that was in every pocket or
stocked in every pantry. Inventing gave him a sense of worth and
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House and Home

purpose, in the way that mothering gave Ellen a sense of vocation.

But inventing required endless risknancial and emotional risks
that were simply incompatible with the life of stability and rootedness Ellen wanted for the girls and for herself.
And it was true that all the ups and downs, the crazy ride of the
somewhat unconventional life shed had with Sam, were something she had wanted, too. After all, she had agreed to all the
moves, she had agreed to the second mortgage for the stupid hot
dog diaper. Marrying Sam had been her big adventure, a way to
ensure that her life would never follow the bland, predictable pattern of her childhood. Her children would grow up in a home
bursting with creativity, invention, imaginationexperiencing
new places, moving from town to town, living a different kind
of life.
But then, of course, shed had a baby. And another. And her
maternal instinct, which Ellen had considered just vaguely, suddenly roared forth like lavaprimal, ery, all-encompassing. She
wanted a place for these children, and a circle of loving friends,
and a home that was permanent and forever, a base of security to
which her girls could always return. Thats why the house became
so important. And thats why the loss of the house, which came to
seem inevitable, made it impossible to stay with Sam.
Ellen had always handled their nancespaying the bills,
scraping together a little money each month to save for retirement
and the girls college, investing cautiously in a few carefully chosen
stocks. But she never felt like she knew what she was doing and always worried that somehow she could be handling the money better, saving more, earning more. She complained so often about
the nances that Sam repeatedly offered to take them over, but
she refused to let him.
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Kathleen McCleary

You cant remember where you left your wallet last night,
shed say. And youre going to remember that the mortgage is due
by the sixteenth every month? I dont think so.
Fine, hed respond. But if you feel stuck with the nances,
its because youre a control freak, not because I wont help you.
It was true, Ellen knew; it was also true that he probably would
have a hard time remembering due dates and keeping track of all
the bills. But after they took out the second mortgage on the
house, Ellen couldnt stop brooding about it. Their budget was already tight; with the second mortgage, she had to dip into their
savings every month to cover all their payments. Finally the day
had come when the savings account balance was zero, payments
on both mortgages were due, the Visa bill loomed high, and that
night, Sam had brought home a new toaster.
Look at this, he had said, coming in through the back door
to nd Ellen at the dining room table, poring over the checkbook.
Hed made dinner earlier that night while she worked on the bills,
cooking omelets with cheese and red peppers, doing magic tricks
with the girls in the kitchen that involved nding eggs in their
ears. Ellen, already tense, had felt unreasonably irritated by the
girls delighted screams, by Sams fooling around. After dinner,
hed bathed them and put them to bed and then had run out to
Target.
You know how were always putting toast in and forgetting
about it? he said. I found this amazing toaster. Get this: Once
the bread is toasted, it keeps it down and warm until you push a
button to eject it! Think of all the bread and bagels well save.
Ellen looked up at him wearily. She had absolutely no idea how
they were going to pay all they owed this month. Yet there was
Sam, whod spent the evening doing magic tricks and making wild
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House and Home

bubble hairdos with the kids in the bath, blithely standing in the
dining room talking about a toaster.
How come you get to be the fun parent and I have to be the
responsible one? she said, looking at him over the rims of her red
reading glasses.
Sam put the toaster down on the dining room table. What are
you talking about? he said. I bought a toaster. That doesnt exactly make me the King of Fun.
Im talking about you running around making eggs appear out
of the air and buying new toasters while Im trying to gure out
how we can pay our bills, she said, taking off her glasses and rubbing a hand across her eyes. She looked up at him. We dont need
a new toaster.
Come on, Ellie. Its a fty-dollar toaster. Youre telling me we
cant afford to spend fty dollars?
We cant afford to pay our mortgage, she said. She felt tears
rise. How had this gotten so out of control? We dont need a new
toaster, Sam. The bread turns brown; thats all I need from my
toaster. What we really need is more money coming in, and thats
just not happening. Clearly the hot dog diaper is not a real income
source for us right now, so what do you propose we do?
Her voice was harsh, sarcastic. Sam actually inched.
We can borrow from our savings, he said.
Thats what you suggested last month, and the month before
last, Ellen said. Unfortunately, theres nothing magical about
our savings account; it doesnt replenish itself.
Sam came around the table and pulled up a chair next to her.
Okay, so show me whats going on, and well gure it out, he
said, leaning in under her shoulder to look at the bills spread out
across the table.
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Kathleen McCleary

Ellen stiffened. We cant do it, Sam, she said, nally breaking

down into tears. I knew this would happen. From the stupid linedancing boot to the hot dog diaper, I knew one day youd just take
this too far and wed lose everything.
God, Ellen, were not going to lose everything! Calm down.
Yes, were short on the mortgage, but we can work something out.
Her tears stopped, and she felt still and cold, as though the very
bones inside her skin were ice and could never be warmed. And
then it came to her, with a sudden, startling clarity. We have to
sell the house, she said. We have to sell the house and use the
equity to pay off the second mortgage, then buy a new placeor
rentwith whatever we have left.
Well, thats a little extreme, Sam said, leaning back in his
chair.
Theres nothing else for it, Sam, she said. You tell me. Weve
even dipped into the kids college funds; and theres not enough
there to pay off the second mortgage. Do we cash out our retirement accounts? What happens when were sixty-ve?
She expected him to argue with her, to come up with a plan. Of
course theyd never sell the house. She had said it just for the
shock value, to make him see how serious this was.
But Sam was silent. I really believed this was the one, he said
softly. The one that would make us totally secure.
Ellen closed her eyes and shook her head. And before she knew
it, the words shed been thinking were on her lips. I cant do this
anymore, Sam.
Okay, he said. Its not fair you handle all the nancial stuff;
Ill help.
Im not talking about the nancial stuff, she said. I cant be
married to you anymore.
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House and Home

There was a long silence. Sam looked down at the table, at the
numbers that just wouldnt add up. He bit his lower lip. She had
done it; she had used that terrible power she had always known
she had to wound him. But there was no help for it, just as there
was no help for selling the house. It wasnt just the house or the
hot dog diaper or the toaster; it was all of it, all the things over all
the years.
Youd do that to the kids? he asked.
No, Ellen said. Youve done that to the kids.
Fine! he said, standing up so quickly that he knocked over his
chair, which fell with a loud clatter against the hardwood oor. She
could see the raw hurt in him, there in the still-beloved lines of his
prole, the downturned eyes. All the life and laughter that his face
had held just a few hours ago in the kitchen was gone now. I want
you, she thought, but I want you different. I want you careful and thoughtful
and responsible, and thats never going to happen. I just cant do it anymore.
That had been six months ago. Now they were formally separated and the house was sold and their ten-year-old daughter
seemed to be falling apart at school. Ellen snapped herself out of
her thoughts and called Stacy to come in and relieve her. Half an
hour later, Ellen was in the school ofce, looking at the bright
block prints the second-graders had drawn of lionsh and alligraffes and hippocats. Mr. Kreske, the principal, came in and
shook her hand heartily. He was a jovial, big, blond man with
wire-rimmed glasses who wore wide, brightly colored ties in
shades of green and purple and yellow. He was about ten years
younger than Ellen, which always made her feel old. Principals
should always be older than she was, Ellen thought. He ushered
her into his ofce, where Sara was sitting stify on a wooden chair,
her face stained with tears.
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Kathleen McCleary

Ellen sat down next to her and put her arm around her daughters small shoulders. Whats up, sweetheart? What happened?
Sara got very upset about something that happened in class,
Mr. Kreske said. I certainly understand why she was upset, but
she completely lost her temper. Im afraid she yelledand
sworeat Mrs. Buckman and her classmates. Ive talked to her,
and I think we understand each other, but she refuses to go back
to class.
Ellen looked searchingly at Sara, who sat quietly staring at Mr.
Kreske with a look of pure loathing on her face. Ellen was startled
by the intensity of it, the scowl that seemed to pull down all her
beautiful features into an upside-down U, the blackness of her eyes.
What happened?
Nothing. They laughed at me and I got mad, thats all, Sara
said, not looking at her mother.
What do you mean? Why did they laugh?
I dont want to talk about it. I said I was sorry.
Mr. Kreske handed Ellen a note. I asked Sara to write a letter
of apology to her teacher for disrupting the class. I told her to
think about her behavior and what she was truly sorry about, and
to put it down in words. Perhaps youd like to see it.
Ellen looked down at the note, scrawled on a neatly folded
piece of sky blue paper. She recognized Saras large, loopy
handwritingeven messier than usual because, Ellen guessed, she
had written this in haste and in a fury.
Dear Mrs. Buckman, the note read. I am very sorry that you
sent me to the principals ofce. Sincerely, Sara Flanagan.
Ellen held back a smile. It was awful, certainly, sassy and disrespectful, but it was just so Sara. Ellen was sure that Sara truly was
sorry that Mrs. Buckman had sent her to the ofce.
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House and Home

Ellen looked up at Mr. Kreske and thought she detected a gleam

of suppressed amusement in his face, too. I see, she said. Well,
thank you, Mr. K. Ill take Sara home for the afternoon to cool
down, and well discuss it. Ill give you a call tonight.
She took Saras hand, and they walked across the parking lot to
the car.
So why dont you tell me whats going on? Ellen said after
Sara was buckled in the back.
Nothing, Sara said darkly. I hate Mrs. Buckman and I hate
Mr. K. and I hate all those stupid kids in that stupid school and
Im never going back.
Well, that certainly covers everything, Ellen said. Come on,
sweetheart. Its not like you to lose your temper like that. What
happened?
Nothing, Sara said again. I just want to go home and stay
there forever. Forever, she said loudly, meeting Ellens eyes in the
rearview mirror.
Ellen wished with all her heart that she could give Sara the
chance to grow up in one house, in one neighborhood, for all her
childhood. She wished she could give Sara a family that wasnt
splitting apart, a father who was happy with a steady, nine-to-ve
job, a mother who knew how to let go and when. She wished she
could nd the right words, something with wings and a heart, as
Nabokov wrote, to explain it all, to reassure her too-serious daughter that it really would turn out all right. Instead she just said,
Well, Id like to know what happened.
Well, Id like to know why Daddys leaving and were moving,
Sara said. I am not leaving our house and I am not leaving Emily
and nothing will ever be the same if we move to that dumb new
house.
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Kathleen McCleary

Ellen could hear her own despair at leaving the house echoed in
her daughter, even though for months she had tried to be careful,
pausing before every sentence to make sure she didnt express her
grief to the girls. She didnt want them to know that losing the
house was a wound in her as deep and cold and blue as a crevasse
in a glacier, something that felt as if it would never heal.
Joanna had not hesitated to point out what Ellen already knew:
that focusing all her grief on losing the house was a way to avoid
dealing with the grief over losing her marriage. Ellen still couldnt
really imagine her life as just Ellen, and not Ellen-and-Sam. From
the minute they had met, in college, they had shared a friendship
so deep that others accused them of having their own private language. Over the past twenty-odd years, they had become so woven together that living without Sam was like living in a house
without mirrors or glass, without any way to stop and truly see
yourself clearly.
Emily and Jo will be over at our new house all the time, Ellen
said to Sara, trying to sound normal and optimistic, and not too
cheerful or chirpy. Emily will be able to ride the bus home with
you to come play. And well be able to x up the new house any
way we like. I know it wont be the same, sweetie, and I wish it
didnt have to be this way. But Daddy and I both love you and
Louisa, and will always take care of you and that will never
change.
Sara glared. I am not leaving, she said. And I will call 911 if
you try to make me.
Ellen sighed. Im going to talk to Daddy about this. And well
discuss it more tonight. Lets go home and get you something
to eat.
At home she settled Sara at the dining room table with a bowl
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House and Home

of cereal, her homework, and a blank piece of stationery to write

a new note of apology to Mrs. Buckman. Ellen hated to see the
way Saras thin body hunched over the table, her small shoulders
pulled tight.
She dialed Sams cell phone. Sara just got sent home from
school, she told him, for screaming and swearing at her teacher
and the rest of her class.
Why? he asked.
I dont know; she wont tell me, Ellen said. But shes clearly
extremely upset about the divorce and the move. I think you should
spend some time with her tonight. I dont know what to do.
I dont know what to do, either, Sam said.
Well, its your turn to think of something, Ellen said. Did you
really never think about what would happen if the hot dog diaper
didnt sell? Or didnt you care, because you knew Id be around to
gure out what to do next? What a fucking mess.
Sam was silent. He was either overwhelmed by guilt, she guessed,
or in shock that she had actually said the word fucking, or some combination of both.
Jesus, Ellen, he said nally. Of course I hate it that Sara is
having a hard time; the difference is that I think shell recover, just
like I think she can actually be happy in a different house. Not everyone gets to go through life in an idyllic little bubble. I wouldnt
have wished this on the kids, but Im not pursuing it just to hurt
them, or you. Did you ever think that if the hot dog diaper turns
into something big, it could be good for all of us? That maybe Id
have a chance to see something I did become successful? And wed
have some real nancial security.
Oh, please, Ellen said. She was still feeling reckless and
squashed the impulse to start saying fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck
41

Kathleen McCleary

into the phone. Just come and get her tonight for dinner or ice
cream. You need to talk to her. And youll have them Friday night
because of my party, so maybe you can plan something special to
do, take them to Oaks Park or something. She really needs a lot of
extra reassurance and attention right now, particularly from you.
Ill come at six-thirty and take her to play mini-golf, Sam
said.
Fine, said Ellen. Shell be ready. But dont just play golf and
pretend everything is okay. Talk to her. She hung up.
After dinner, with Sam and Sara out on their date, Ellen
made a cup of tea and sat down in the living room, on the big,
honey-colored couch with its bright red pillows. She remembered
when shed lost the baby, her second pregnancy, in the fth month.
Even though by then they had Sara, a fat, healthy toddler, Ellen
longed for another baby and was attened by grief. She had lain
on the couch, on this same yellow-gold couch, and Sam had done
magic tricks to make her smile. He could turn quarters into pennies and then into paper roses, and tap a deck of cards and make
all the cards turn into the queen of hearts. She loved his little-boy
enthusiasm for it, loved the sweetness that made him want to entertain her while she felt so god-awful. And after Louisa was born,
a lively baby who never seemed to sleep, Sam would do magic
tricks while she gurgled in her crib, arms and legs pumping furiously as bouquets and stuffed bunnies and brightly colored silk
scarves ew over her head.
Ellen looked around the living room, at the built-in bookcases
with the pictures of fat-cheeked baby Louisa and big-eyed baby
Sara, at the bay window overlooking the swing set where Emily
and Sara and Louisa had played for hours and hours, at the burn
mark on the oor from the time Louisa had stuck the cast-iron
42

House and Home

replace tongs into the re and then branded the hardwood. Ellen
hoped that Sara would feel better if the house did indeed burn, if
she knew another little girl was not moving into her room, another
child was not playing in the branches of the pink and white camellia tree outside the dining room window.
Louisa came in and climbed onto the couch, settling in next to
Ellen. At ve, she was small for her age, and when she sat all the
way back in the deep couch, only her feet dangled over the edge.
Her hair was a mop of thick dark brown waves, like Sams. She
had the ne, round shape of Sams head, and even the hint of his
high cheekbones beneath her full, still-babyish cheeks.
Can I have a sip of your tea, Mommy?
Ellen nodded and gave her mug to her younger daughter. Its
warm, but not too hot. Sip slowly.
Louisa leaned forward and blew hard across the tea, then sipped
it in a long, slow, loud slurp.
Needs more sugar, she said, smiling at Ellen. Her smile was
Sams, too, big and wide and with a perfect round dimple denting
her left cheek.
You think everything needs more sugar, Lulu, Ellen said
wryly, using the nickname theyd given her as a baby. Didnt you
say the meat loaf last night needed more sugar?
Louisa giggled. Remember when Daddy put sugar in his
soup? Theyd gotten up early one day last summer to drive to the
beach. On the way theyd stopped for a snack, and Sam had ordered a cup of soup and some coffee. He had been folding a paper
napkin into the shape of a kite and explaining the aerodynamics
of kite ight to the girls when his order arrived, and he hadnt
even noticed that he poured several large spoonfuls of sugar into
the wrong cup, sweetening his beef vegetable soup. The girls had
43

Kathleen McCleary

been in hysterics over his mistake and it had become a family joke,
with one of them passing the sugar bowl to Sam every time soup
was served. Can you have family jokes once youre not a family anymore?
Ellen thought.
Stop. Theres nothing else for it, she said out loud, without
meaning to.
Stop what, Mommy? Louisa asked.
Nothing, sweetheart, Ellen said, tucking a stray wisp of hair
behind her daughters ear. Silly Mommy. I was talking to myself.
But it gnawed at her, an uneasy restlessness that even tea and
Louisas warm hugs couldnt dispel.
Later that night, after Sara was back from her outing with Sam,
Ellen sat on top of the red and white blanket at the edge of Saras
bed and tucked it in snugly around her. Louisa was already asleep,
snoring gently, her full lips parted.
Ill tell you what happened at school today, Mommy, if you
promise not to laugh, Sara said after a moment of silence.
Of course I wont laugh, darling, said Ellen, running her ngers through Saras hair. You tell me.
Well, you know how weve been studying the Oregon Trail,
and all the different kinds of animals the pioneers saw? And we
went on that eld trip through Tryon Creek Park?
Sure, sweetie.
Well, we did a bunch of little plays in class today about the Oregon Trail and the animals. And afterwards Mrs. Buckman asked
each of us to talk about our favorite skit. And I was rst. Only I
thought she said scat. Do you know what scat is, Mommy?
Ellen nodded. You mean poop?
Yeah. I said Coyote poop! and then everyone laughed. Even
Mrs. Buckman laughed! But I thought she said scat. And then
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House and Home

they laughed really hard and it just made me so mad. I mean, anyone could have made that mistake. So I yelled at all of them and
at Mrs. Buckman and then they stopped laughing. And then I got
sent to the principals ofce.
Well, it was a funny mistake. Cant you see that its a little bit
funny? Wouldnt you have laughed if Nicky or Mia had said coyote poop was their favorite skit?
Sara looked at Ellen, studying her face. Well, maybe.
All right. You cant yell at your classmates and your teacher,
Sara. Even if you get very, very angry. You know that. Tomorrow
maybe you can think about what youd like to say in a real apology
to Mrs. Buckman, and give her the note you wrote tonight. Im
sure shell thank you and move on. Youre not the rst kid to lose
it in her class, and Im sure you wont be the last.
Ellen kissed her daughter on her smooth, soft forehead and
stood up and turned out the light. Sweet dreams. See you in the
morning.
She was out in the hall when she heard Saras voice, soft but
steady. And, Mommy? I know you feel bad about moving, too.
But dont worry. I have a plan.

45

H A P T E R

O U R

llen arrived at the shop later than usual on Thursday

morning, after taking Sara and Louisa to school and stopping in to talk both to Mrs. Buckman and to Mr. K. It was cold
and damp, one of those days in May that make Oregonians long
for the hot, dry days of August. Ellen actually loved the rain. She
had grown up in southern Michigan, where the sky was gray most
of the winter and the snow covering the ground was gray and the
lakes froze, stretching in vast ripples of gray all the way to the
horizon. Ellen always had a sense of being somehow in limbo there,
caught between the gray sky and ground and ice, waiting for
something to happen.
When she moved to Oregon, it was like moving from black and
white Kansas to a Technicolor Emerald City. Yes, the sky was gray
and the rains came, but the ground was green, green all year long,
and the laurels and Douglas rs and cedars were green even in
winter. She loved the deep, vivid green of wet surfaces glistening
under overcast skies. She was drunk on it. And she felt, nally, that
with all that rich color, her life came into focus, too, that Ellen herself somehow grew more vivid and became the person she was
meant to be, the one who was just a ghost in Michigan.
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Kathleen McCleary

As much as she loved the rain, Ellen was worried about it today.
If she held her party tomorrow night, she wanted it to be clear
and dry, without too much windgood weather for effectively
burning down a house without setting the whole neighborhood
ablaze. She made a mental note to herself to check the weather
report in the paper.
Cloud, the store manager for Coffee@home, was sprinkling cocoa powder on top of a mocha latte when she walked in. He was
young, just twenty-two, with thick blond hair that he wore in a
loose ponytail and a blond goatee and beautiful expressive brown
eyes, a dramatic combination. He was more than six feet tall,
lanky and easygoing, and had a quiet friendliness that drew customers back to the store for another cup of coffee or mufn and a
few minutes of conversation with Cloud.
Ellen adored Cloud; he was steady and unappable, almost always in a good mood, and loved kids. He babysat often for her
girls and showed them how to stack the plastic tops for the coffee
cups, or arrange the bagels in the big, at basket whenever they
wanted to work at the store for a few hours. But Ellen was always conicted about Cloud. Her maternal side wanted him to go
back and nish school, use his brilliant mind and wonderful people skills in a career that was truly worthy of him. On the other
hand, he was competent and trustworthy, and shed never be able
to replace him if he left.
Busy this morning? she asked.
Its been steady, he said, stacking cardboard cup sleeves neatly
in a wicker basket on a shelf under the counter. Some guy came
in looking for you. I told him youd be here around nine-thirty.
Ellen glanced at the clock. It was 9:20. Who was he?
The dude who always gets the tall vanilla lattes.
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House and Home

Ellen felt her heart pound, although she wasnt quite sure why.
With the beard? And the briefcase?
Yeah, that guy.
Did he say what he wanted? Did he actually ask for me by
name?
Naw, Cloud said, pouring a cup of coffee for the woman with
short, spiky hair at the counter. Just asked for the owner and said
hed be back later.
Ellen absorbed this information. She had thought maybe Jeffrey Boyce wouldnt come back once hed run into Alexa outside
the shop and been recognized. She wondered again what he really
wanted, why hed been coming in day after day and talking to her
and looking at her with that searching gaze without introducing
himself.
You know hes the guy who bought my house, she said to
Cloud. He and his wife and their three kids.
No way! That guy? Hes been in here, like, every day for two
weeks.
I know. It just seems odd to me that he didnt say anything, you
know? He never introduced himself.
Well, you can ask him about it now, Cloud said, jerking his
head toward the front of the store. Here he comes.
Ellen turned to see Jeffrey Boyce walk in, wearing his rmly
belted khaki trench coat and shaking the water off a large black
umbrella with a ne tortoiseshell handle. He looked at her and
blushed.
Hello, she said, trying to be calm and not angry, although she
didnt know exactly what she had to be angry about. Tall vanilla
latte, right?
He nodded, carefully placing his umbrella in the large yellow
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Kathleen McCleary

crock painted with red and blue parrots that served as an umbrella
stand by the front door. Cloud, seeing Jeffreys red face and hearing the tightly controlled tone of Ellens voice, disappeared toward
the other end of the counter, humming a nameless tune.
So youre Jeffrey Boyce, Ellen said, pumping three shots of
vanilla syrup into a cup. I met your wife the other day.
I know, Jeffrey said. She mentioned shed stopped by. I hope
she didnt upset you. Your real estate agent told me you werent
too eager to meet us.
Ellen looked at him. It seems a little odd to me that youve
been coming in here every day without ever introducing yourself.
Was it just to see what I looked like?
He blushed again, a red ush slowly climbing from just above
the neat knot of his red striped tie to the top of his forehead.
Im, uh, sorry, he said. I just felt really bad when the Realtor
and your husband told me how painful it was for you to sell the
house. He looked down at the well-polished surface of his brown
wingtip shoes. Its a wonderful house. Im sorry you have to leave
it. He looked up at her. I guess I was just hoping I could let you
know that we love it and will take good care of it.
Ellen felt the anger rise in her, like water rushing into a well
during a storm, at the same time that she knew it was unreasonable. What is it with you people? You and Jordan feel compelled
to let me know youre going to love my house, as though thats going to make me feel better? she said. I dont want to know. I love
my house.
And then, ridiculously, Ellen felt her eyes ll with tears. She put
Jeffreys latte down on the counter. Im sorry, she said. Here.
This one is on the house. And she turned and stumbled through
the swinging door into the back room.
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House and Home

She was followed by Cloud, who had hastily put a bagel on a

plate on the counter for another customer and hurried after her.
Whoa, Ellen, calm down, he said, looking somewhat alarmed
and patting her gingerly on the shoulder with one hand. Did that
guy say something to you?
She wiped the tears from her cheeks with both hands and looked
up at him. No, of course not. Its just the house, and that man and
his wife whove bought it and the whole stupid mess.
She was hugely embarrassed that she was crying, in front of
Cloud, her employee, as well as in front of Jeffrey Boyce, a virtual
stranger. She felt that Jeffrey and Jordan were forcing an almost
unbearable intimacy on her, asking her to imagine the house with
their love for it, their lives in it. She had looked at Jeffrey there at
the counter and realized he was a kind man, and had suddenly
imagined him in the house, whistling as he showered in the little
bathroom under the eaves in the morning, eating his cereal by the
big picture window in the dining room, kissing Jordan good-bye at
the screen door in the kitchen. And just as suddenly she had felt a
rush of complete loss, realizing that never again would she listen
to Sam whistle as he shaved in the mornings, or lie in bed, her
head nestled against Sams shoulder, and watch the wind dance
through the boughs of the Douglas rs that towered against the
sky outside their bedroom window.
Ellen wiped a nger under each eye to make sure her mascara
wasnt smudged. Oh, God, Im sorry, Cloud, she said, looking
up into his dark eyes. I better go out and see if I scared off all the
customers. She tightened the strings of her red apron and went
back into the main room of the shop, with Cloud hovering protectively behind her.
Jeffrey was still standing awkwardly by the counter, his latte in
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Kathleen McCleary

one hand. Three other customers were lined up behind him, and
two more were browsing through the old books on the shelf at the
back of the room. Jeffrey looked so concerned that Ellen almost
wanted to laugh. She walked to the end of the counter to talk to
him while Cloud started lling orders.
Look, Im really sorry, he said, extending his hand as though
to pat Ellens arm and then, thinking better of it, pulling his arm
back by his side. I didnt mean to upset you. Of course well leave
you alone. But I also didnt know how to handle this, and thought
I should show it to you.
He placed an envelope and a letter on the counter. His name and
address were printed neatly in pencil on the front of the envelope,
although it was clearly a childs handwriting. There was no return
address. There were three stamps in the other corner, all pasted on
upside down. Ellen picked up the letter, written in pencil on the
crisp pink stationery she kept in her desk drawer at home. She read:
Dear Mr. And Mrs. Boyce:
There has been a mistake about the house at 2424 SW Grace
Lane. We are very sorry but it is NOT for sale. Here is your
money back.
Sincerely,
Ellen and Sam Flanagan
Ellen dropped the letter and looked in the envelope. There was
a thick stack of bills inside, wrinkled ones and tens and ves.
Where did you get this? she asked. How much money is
this? Did Sara do this? How would she know your address? And
where would she get all this money?
Jeffrey carefully folded the letter and put it back inside the
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House and Home

envelope with the money. Well, I assumed it came from one of

your daughters, he said. I got it in the mail a couple weeks ago.
I really felt bad about it. I have three kids; I mean, I know this is
traumatic for your girls. I came in to show it to you and return the
money, and then there always seemed to be a lot of people around
or you looked kind of he searched for the right wordsad or
troubled, and I didnt want to add to your worries. But there it is.
He handed the envelope to Ellen.
I didnt show it to my wife, he added, somewhat shyly. As
you know, shes very excited about the house, and shes been worried all along that something would happen to keep us from getting it. She was afraid right up until the last second that youd
change your mind about signing the closing papers.
Ellen didnt tell him that she wished with all her heart she never
had signed the closing papers, that if there were one action in her
entire life she could undo, it would be that one. She didnt tell him
how often she relived every moment of that day, imagining herself
taking up the contract and ripping it to shreds while Sam and
Alexa stared in astonishment and begged her to be reasonable.
She pictured herself sitting in that gray upholstered chair and saying, You know what? I dont want to sell the house. The deal is
off, and then standing up and walking out into the rain. And
since shed met Jordan, shed envisioned it even more often, the
phone calls and frantic conversations that always ended, in Ellens
mind, with a stern, faceless lawyer telling Jordan, Im sorry, Mrs.
Boyce, theres nothing we can do. If Mrs. Flanagan doesnt want
to sell, she doesnt have to. The house is hers.
But I dont understand, Ellen said again. How would Sara
get your address? And this much money? How much is it? she
asked, looking directly into Jeffrey Boyces pale blue eyes.
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Kathleen McCleary

Quite a lot, he said. Four hundred and fty dollars.

Four hundred and fty! Ellens mind was racing. She must
have heard Sam and me talking about the offers on the house, and
whether we thought four fty was a good price. Of course she
wouldnt know we meant four hundred and fty thousand. But
where did she get it?
Cloud, who was closing the cash register drawer after ringing
up another sale, cleared his throat. Uh, well, I may know something about that.
You! Ellen turned in surprise. What do you have to do with
this?
Cloud smiled a good-bye at his customer and walked down to
where Ellen and Jeffrey stood. Well, you remember that Saturday
morning when you left Sara here? You and Sam had something
going on with Louisa.
Ellen remembered. Theyd taken Louisa in to see the child psychologist one Saturday morning to talk about the divorce, just as
theyd taken Sara on her own to a similar appointment. Ellen had
planned to leave Sara at Joannas, but then Emily had come down
with a fever and cough, and Ellen had decided to leave her at the
store with Cloud for a few hours instead, because Sara loved going
to the shop and working.
Yes, I remember. She was here what, three hours?
Well, yeah. She made this big poster in the back room about
raising money for the homeless, Cloud said. She said it was a
project for her church and that youd said it was okay if she put up
the poster and a jar to collect money while she was here. She told
me the whole story about this homeless family that came here
from Africa and had ve children and the church was trying to get
them an apartment and clothes and food and stuff, and she and
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House and Home

her Sunday school class were, like, trying to raise money to buy
them toys, too.
Oh, my God. How could she have raised four hundred and
fty dollars in one morning? Thats more than we take in at the till
in one morning. And then to send it through the mail.
Maybe she saved money some other ways, too, Jeffrey said
gently. I know my older daughter hoards all her birthday money
and chore money.
Ellen tried to think clearly. Sara had gotten twenty-ve dollars
from each of her grandparents for her birthday in March, so that
was a hundred dollars. She had a blue plastic piggy bank in her
closet into which she put every penny she found or dime she
earned; Ellen had no idea how much shed stored up there. Had
Sara stolen money somehow? And did she now believe that she had
successfully bought back the house, so they wouldnt have to move?
Look, Im sure you have a lot to sort out, Jeffrey said. Im
sorry I didnt tell you about this sooner. I hope your little girl isnt
too disappointed when she nds out that we still own the house.
I honestly dont know what shell do, Ellen said, closing her
eyes tightly so the tears wouldnt come again. Shes very upset
about moving and my divorce, obviously.
Jeffrey put his latte down on the counter, and Ellen realized that
theyd been so busy talking hed forgotten to drink it; it was probably cold by now. Ive got to go, he said. Good luck with everything. I wont come in again because I understand its hard for you,
although I am somewhat addicted to your lattes now. He smiled at
her, a shy smile full of such warmth and sympathy that Ellen
wanted to reach out and pat his arm.
Clearly you have a very clever and resourceful little girl, he
said. Im sure things will work out for you.
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Kathleen McCleary

Thank you, Ellen said, smiling a smile that didnt reach her
eyes and feeling as though she would never be able to smile with
spontaneous joy again. Im sure it will all be ne in the end.
Jeffrey walked over to the door and picked up his umbrella,
holding it between his knees while he used both hands to retie his
trench coat. He still seemed somewhat hesitant, as though maybe
the delivery of the letter wasnt the only thing after all, as though
there was something more he wanted to say.
Ellen stood by the counter, holding the envelope in her hand,
watching him. Maybe he wanted to tell her that he was willing to
back out of the whole deal now that he understood how deeply it
was affecting her and her girls. Maybe he wanted to turn to her
and say, You know what? Lets just rip up the contract after all.
We can nd another house; this one should be yours.
Ellen waited expectantly, willing him silently to turn to her. Jeffrey nished tying his belt and looked up, gazing directly at her.
He opened his mouth as though to say something, then seemed to
think better of it. And then he turned and pulled open the door
and walked out into the rain without saying a word.

56

H A P T E R

I V E

he next morning dawned clear and bright, without too

much wind, just as Ellen had hoped.
She had collected more than a hundred and fty candles, including the fty large pillar candles shed found in the storeroom at
Coffee@home, another fty tapers shed purchased on sale at Tuesday Morning, and ve dozen votives shed found at Costco. She was
expecting ve friends tonight, including Joanna. Sam was to pick up
the girls at six and keep them until noon the following day.
Ellen spent the morning while the kids were at school cleaning
the houserubbing orange oil into the hardwood oors, wiping
down the windows with glass cleaner and newspapers, dusting the
sills and moldings slowly and lovingly, like someone preparing a
beloved body for a funeral, which was exactly what she was doing,
she thought. The windows caught the bright Oregon sun and
ooded the east side of the house with soft morning light.
Ellen carefully packed overnight bags for the girls, making sure
she included their most beloved toys, the ones they couldnt replace
and could never live without. For Sara, it was the large stuffed buffalo that Emily had given her for her fourth birthday and that she
had named, innocently, Horny, because of the small horns on his
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Kathleen McCleary

head. For Louisa, it was a doll that Ellen had made for her out of
pink cotton jersey and batting when she was three, with an embroidered face and soft brown yarn hair and a pink owered dress and
red felt boots. Louisa had named her Stella Blue Moon and
wouldnt sleep without her. After tonight, if the house were really
and truly uninhabitable, she and the girls could stay at Jos, Ellen gured, until their new house was available on May thirty-rst.
Ellen had already packed up all the photo albums and report
cards and brightly crayoned drawings and baby clotheseven her
wedding dressinto several large boxes and asked Joanna to store
them in her basement for safekeeping. I just dont want to have to
worry about the sentimental stuff as Im trying to go through everything for the move, she had explained, avoiding Jos sympathetic
eyes. This way, Ill know its all safe with you and I can focus on the
stuff I need to give to the Salvation Army or haul to the dump.
Of course, sweetie, Jo had said. Do you want me to do anything? I mean, I could go through all the photos and sort out the
ones with Sam in them if that would help.
Oh, no, Ellen had said. I dont want the girls to think Ive
cut him out of our lives. If I can just put the boxes in your basement, itll be help enough.
Now she went down to her own basement, with the cinderblock walls and the turtle drawings and the big rocking horse that
Louisa had outgrown just last year, and removed the battery from
the smoke detector. She replaced it with a dead battery from the
bag they kept in the kitchen drawer for taking to the hazardous
waste disposal place, only they always forgot to actually do it. She
did the same thing with the smoke detectors in the kitchen, the
hallway, and upstairs by the bedrooms.
She had talked to Sara last night about the money and the note
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she had sent to Jeffrey Boyce. They had sat on the steps on the
deck overlooking the swing set, where Louisa was busily shooting
Stella Blue Moon down the slide. It was a perfect Oregon May
evening, cool and clear after the days rain, scented with sweetness
from the laurel blossoms that dangled over the fence.
We cant buy the house back, sweetie, Ellen had said gently.
Weve sold it and we cant undo it. I appreciate that you tried to
do something to help with all your money. I know how important
it is to you. But we have to move. Well have fun xing up our new
house.
Sara had sat stify, silent, poking a twig into the crack between
the boards in the deck.
And what you did was wrong, honey. You lied to Cloud; you
owe him an apology. And those people who gave you money
thought they were helping a homeless family. Because we cant
nd those people to give their money back, I think we need to donate it to the homeless shelter.
We are homeless, Sara had said.
We are not homeless, Ellen had said, more sharply than she
meant to. But even as she spoke she had felt the lack of conviction
in her voice, felt her own passion for and obsession with the house
murmuring beneath her words, a hypocritical countermeasure to
her speech to her daughter.
Sara had maintained her silence, dropping her twig and staring
stonily ahead at Louisa and Stella Blue Moon. Ellen wished she
would sob or shout or melt in some way, act more like the little girl
she was. She didnt know what to do with this mirror image of her
own emotions, glaring furiously in front of her. Finally Sara had
looked at her and said, This house will always be our house. Always. I dont care who bought it.
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Yes, Ellen had said. In some ways it will always be ours. It

will always have a special place in our lives because it was our rst
house. Nothing will change that.
That is not what I mean, Sara had said.
Now, Ellen opened the refrigerator to make sure shed put the
white wine in to chill for tonight. Shed bought seven kinds of
cheeses at New Seasons, and sweet Oregon strawberries and
crusty loaves of ciabatta bread. Shed made soup earlier that afternoon, a rich carrot-ginger that lled the house with a wonderful aroma. They would end the meal with a collection of ne
dark chocolate trufes from Moonstruck.
The screen door squeaked open, and Louisa and Sara burst in,
dropping their backpacks on the kitchen table.
Hello, darling girls! said Ellen, bending down to kiss Louisas
cheek and putting an arm around Sara. How was school? Ready
for your big night out with Daddy? What are you three going to
do?
Were going to eat hot dogs! Louisa said cheerfully, riing
through the snack drawer for a cracker. Hot dogs were forbidden
items in Ellens house and objects of great desire. Daddy said we
get two hot dogs eachbut no sodas, she added, lest Ellen think
Sam a reckless parent.
Daddy makes great hot dogs, Ellen said, smiling at her youngest. Louisa had all of Sams sunniness, a natural optimism that
made both of them anticipate good things around every corner,
no matter what nasty, unpleasant experience had lurked beyond
the last bend. It was what made Sam get back up after every inventive disaster and move on to the next creation with the conviction that this time, he was really onto something. It was a quality
so foreign to Ellens own nature that she was constantly amazed
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that she could have given birth to a being as perpetually happy

and hopeful as Louisa.
I packed your favorite jammies, and Stella Blue Moon, she
said. How are you, peanut? She turned to Sara. What happened at school today?
It was good, Sara said. We had chocolate day. Weve been
studying where cocoa beans grow and how chocolate gets made,
and we got to taste all kinds of chocolate, even spicy re chocolate.
Gabe spit his out on the oor, and everybody thought it looked like
poop.
Ellen looked at her. Sounds like fun. Are you excited about going to Daddys?
Yes. But, Mommy? Sara looked up at her intently. Will you
be lonely?
Ellen wrapped her in a hug. No, darling. Im having Jo and
some of my girlfriends over, and were going to have a little party.
So Ill be having fun, too. You enjoy your night and dont worry
about me. But thank you for thinking about it.
She felt Sara relax in her arms, nestle her head against her
shoulder. Now you girls run, she said, and make sure Ive
packed everything you need while I check on my dinner and get
dressed for my party.
Ellen listened to them stampede up the narrow staircase and
thought, This may be the last time I ever hear their feet on those steps. Slowly
she followed the girls upstairs to dress. It was just her best friends,
all women in their forties, but Ellen prepared as though for a big
date. The girls were busily playing pet shop in their room, so she
took a long, luxurious hot shower and smoothed sesame oil into
her skin. She rubbed her heels with pumice stone and smoothed
them with cream, then painted her toenailssomething she had
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not done in probably ten years. She blow-dried her hair and set it
with rollers so it brushed out into shining waves of reddish brown.
She put on a long black silky skirt, a black scoop-neck T-shirt, and
a cardigan the color of the sky on a summer day. Around her
neck, she fastened the necklace Sam had given her for their tenth
wedding anniversary, a single pearl suspended on a ne leather
stringelegant yet casual and exactly Ellens style. Finally, she put
on two delicate silver earrings with pearl drops and deep coppery
red lipstick and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror.
She wished suddenly that Sam were there, standing in the bedroom with his rumpled hair, riing through his dresser drawers for
a clean shirt, looking up at her with a grin to say, You look good,
a statement that was, for the plainspoken Sam, quite an eloquent
compliment. It always carried the underlying promise of an exciting intimacy later, and if he looked at her in a certain way as he
said it, his dark eyes boring into hers, shed get weak at the knees,
like some foolish girl in a novel.
Enough of that! Ellen said sternly to her reection in the mirror. You have other things to think about tonight.
She heard the door slam downstairs and Louisa squeal,
Daddy! Daddy is here! and feet pound on the staircase again as
the girls ran down.
Ellen walked downstairs slowly, running a hand lightly along
the wooden banister in a gentle caress. Sam was in the living
room, with a girl clinging to either leg.
Hey, Ellie. He looked at her intently, at the pearl necklace
nestled against her collarbone, the soft folds of her skirt around
her hips, the loose waves of her hair. His look alone was enough to
make her blush, which irritated her no end. How could her body
betray her so?
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Nice necklace, he said. Who gave it to you?

You gave it to me, she said, frowning. For our tenth anniversary, remember?
He winked at her. Of course, he said. Hard to forget an anniversary that includes skinny-dipping.
Skinny-dipping! Sara said. That is disgusting.
Whats skinny-dipping? said Louisa.
Its swimming with no clothes on, and its totally gross, said
Sara.
Their tenth anniversary had come one August just six months
after Ellen had lost the baby boy in her second trimester. She had
felt numb for months, moving through all the motions of all her
days like an actor in a play, reading lines someone else had written. Sam, in an effort to cheer her up, had planned dinner and
dessert at her favorite restaurants.
They had eaten dinner at Wildwood, buttery salmon glazed
with apricot and ginger. For dessert theyd walked across the street
to get warm chocolate souf cake at Paleys Place. It was then
that Sam had given her the necklace, the pearl on the leather
string. Its the birthstone for June, he said.
But my birthdays in November.
Its for the baby, he said softly. I know youve been really upset about it. I thought you could have this to remember him by.
She had looked at Sam, and all the grief she had held in for
those long monthscalm and composed as she worked at the
shop, drove little Sara to Gymboree and the indoor playground,
cooked dinnerall of it ooded over her at once. She burst into
deep, wrenching sobs, right there in the restaurant.
Oh, geez, Ellie, Ellie, dont, he said, coming around the table
and sliding next to her on the banquette. He wrapped his arms
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around her and pressed her face to his shoulder. Its okay, its really okay. I just wanted you to have something. The other patrons, after looking up to see what the problem was, had gone
back to their dinners and desserts and brandies.
She snifed and wiped her nose on the shoulder of his shirt. I
feel like I let you down, she sobbed softly. I wanted to give you
another baby.
Oh, God, no, he said. No. If Sara is all we end up with, well
still be luckyreally lucky. I mean that. He paused and squeezed
her tight.
She smiled. She could see that Sam was glad his gift had
touched her, even helped her, but he was also mildly embarrassed
by the depth of her emotion. Ive got another surprise for you,
he said. Lets get out of here.
They paid the bill and walked out into the cool summer night,
and then Sam drove her up into the hills and parked outside a
huge house on Vista Drive.
Why are we stopping here? Ellen said.
You know Jonathan Benning? The Intel hotshot I did some
consulting work for last month? Hes out of town for all of August
and told me to come by whenever I want to swim in his backyard
pool. He thought it would be fun for Sara.
And you want to swim now? Ellen said.
Sure, he said.
But we dont have bathing suits.
Thats the point, he said, grinning.
Oh, Sam, come on, she said. Hes probably got a security
guard, or those motion-detecting lights.
Theres no security guard, he said. This is Jonathan Benning, not Bill Gates.
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Ellen shook her head. You want me to go skinny-dipping in a

strangers pool in the middle of the night. Thats crazy.
And fun.
She surprised herself and did it, sneaking silently into the backyard behind Sam, letting him unlock the gate in the big cedar fence,
and then slipping her clothes off onto the concrete, sliding into the
water at the deep end. She felt aroused the minute she entered the
water, enveloped in its liquid warmth, with the cool night air against
her face. She dived down and swam the length of the pool underwater, surfacing at the shallow end to take great gulps of fresh air.
Sam glided up behind her, slippery and warm, and wrapped his
arms around her, lifting the wet tangle of her hair to kiss the back of
her neck. His lips were warm on her skin. She felt his hardness
pressed against her, and he slipped a hand up to caress her breast . . .
Did you really skinny-dip, Daddy? Sara said, jolting Ellen
back to the present.
Of course not, I was kidding, Sam said, handing an
overnight bag to each girl. Here, carry these out to the car. Ill be
right there.
Ellen bent and kissed both her daughters. See you tomorrow,
girls. Have fun.
She turned to him after the girls were gone. You really should
watch what you say around them, Sam. Sara picks up everything.
I know, I know. Im sorry, okay? He looked around the room
again, at the polished wood of the oors, the cheery red paint on
the trim, the dent in the plaster ceiling where hed stuck the
Christmas tree that was just a few inches too tall for the living
room. The house looks good, Ellie, he said. Remember what it
looked like when we bought it? All the plaid wallpaper and horse
themes in every room?
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Of course I remember, she said.

You know Im going to miss it, too, he said. This is the house
where we became a family.
It was such an uncharacteristically sentimental thing for Sam to
say that it caught Ellen off guard. So it wasnt just four walls and a
roof, even to Sam. Reexively, she put a hand on his arm, but then
found herself saying, I dont want to talk about this. Either Ill get
really angry again or Ill cry and destroy all the work that went
into caking on this makeup and trying to look good.
He looked at her, his brown eyes straight into hers. You do
look good, he said.
Ellen felt a rush of desire throughout her body and suddenly
put a hand on either side of his head and pulled his face down to
kiss him. He kissed her back, urgently. His mouth pulled ercely at
her lips, her tongue. His hands gripped her hips, pulled her tight
against him.
She broke away. Stop. Im sorry, she said. Its just too easy
and too familiar, and when you mentioned becoming a family
here, it just got to me. Im sorry, Sam.
He walked across the room, toward the kitchen and back door,
toward the driveway where their daughters waited, and then turned
to look at her again. Dont be sorry, Ellie, he said, smiling and
cocking an eyebrow at her. Next time, just follow through. And he
was gone.
Ellen felt like a fool, furious with herself for giving in to her
emotions, and furious with Sam for even suggesting that there
might be a next time. They were in the midst of a separation; he
had no right to look at her like that. And he was distracting her
from the business at hand, which was tonight and all that would
come after.
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Now she needed to focus. Her friends would be here soon, and
she wanted everything ready. She took out the long wooden
matches from the old tin box on the top shelf of the bookshelf
and started to light the candles, six along the mantel, another half
dozen on the table in the front window, more scattered on the coffee table and end tables. She felt languorous, trancelike, as she
moved slowly through the rooms, lighting the candles that would,
she hoped, become a funeral pyre for her house. She almost understood, with an awful, gripping clarity, how those women in the
news headlines who murdered their children could do something
so terrible and yet still believe it was an act of love.
Her children were safe, Sam was safe, Stella Blue Moon and
Ellens wedding gown and the birthday pictures were all safe. It
was just a house, and she was going to burn it down.

;
joanna appeared in the doorway to the living room, dressed
in blue jeans and a owing top embellished with blue glass beads.
Her thick, curly hair was knotted on top of her head in a careless
bun. She wore one bright blue topaz stud in her right ear.
Jesus Christ, Ellie! Is this a sance or a funeral? she asked,
looking from the mantel to the table to the bookshelf.
Ellen smiled. I wanted to do something special, she said. Its
my farewell party. Although I guess its kind of a funeral, too. A funeral for my marriage, a funeral for our life in this house
Oh, shit. Me and my big mouth. Stop, sweetie. Everything
looks lovely, Jo said, moving closer to put an arm around Ellen.
Really. Please, lets make this fun. My God, think of what youre
leaving behind! The fence thats constantly in need of painting
and repair. The Crazy Cat Lady neighbor with her all-pink outts
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and foliage phobia. Not to mention the furnace that you know is
going to fall apart any day now and cost three thousand dollars to
replace. And you havent even met your neighbors in the new
house yet. I bet one of them is a single, gorgeous, well-organized,
nancially stable guy whos just been waiting for the right short
brunette to come along.
Yeah, Im sure of it, Ellen said drily. Listen, I did want to ask
you a favor, though.
Anything.
Could I sleep in your guest room tonight? Ellen asked. I
dont know, its only the second time Sam has taken the girls
overnight since we split up, and I just dont want to be here all
alone.
Joanna hugged her. Of course! Beds all made up, since Petes
mom is coming next week. And its yours any time you want it.
Any time.
Thanks. If you just leave the back door unlocked after you go
home tonight, Ill come over once Im done cleaning up after the
party. I really appreciate it, Jo.
Its nothing. Now, do you need any help?
Foods all ready. Come talk to me in the kitchen while I warm
up the soup, Ellen said, glancing around the living room at the
ickering shadows cast by the candles. Im hoping it will be a
party well never forget.
An hour later they were all there, sitting in a circle on the living
room oor and picking at the cheese and fruit, well into their third
bottle of wine. Molly, who sat next to Ellen, was the mother of
Saras best friend from kindergarten. A native Oregonian, Molly
was slightly self-conscious about the fact that shed never gone to
college, even though she was the smartest person Ellen knew, and
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the most kindhearted. Laurie, on the other side of Molly, lived just
up the hill from Ellen and Jo on Grace Lane. No-nonsense, maternal, shed nursed Ellen through her miscarriage, bringing her ironfortied mufns and spinach quiches, and stopping by with movies
and books guaranteed to get your mind off it. Karly, who sat
next to Jo, owned the gift shop next door to Coffee@home; she
and Ellen had been friends for eight years. And tall, lanky Debbie,
who lay on the oor in front of the replace, had played rst base
on the womens softball team that Ellen had joined when she rst
moved to Portland, in the years B.K. (Before Kids).
Molly owes me twenty dollars, Laurie said, laughing and
staring meaningfully at Molly, who rolled her eyes.
For what? Ellen asked.
She bet me youd never actually leave the house, Laurie said.
And I said you would: Common sense would prevail.
Its not that I thought you couldnt do it, Molly said, somewhat
sheepishly. I just thought you wouldnt. Youre so clever; I thought
youd gure out a way to keep it.
Cleverness has nothing to do with it, said Karly. Ellies
tough. I think Ellie should stand at the door with a shotgun when
Jordan comes to move in. I can just see her, our Ellen, all ve foot
two of her, defending her house to her last drop of blood.
God, you make me sound like Granny on The Beverly Hillbillies, Ellen said with a laugh.
Yes! shrieked Jo. Thats it! Git off my property! Its the role
of a lifetime for you, Ellie. Get that shotgun loaded.
No, thats not Ellie, said Molly, putting an arm around Ellen
and hugging her. Shes going to go gentle into that new house.
I dont know, Ellen said ruefully, leaning against Molly. I feel
more like Im going to burn and rave and rage, rage. Although
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Ive done enough of that already, God knows. Maybe Im ready to

go gentle now.
Ellen, ushed and logy with the meal and the wine, felt her tension and sorrow melt in the warmth of her friends affection and
support. These women were perpetually on her side; they knew
her inside out, loved her even though she worried too much and
was hyperresponsible, and they would do anything to help her or
her kids. She knew that if she dropped dead the next day, theyd
step in, keeping her memory alive for her children, reinforcing the
values she tried hardest to live. As long as she had these women,
she could get through anything.
Can we talk about my dog now? asked Debbie. She sat up to
rell her wineglass from the bottle on the coffee table. So the dog
has gotten so attached to me that he wont let Jim in the bed, she
said. Last night I was in bed reading, and Buster was lying next
to me, and Jim came in and started undressing. Well, Buster began
to growl, and every time Jim came near the bed, hed bark at him
and bare his teeth.
Thats a problem, Molly said.
Its only a problem if you really want Jim in your bed, said Jo,
smiling.
Well, thats the thing, Debbie said. Jim threw a t and said
the dog has to go. And frankly, the dog is the family member who
treats me the best, so Im not so sure I want to get rid of him. I
mean, Buster doesnt ask much of me, never complains, never
criticizes, loves whats served for dinner, and is always thrilled
when I walk into a room. If it comes down to it, Id be hardpressed to pick Jim over Buster right now.
The women laughed. Ellen smiled. But she was thinking about
Sam, about the hungry way hed kissed her earlier that evening,
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about the eagerness hed always had to get into her bed. When her
friends made jokes over the years about how their sex lives had become low priority, almost a chore, Ellen had always remained
silent. Throughout their marriage, she had wanted Sam as much
as she had the day theyd met, and he had matched her interest
and eagerness. They made love in the shower early in the morning, before the girls were awake, on the oor in front of the replace late at night, even in the kitchen, with Ellen pressed against
the counter, moaning as Sam thrust into her from behind. Ironic
that her marriage, the one in which the sexual re had never even
ickered, was the one that didnt last. If only it were enough, she
thought. If only being wildly attracted to someone were enough . . .
Maybe you just need a bigger bed, Molly said.
Or a dog whisperer, said Laurie. You know, to teach Buster
that Jim is the leader of the pack.
But Jims not the leader of the pack, and Buster knows it,
Ellen said, with a wink at Debbie.
Exactly, Debbie said. Thats what Jim is really upset about.
He wants to be leader. Its bad enough that the kids view me as the
ultimate authority; now the dog does, too.
They all laughed again. They talked for hours more, draining the
last bottle of wine, carefully slicing up and sharing the last chocolate
trufe. Finally, just after eleven, after theyd gone through the house
one last time and marveled at how it looked, and picked up all the
dishes and washed the wineglasses, and hugged Ellen hard, they left
and Ellen was alone in the house.
She walked carefully from room to room, saying a silent goodbye to each space. Then she picked up the candle snuffer and
walked back through the living room and dining room. She couldnt
leave every candle blazing; that would be too stupid, too obvious.
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She had to put out all but a few, easily overlooked tapersthe kind
of oversight anyone might make, especially after drinking a few
glasses of wine. Slowly she extinguished the candles on the mantel,
then the votives on the coffee table and end tables. She looked carefully around the room and nally decided to leave three candles
burning: one on the table in the front window, right next to the curtain; one on the wooden bookshelf, where the heat of the ame had
already blackened a dark circle on the shelf above it; and one in
the dining room, on the very old and very dry wood of the corner
cupboard.
She turned out the last of the lights. Ellen took one long, nal
look around the room, imprinting every detail one last time into
memory. The candles ared, their ames streaming upward.
Then she turned and walked through the kitchen and out the
back door, closing and locking it rmly behind her.

72

H A P T E R

I X

llen was wide awake, denitely too wide awake to slip

into Joannas guest room and try to sleep. Not that shed
sleep at all tonight, she thought. She was slightly drunk from all
the wine, and also keyed up and restless and in desperate need of
a cup of tea and some quiet. She gured it would take several
hours for the candles to burn down to pools of wax, to sear the
wood of the bookshelf or the corner cupboard, or for aming curtains to heat the wooden lathe beneath the plaster walls. She
wanted to be at Joannas to keep watch through the night, but
surely she had time to grab some tea at the shop and calm herself
down a little.
Cloud was just closing up as she arrived. He had a red bandanna tied around his head and was wearing a blue Mount Bachelor T-shirt, wide-wale corduroy slacks, and leather sandalswith
socks. The sandals-with-socks look was something it had taken
Ellen years to get used to after she moved to Oregon. In Michigan, people wore sandals in the summer and shoes in the winter.
Here, people wore sandals year-round. They just added thick athletic socks in the cold months.
I did the drawer already, he said. We had a good day. The
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sun comes out for a few minutes in the afternoon, and suddenly
everyone wants iced lattes. He looked at her. You look really
nice, Ellen, he said. Hope you had a good evening.
She smiled at him. I did. Thanks, Cloud. Im just not ready to
sleep, though, so I thought Id sit here for a few minutes and have
a cup of tea.
Youre in luck, he said, nodding toward the back counter.
Just made a pot.
Ellen and Cloud shared a love of good tea, in spite of the fact
that they both spent much of their time making exquisite coffee
drinks. Ellen had never liked the bitterness of coffee, not even
when it was diluted with cream and a generous bit of sugar, as
Sam always drank it, or with steamed milk and avored syrups, as
she made it for most of the customers in the shop. But teaEllen
found comfort in the very process of measuring out the leaves,
boiling the water, steeping it just long enough, and inhaling the
rich aroma, different for every kind of tea. She loved the light, jasmine scent of white tea; the rich, citrusy scent of Earl Grey; the
smoky aroma of oolong. In Cloud she had found a fellow fanatic. He pored over websites searching for new tea suppliers
and ordered in different varieties every month. Ellen kept a white
stoneware teapot in the back, just for the two of them, and they
both made sure it was always lled and hot.
Ellen slipped off her sandals. She padded barefoot across the
wood oornot sticky, she noted, so Cloud had done his usual
thorough cleaning joband found a clean mug on the counter.
Cloud poured a steaming trail of hot tea into the mug. She
cupped her hands around it and breathed in the aroma.
Lady Grey? She looked at Cloud.
Yeah, he said. Dont put maple syrup in it, please.
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Ellen smiled. When she was feeling blue or craving something

sweet, she loved to put cream and maple syrup in her teaa crime
to a true tea acionado, since the syrup and cream distorted the delicate avor of the freshly brewed leaves.
No, no, no, I wouldnt dare, she said. Just milk.
She sank back into the big, overstuffed blue and white checked
armchair in the center of the store and put her feet up on the carpenters chest.
So it was a good day? she asked, sipping her tea as Cloud nished wiping down the espresso machine.
Yeah. We sold that kitchen table, the one with the green top.
Hey, Ellen, is Sara okay? I felt kind of bad about the whole money
thing, you know, her trying to buy the house back.
Oh, Cloud, Im sorry she lied to you, Ellen said, feeling suddenly weary. Shes going to apologize. I dont know how to make
this all easier for her. Shes so upset and so angry and so adamant
that shell never move. I honestly dont know what to say to her.
Her parents are splitting up and shes moving to another house
and those are hard things. I cant pretend theyre not.
You know, my parents split when I was a kid, and I turned out
okay.
You turned out better than okay, Cloud, Ellen said, gazing at
him over the rim of her turquoise mug. Youll have to tell me
your secrets. Because I look at Sara and all I can think is that were
wounding her in some deep and permanent way with all this.
Were not just divorcing; were also taking away her home.
Cloud stopped stacking cups and looked at Ellen. Sara has it
better than I did, Ellen, because youre so good at making a nice
home. The house isnt that importantits all the stuff you do to
it. You know, the way you painted that red color on the mantel,
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and that picture you framed that Louisa painted of Sam, and that
quilt you hung on the wall in the girls bedroom. It just makes it
feel like home.
Ellen was silent. She knew that Clouds parents had divorced
when he was six, and that he had spent his somewhat erratic
childhood in a succession of communes, VW buses, and even a
teepee. But he was so easygoing that she hadnt spent too much
time considering what it might have meant to him not to have a
real house, with a room of his own and a bookshelf for his rock
collection and a closet full of stuffed animals and baseballs and
Legos. Cloud didnt feel particularly sorry for himself because he
hadnt had all that, but clearly he valued it or he wouldnt have
noticed the details of her own home. With a ash she realized that
what attracted Cloud to his job was the fact that it was a home of
sorts, a place lled with wooden chairs polished to a satiny patina
from years of wear and brightly colored, mismatched mugs and
paintings on the wall in solid mahogany framesthings that had
substance and age and stability to them.
Well, thanks for saying that, but I dont know. I feel as though
I could make that house a home because I loved it so.
Its not the house, Ellen, its you, Cloud said, almost stubbornly. Youre the home.
Ellen studied him, his expressive brown eyes, the lanky gracefulness of his long arms and legs and lean torso. She knew he was
right, but the problem was that she didnt want to be the home.
She was too bereft to know how to make a home for her now altered family; she didnt know how to build a nest in this barren
new landscape.
She stood up and walked over to the counter to pour herself
more tea.
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Here, she said gently, taking the dishrag from his hand. Ill
nish closing. You head home.
You sure?
Yes. Its Friday night. Get out of here.
Great, said Cloud, leaning into the back room to grab the
messenger bag he carried everywhere. Im meeting some friends
at Norse Hall.
Ellen grinned. Cloud, with his long blond ponytail and clunky
sandals, was an amazingly graceful dancer and spent many of his
evenings haunting the dance oors of old refurbished clubs in
Portland, including Nocturnal and Norse Hall. He could salsa
and tango and jitterbug and waltz and cha-cha. When he babysat
for Ellen he taught both her girls how to do a basic two-step.
Louisa would stand on the arm of the sofa, one chubby hand
around Clouds neck, the other holding his hand, while he danced
her side to side and twirled her around, ending with a nal dip,
Louisa leaning back in his arms, one leg in the air, toe pointed,
just as hed taught her.
Have a great time, Cloud. Thanks for everything. Ill see you
tomorrow.
See you tomorrow, Ellen. He grabbed his sweatshirt from the
coatrack by the front door and stopped. You know, you should
come dancing with me sometime. Youre small; I could do some
amazing lifts with you.
Ellen laughed. For my ftieth birthday, she said. November
twentieth, 2014. Its a date.
She locked the door behind Cloud and walked to the big armchair. She sat down, leaned back against the soft fabric, and closed
her eyes. All at once she felt tired in a way she had never experienced before, a weariness that was packed into her bones and
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sucked the life and warmth and energy out of her eyes, her skin,
her mind. She put her elbow on the armrest and rested her forehead against her palm.
She remembered San Juan Island, and a long weekend shed
spent there with the girls last year. Theyd seen whales spouting in
the harbor, and the red-barked madrona trees, and an eagle ying
in great soaring circles above their ferry. Sometimes she thought
about just disappearing, withdrawing all the cash she could nd
and taking a bus and then a ferry and starting a new life on San
Juan Island, working as a barista, living in a little room above
a shop, where she could be somebody completely new. It was a
lovely fantasy, which of course she would never carry out because
she would never in a million years leave her kids. But sometimes it
was so wonderful to think about it, just walking away from the inventory and the bills at the shop, and Sams hurt and guilt, and
Jordans greedy lust for the house, and the inevitable wrenching
grief that was going to come with moving day and nalizing her
divorce.
Ellen heard a tap at the front door. It was well after 11:00 p.m.
and she had already ipped the old painted wooden sign around
to read Closed. Probably someone who had just nished dinner
at the Italian restaurant next door and wanted a decaf cappuccino, please. She squinted through the half dark and saw a man
peering through the glass, a man with a familiar outlinetrench
coat, neatly trimmed beard. Oh, God.
Ellen got up and walked to the door and unlocked it. Jeffrey
Boyce stood there, hands in the pockets of his trench coat, looking
somewhat naked without his usual briefcase.
Im really sorry to bother you, he said. I just needed to talk
to you about one more thing, and when I called your home and
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you didnt answer, I thought you might be here. I didnt realize

you closed at eleven.
She looked up at him. I have to warn you that Im just exhausted, she said. But come on in.
She opened the door all the way to let him in, then dropped
back into the armchair.
Listen, he said, standing across from her. Ive been thinking
about the house. I have to be honest with you; I really didnt want
to make this move.
Ellen shifted in her chair, feeling suddenly more alert.
What do you mean?
I mean I really love our old house. We havent even sold it yet
because Jordan loved yours so much she just kind of jumped when
she saw it and made the offer. But this whole moveit kind of
snowballed.
You mean you dont want to move? Ellen asked.
Well, not really. I like our house, he said, sitting down opposite her on an Adirondack twig chair. Its nothing fancy, but its
got a great at yard for the swing set and a big wide driveway for
the kids to Rollerblade in, and I just like it. I like to garden and
Ive spent years working on my garden there. Ive got a climbing
hydrangea that Ive trained all the way up the front of the house
and across the portico. I built a playhouse with a tower for the kids
in the backyard, but its so big we could never take it apart and
move it.
Ellen wanted to empathizeshe, of all people, understood not
wanting to leave a home you had loved and nurturedbut she
didnt have time right now for climbing hydrangeas and playhouse
towers. She needed him to get to the point. But then why are you
moving?
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Jeffrey smiled, a small, sad smile there in the half dark. Well,
Jordan wants to join the Multnomah Athletic Club, and she
thought a Portland address would be more upscale than a Beaverton one; our house now is your basic Beaverton daylight basement. I think she wanted something a little showier. She felt it was
time for us to get out of our starter house and into our move up
house. She kind of has a grand plan for everything, and this is the
next step in the plan.
The whole thing seemed ridiculous to Ellen, who paid so little
attention to status symbols that it took her weeks to gure out why
Karly had given her a key chain with the initials LV embossed in
the brown leather when her own initials were EF. (You really
need to read Vogue more often, Jo had said, laughing and explaining about Louis Vuitton leather accessories.) Beaverton was a perfectly pleasant suburb just fteen minutes from downtown
Portland, with a mix of new and older homes on well-kept lots. It
was true that West Slope, where Ellen lived, was a part of Portland itself, and closer in, with more towering old trees and some
quaint older homes. But they were still mostly modest houses,
nothing like the big, grand houses in Portland Heights or Westover, with their panoramic views of the city and the mountains.
Ellen leaped up from her chair, heart pounding. She paced
from the chair to the counter and back. I have to get out of here, she
thought, before the house burns down. She rubbed her palms nervously, still pacing. I dont mean to get too personal, but didnt you
discuss this? she asked. I assume you talked about it and agreed
to look at houses and then to buy mine.
Jeffrey ran both his hands through his cropped hair and then
rubbed the back of his neck. Its hard to explain because you dont
know Jordan, he said nally. She has a very forceful personality.
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He sat up straighter. Which is a good thing, he said hurriedly, as

though he wanted to make it clear that he was in no way criticizing
or being disloyal to his wife. Her plan got us from nothing to saving
enough to buy the house were in now, and to being able to buy your
house. Its just that we talked about it and I thought we were still
talking about it, but she was already on to the next step. When she
saw your house, she called our real estate agent to write the offer,
then came home and told me we were going to buy it. It just happened so fast.
So what are you saying? asked Ellen, desperate to get to the
heart of it and equally desperate to leave. Are you trying to tell
me that you dont want to buy my house after all?
Her heart leaped with hope and a sense of joy, as well as a wild
terror that she was going to be too late if she didnt get home immediately. Getting the house back would give her a center, a purpose, a way to knit her life together again even when she did nally
get divorced. It would mean that Sara and Emily could continue to
hoot their secret barn owl signals out their bedroom windows to
each other at night, that Louisa could once again check herself
against those marks scratched in the doorjamb of Sams closet to
see if she was the same height Sara had been at the same age. It
would mean a host of things, all of them beloved to Ellen.
Of course there was the issue of the money, the whole reason
theyd had to sell in the rst place. But in these desperate weeks
since shed signed the papers, as shed lain awake at night reliving
it again and again, Ellen had decided that she needed the house
even more than she needed Coffee@home. At the time she and
Sam had split up, shed been more concerned about supporting
herself and the girls long term, particularly if Sams vaunted hot
dog diaper continued to fade into oblivion. Sure, he was willing to
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pay child support, but who knew if hed actually have any money?
But now that shed actually experienced what it meant to give up
the house, it seemed much easier to contemplate giving up the
business. Not all of it, of course. Ellen, ever practical, knew she
couldnt throw away her only source of income. But if she sold
roughly half the company, she could pay off the second mortgage
and continue to work to make monthly payments on the rst
mortgage. There was still the matter of giving Sam his share of
their equity in the house, but since he was the one who had taken
out the second mortgage for the stupid hot dog diaper, he could
jolly well wait a while for his money.
Look, Im premature in even bringing this up with you, Jeffrey said. I just really felt badly yesterday about your daughter,
and when you were crying
Oh, God, Ellen said, stopping her pacing to sit back down in
the armchair opposite him. Please dont bring that up. I really
am not the kind of woman who cries very easily, and Im certainly
not the kind who cries to get her way. Im embarrassed about the
whole thing.
I know, I know, Jeffrey said, holding up his hand to silence
her. I mean, its just you and your daughter seem to feel so
strongly about leaving your house, and I feel so strongly about
leaving my house, it seems as though we should be able to work
something out.
Of course we can work something out! Ellen said. And if Im
lucky there is still a house there to be sold back and forth between us, she
thought.
Listen, she said, standing up quickly and looking for her sandals. Im sorry. Ive got to go. But Im so grateful you came. You
have no idea what this means to us.
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Well, he began. I cant

We can discuss the details tomorrow, Ellen said. But I really
have to go. I just remembered something, and its urgent.
She slipped on her sandals and felt around on the counter for
the key to the shop. Jeffrey stood up, too, his hands in the pockets
of his khaki coat, watching her. Jordan he said, but Ellen cut
him off.
I understand she was really excited about the house, she said.
I know it must be a real disappointment to her to give it up. But
your house sounds perfect for you all. And God knows, there are
other houses and other neighborhoods that are much more prestigious for MAC club members than mine. I swear Ill call you rst
thing in the morning. Please thank Jordan for me.
Ellen stopped her hurried fumbling with her mug and the keys
and the Closed sign to turn to Jeffrey. She reached out a hand and
put it on his arm. He jumped as if startled, and she pulled her
hand back. Thank you so much, for everything, being so kind
about Saras note and all. She looked into his blue eyes. Really.
I hope you will come back to the shop once all this is over. The tall
vanilla lattes will be on me.
She held the door open for Jeffrey, then followed him out,
quickly locking the door behind her. She ran down the sidewalk to
her car, throwing a good-bye over her shoulder as she went.
Starting up the car, she shifted into reverse so quickly that she almost banged her head on the steering wheel. Steady, she said to
herself. Its all right. She drove carefully out of the parking lot
and down the street, turned right on Seventy-eighth and then
right on Canyon Road.
She was almost all the way to Grace Lane when she heard the
sirens.
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E V E N

here were two re trucks parked in front of her house,

red lights ashing. She could see Alfred and Marybelle
standing in front of their house across the street, huddled in their
bathrobes. Alfred, without his trademark glasses and red cap,
looked surprised and a little lost, with strands of gray hair sticking
up wildly around his bald spot. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. Ellen
looked frantically for smoke or ames as she pulled up behind the
second truck.
She leaped from the car and ran up the front steps, through the
gate, which was already open, and toward the front door, which
stood ajar. A strong hand grabbed her rmly by the elbow.
Ellen turned to face a young reman, with blue eyes and a
shock of thick brown hair, dressed in his regulation coat and boots
with a mask hanging from his neck and an oxygen tank strapped
to his back. Please, its my house, she said, gasping for breath. Her
heart was hammering at her ribs like an angry toddler banging on a
table.
Is there anyone in there? the reman asked suddenly, urgently. Is someone inside?
No, no, oh, God, no, Ellen said. I just left a few minutes ago
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and the house was empty. I locked it when I left. Is there really a
re?
Were checking it out, he said. One of your neighbors called
and said they smelled smoke.
Ellen glanced wildly across the street at Alfred and Marybelle.
Had they smelled smoke all the way over there? Could the re
have started so quickly and burned so ercely already?
Suddenly Joanna, barefoot and wearing annel pajamas and a
sweater, came around the corner of the house in the company of
another reman. She stopped when she saw Ellen, eyes wide, then
ran up and enveloped her in a ferocious hug. After a few seconds,
she pushed her away and glared.
Jesus Christ, Ellie, I dont know whether to hug you or slap
you! You scared me to death! Where the hell have you been?
At the shop. I wasnt tired, so I drove over to make a cup of tea
and sit for a while. What happened?
I woke up and poked my head in the guest room and you
werent there, Joanna said. She was wearing her husbands large
blue cardigan over her pajamas, and she pulled it close against
the chill of the May night. So I popped over to see if I could
help you nish cleaning up. The back door was locked, so I used
the key under the mat to get in. I couldnt nd you, but I smelled
smoke, and then I saw some of the candles were still burning
one was really close to the curtains in the living room. So I put
the candles out, but I still smelled something. There was a big
black mark on the bookshelf where the candle had burned the
wood, and then I started thinking about those res where something gets hot and just smolders for hours before breaking out
into huge ames and I got kind of creeped out so I called the re
department.
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Joanna looked at Ellen. The house could have burned down,

she said. This was close.
No, this was Providence, thought Ellen, surely a sign that the house
was meant to be hers forever.
I tried calling your cell phone, Joanna added, but it was sitting on the kitchen counter.
Im sorry, Jo. Thanks so much. Ellen reached out and squeezed
her arm. I mean, my God, you saved everything.
The reman standing next to Joanna held out his hand toward
Ellen, palm up. It contained three rectangular batteries.
All the batteries in your smoke detectors were dead, he said. He
gave her a hard look. And there were candles all over the house.
None of them were lit, but still The bookshelf was burned, and
we had to chop into it and spray foam to make sure the whole
thing didnt ignite at some point. I dont know what you were
thinking. A bunch of candles and dead batteries is a nightmare
scenario, maam, he said, shaking his head. This could have been
really bad.
Im sorry, Ellen said, wishing he wouldnt call her maam. It
made her feel like she was about eighty-ve. I tried to be careful
with the candles, but I must have forgotten one or two. And the
batteries Im getting divorced and Im moving and things have
been a little crazy. Usually I always replace them when the time
changes, but I must have forgotten in April.
You were lucky, he said, slipping the batteries, the evidence of
Ellens folly, into his pocket. Youve got kidsI saw their room
upstairs. You cant take chances like this.
I know, Ellen said. Really, I do. I know. Im usually very
careful. Im sorry.
Ive got to le a report, the reman said. He walked over to
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the truck and rummaged in the front seat, pulling out a clipboard,
then walked back to where Ellen stood with Jo, by the white gate
with the chipped paint just outside the front door.
This is your house, right? he said, looking at Ellen.
Yes, she said, and then, Well, no. I mean, it was my house,
but I sold it and Im renting it back, but I think Im going to buy it
back now from the people I sold it to.
Jo looked at Ellen in surprise. The reman stopped scribbling
on his clipboard and gave her an exasperated look. So, who owns
the house right now?
Well, right now its owned by the Boyces. Jordan and Jeffrey
Boyce. They live in Beaverton. But Ive lived here for the past ten
years.
Okay, he said. Can you spell that last name for me?
B-O-Y-C-E, Ellen said. God, was he going to call Jeffrey and
Jordan and tell them that she had almost burned down the house?
That would really tick Jordan off exactly at the moment that Ellen
least wanted to make her angry. On the other hand, maybe it
would make Jordan even happier to be getting rid of the house,
now that it was damaged goods. Maybe shed feel that stupid,
careless Ellen and her smoky house deserved each other.
The station has probably already called the owners, he said.
Ill check. Wait here a second, will you? He walked back to the
truck, his rubber boots squeaking on the dry grass.
Ellie, what is going on? You cant buy the house back, Joanna
said. Its too late for that.
No, its not! Jeffrey Boyce came by the shop while I was there
tonight. He doesnt want to move. He likes his house, and hed
rather stay there. He said hed be willing to sell the house back
to me.
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Jo looked at her sympathetically. Ellen, you cant afford it, baby.

I know how hard this all is, but youve got to let it go.
Jo, seriously. He wants to sell the house back to me. Ive been
thinking about this like crazy for weeks, you know I have. Anyway,
the shop is doing great. I can sell part of the business and make
enough to pay off the second mortgage. Sam just has to agree to
wait awhile for his share of the equity. I cant imagine hed give
me a hard time about that after all weve been through.
Youd sell Coffee@home for the house? Thats your future,
sweetie. Thats whats going to support you and the girls.
Jo. Ellen looked at her, her brown eyes staring deep into
Joannas blue ones. Jo, its my house. And Ill still have part of the
business.
A dark green SUV with a University of Virginia bumper sticker
pulled up in front of the white picket fence. Jordan hopped out,
dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, with an expensive-looking camelcolored raincoat slung over her shoulders. She looked at Ellen and
Joanna, a look that expressed dislike andwas it fear?then swept
past them to the re truck, addressing herself to the reman with
the clipboard.
Hello? Im Jordan Boyce, the homes owner, she said, extending a hand. Whats happened? How bad is the damage? Her
voice was urgent, intent.
A little smoke damage and a splintered bookcase, the reman
said. It could have been worse. If you hang on, I can give you information for your insurance company.
Jordan turned to Ellen and Joanna, taking in Ellens owing
skirt and jewelry, so different from her usual jeans and T-shirt.
The re department called me about twenty minutes ago, she
said. Its lucky no one was in the house. Im just shocked. Do you
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want to tell me what happened? The reman said candles were left
burning. Jordan pulled the collar of her coat together around her
neck with one hand and compressed her lips into a thin line. Really, Ellen, this is quite serious. I dont plan to have this affect our
homeowners insurance. I hope youre covered as a renter.
Insurance. It gured Jordans neat, logical mind would jump
immediately to that, Ellen thought. She felt like a teenager whose
parents arrive home unexpectedly in the midst of a wild party
they werent supposed to know about. First the baby-faced reman had lectured her about the batteries, and now Jordan, in a
very grown-up designer raincoat, was going to give her another
lecture. Ellen felt almost giddy for a moment that shecareful,
responsible, by-the-book Ellenwas being tut-tutted over by the
re department and a social-climbing suburban mom ve years
her junior. She shook off a smile and tried to suppress the irritation that seemed to seep out her pores whenever she encountered
Jordan. She was getting the house back, and that was all that
mattered.
Of course I have renters insurance, and once we get all the
sale papers sorted out again, Im sure we can even get my homeowners insurance to cover itmaybe theyll cover it retroactively
once the new sale goes through.
Jordan looked at her blankly. The new sale? she said. What
are you talking about?
I talked to Jeffrey tonight, she said. About buying the house
back. He told me how much he loves the house youre in now, and
how hard hes worked on the garden, and how great the yard is for
the kids and all. He said you guys were willing to sell the house
back to me.

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Jordan raised her well-waxed eyebrows. She looked stunned,

and even more, slightly afraid. This time there was no mistaking
it. Is she afraid of me? Ellen thought. Jordan squeezed her eyes shut
tightly and then shook her head, as if trying to clear it. Jeffrey
said what? I have no idea what youre talking about.
Ellen suddenly felt cold all over, and tight, breathless. Please dont
make me beg, she thought. Jeffrey stopped by my store tonight. He
said you were reconsidering about the house. He said
He misunderstood. The words were hard, terse. There is something odd between them, Ellen thought, between Jeffrey and Jordan. She knows
theyre not on the same page about the house, and she doesnt know what to do.
Jordan shook her head again, pulled herself together, and smiled
at Ellen, an articial, sorority-girl smile that stretched across her
face like plastic wrap. You must have misunderstood, Ellen. Jeffrey
and I love this house and are thrilled to be moving in. Our architect has already drawn up the plans for the remodeling. Of course
were not going to sell it back.
Ellen stared at her. Now that she had even a glimmer of hope
about the house, she wasnt about to let it go. Jordan, this house
doesnt really mean anything to you, she said softly. She tried to
keep her voice neutral, even, so she didnt sound pleading or,
worse, possessive. And it means everything to my kids and me. Id
really like to buy it back, and Im willing to pay for anything
youve had to pay for, like the inspection or the closing. Jeffrey said
he was willing, and he seemed to think you were, too. He seems really attached to your house in Beaverton.
Jordan sucked in a deep breath and turned away from Ellen,
gazing toward the house, where the reman stood with his clipboard. I dont need you to tell me what my husband is attached

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to, she said nally. We have no interest at all in selling the house
back to you. You really need to let this go.
Joanna materialized from the front stoop, where shed been sitting talking to one of the remen. She put an arm around Ellen,
who was standing, frozen in place.
Its really late, and weve all had way too much excitement tonight, she said, talking to Jordan but with her eyes on Ellen.
Maybe you guys could discuss this tomorrow with Jeffrey there,
so everyones on the same page. Really. The house will be ne, no
one got hurt. We all need to count our blessings and get some
sleep.
Theres nothing to discuss, Jordan said. You need to be out
by May thirty-rst, as we agreed. My contractor is coming the
next day to start the remodel. And, Ellen, I really dont want to
talk about the house again. This is my house; you are a renter, and
as of the end of May you wont even be that. You decided to sell
it, you put it on the market, you signed the papers. I bought it.
End of story.
Ellen realized, with a sudden, nal clarity, that Jordan was absolutely right. It was Jordans house. All at once Ellen saw that Jordan had a vision for her life and her family, a vision that now
includedat least for the next few yearsthis house. The Christmases, the birthdays, the long afternoons on the deck, were unfolding before Jordan like a movie reel, day after day, month after
month, here, in Jordans new house. It was just that Ellen couldnt
imagine how her own life was going to unfold now, without the
house, without Sam. Would she be alone on Christmas morning
while the girls squealed and opened gifts at Sams place? What
would things be like when the girls went off to college and she was
alonewithout Sam, and without Jo next door and Laurie up the
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block? Her life didnt look anything like the vision shed held of it
just a year ago.
Jordan walked back to the re truck, where she pulled aside one
of the remen and began talking. She pointed at the house several
times, and the reman nodded. Finally he walked over with Jordan in tow.
Im just going to walk the owner through to see the damage,
he said to Ellen. Well be out of your way soon.
Ellen stood, hugging herself, trying to absorb the roller-coaster
ride of the last few hours, from the loving farewell to the house
through the wild hope of her conversation with Jeffrey to the
heart-thumping fear when she heard the sirens. It seemed possible
that it was all a dream. Maybe shed wake up in her bed tomorrow
to nd that she had never agreed to sell the house, that the whole
thing, from meeting Jordan in her kitchen up to this moment, was
just her mind working overtime, trying to process the whole idea
of so much change. And while the dream seemed to go on and on,
when she woke up it would have been just a few hours, and shed
realize that her dream was telling her not to sign the contract, to
hang on to the house however she could.
Well, if ever anyone was in need of some tea and a Valium, its
you, said Joanna, wrapping an arm around her. Come on, this
has been a crazy evening and you must be completely wiped out.
Lets go home. We can deal with all the insurance stuff and the
smoke damage tomorrow. Ill get you in bed and come back and
lock up once Jordan and the remen are done.
Okay, Ellen said. All right.
Hang on a minute here. Im just going to check how long
theyll be.
Joanna disappeared inside the front door. Ellen could hear
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murmuring in the living room. She sat down on the cool bricks of
the front stoop and wrapped her arms around her knees. Looking
up, she saw the familiar outline of the Doug rs across the street
against the night sky, and the three stars of Orions belt, tilted toward the tip of the tallest r.
The house was really and truly lost to her. She couldnt burn it
down now. One re was an accident; a second re would clearly
be the work of a deranged middle-aged woman desperately trying
to hold on to something that was no longer hers. She hugged herself more tightly and buried her face in her knees.
Through all the years with Sam, all the unpredictability and
uncertainty, she had wondered: How long can I do this? She had tried
to love the adventure of it all but couldnt squelch her craving for
order, for security, for reassurance. The house had given her the
rootedness that Sam couldnt, and with the loss of the house, the
weak threads in her relationship, the kind that rent at every marriage, had become great, gaping tears that couldnt be xed. It
was a mess, and she felt acutely her own failures. If only she had
been more exible with Sam, or rmer in her own convictions. If
only shed refused the second mortgage, or been less critical, so he
hadnt felt such a need to prove himself over and over again with
these inventions. She couldnt imagine her future now. Who am I
without the house? Without that life?
Joanna came out the door then, followed by Jordan and the
reman.
Come on, Ellie, lets go.
Its a nice place, she heard the reman say as they walked
away.
Oh, its wonderful, Jordan said. And itll be even better when
Im done with it. I just cant believe its mine.
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With those words echoing in her head, Ellen followed Joanna

around the yellow house, through the gate on the other side, and
up the street to Joannas door, where she let Jo give her a cup of
chamomile tea and a Valium and put her to bed, still wearing her
owing skirt and her sky blue sweater.

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I G H T

llen woke after a night of tful sleep. She lay in bed

and stared out the window of Joannas guest room at the r
trees swaying in the wind. Her head hurt, although she couldnt
tell if the ache came from the wine, the faint acrid smell of smoke
on her clothes, or just the events of last night. She rolled over and
buried her face in the pillow.
What is wrong with me? she agonized. Here she was in her forties,
a time when she was supposed to have gured out who she was,
what she wanted out of life, and how to get itat least according
to the magazine articles she read. This was the age when she was
really supposed to come into her owncondent in her abilities,
accepting of her weaknesses, indifferent to popular opinion, passionately on her own side. She was supposed to be reveling in her
hard-earned laugh lines and exploring new facets of her shamelessly condent middle-aged self. She was most denitely not supposed to be lying in bed, a would-be arsonist with her face in a
pillow, feeling completely lost and inadequate.
She turned her head, opened one eye, and stared at the bedside
table. Jo had several books stacked there as well as the two latest O
magazines, with lots of advice on how to live your best life.
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What if Ive already lived my best life? Ellen thought. What if Im moving on to my worst life now?
Well, Oprah had nothing to say about that, of course, because
Oprah was never going to be forced to sell her beloved house to
an obnoxious woman with Tinker Bell sneakers.
Ellen sat up and felt her head throb. She would never drink
wine again. Well, maybe shed drink wine again, but shed never
drink wine and then stand near a smoky house again, she vowed,
and then she smiled in spite of herself. She got out of bed, tried to
shake the wrinkles from her skirt, and ran her ngers through her
hair.
Jo poked her head in the door. Sams called about six times.
Jordan called him about the re, and he wanted to be sure youre
okay. No, no, sweetie, dont worry, she added quickly, seeing the
sudden alarm on Ellens face. He didnt mention it to the kids.
Jordan called him? What a pain in the neck she is! Ellen said.
Was she telling on me to my husband because I almost burned
the house down?
Of course Sam was going to nd out about it, Jo said. Anyway, he just wants to talk to you. Hes worried about you, Ellie.
Ellen rolled her eyes at Joanna. Dont give me that poor Sam
look, Jo. Really.
Ellen leaned over to peer out the window toward the back door
of her own house. The morning light glowed above the rooine,
leaving the back of the house in shadow. The wind rippled
through the cedar boughs in the backyard, and a bushtit darted
into the rhododendron by the deck. It was such a peaceful,
achingly familiar scene. There was no smoke, not even a remans
muddy footprint to indicate anything of what had happened the
night before.
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My head is killing me, Ellen said, turning back to Joanna. And

I made a fool of myself in front of Jordan. What was Jeffrey thinking? I could kill him for getting my hopes up like that.
I denitely missed something last night, Joanna said. Did he
really tell you he was ready to sell the house back?
Yes, and I think he just felt so badly about Sara and everything
that he kind of jumped the gun and told me before hed cleared it
with Jordan. He seemed so sure, and so nostalgic for his own
house, that I felt like he really understood what this meant to me.
I just cant believe he hadnt talked to Jordan about it.
Ellen rubbed both eyes, which were caked with sleepy dust and
last nights mascara. God, I feel like hell, she said.
Did he tell you that Jordan had agreed? Joanna asked. Did
he actually say, We want to sell the house back to you, for sure?
Well, not exactly, Ellen said slowly. It was more like he didnt
really want to leave his house and was hoping we could work
something out. She closed her eyes. God, I was an idiot. I mean,
I just jumped all over what he said and assumed . . . She trailed
off. Everything. She had assumed everything.
Seems you and Jordan are even, Jo said drily, coming over to
pull up the pink comforter on the bed and giving a good shake to
each of the pillows. She told Sam about you almost burning the
house down, and you told her about Jeffrey not really wanting to
buy it.
Well, yes, but I didnt mean to, said Ellen, gazing out the
window again at the yellow house. It was riveting; she couldnt
tear her eyes away from it. I thought she already knew. Did you
see the look on her face? Somethings not right in Denmark, as
Shakespeare would say.
Im sure somethings not right in Beaverton, Jo said. Imagine
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being at their breakfast table this morning. Shes probably reading

him the riot act for about the fteenth time since she got home last
night.
Ellen sighed. Thats one comforting thought. Now I really
need tea.
She followed Jo into her kitchen and sat down, resting both elbows on the white Formica-topped table shed found at a ea market in Gresham and given to her friend years ago. It was vintage
1950sjust right for Jos kitchen, with the kitschy fruit wallpaper
and the black and white linoleum oor and the white chenille curtains.
Jos husband, Pete, stood at the stove in his sweatpants and tattered UCLA T-shirt, watching a large pancake sizzle on the griddle. Pete was tall and lean and had a thatch of bright red hair. He
looked almost exactly like Bill Walton, who had played for the
Portland Trail Blazers in the late 1970s. After years of insisting to
yet more disbelieving Trail Blazers fans that he was not Bill Walton, Pete had taken to saying sure, he was Bill Walton, and yes,
hed be happy to autograph something and yeah, of course he still
loved the Dead.
Hell of a night you had, Ellie, he said with a grin. A hen
party with lots of alcohol and a house re. Doesnt get much better than that.
Thanks, Pete, Ellen said. Could you put the kettle on for
me? Yes, it was quite a night. Did Jo tell you everything?
Yeah, he said, looking at her sympathetically. Im sorry.
Oh, God. Just dont tell Sam about the whole buying the
house back thing, okay? she asked. Sam and Pete played basketball together every Thursday night with a group of other fortysomething guys. Sam already thinks Im crazy about the house.
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You are crazy when it comes to the house, Pete said. But you
have many other ne qualities.
Thanks, Ellen said. Is that pancake for me?
Nope. Emily. Weve got a tent outside, and were eating pancakes in the tent this morning. Want to join us?
Im afraid that, after my hell of a night, pancakes in a tent is a
little more than I can handle, Ellen said. I think Ill stay here
with Jo.
So where are Sams little cloning experiments this morning?
asked Pete, as he slid a spatula under the bubbling pancake and
ipped it over. Sara and Louisa, with their dark eyes, thick hair,
and wide cheekbones, looked so much like Sam that Pete loved to
tease Ellen about it. Pete had been witness to Ellens awful miscarriage, then the long, cautious months in bed before Louisa was
born, and he thought it a great cosmic irony that, after all that
tribulation and perseverance, the girls looked so much like their
father they could have sprung fully formed from his chest without
any involvement from Ellen.
With Sam. I dont know what Ill tell them about the house.
Theyre traumatized enough without worrying about house res.
Send them over here, and well hunt for salamanders in the
woodpile. That should be a good distraction.
Ellen looked at him. She loved Pete. He was careful and practical and all the things that Joanna was notin many ways, he was
a lot like Ellen. Yet he didnt take life as seriously as she did, and
he was always happy to bring the kids to nd giant slugs in Forest
Park or to ride the roller coaster at Oaks Park, things that Ellen
hated to do.
Hey. If you change your mind about pancakes, you know where
to nd us, Pete said. He expertly ipped the pancake onto a tin
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plate, tucked a plastic syrup bottle under one arm, and grabbed a
mug of orange juice. He kicked the screen door open and maneuvered his way through, humming all the while. It wasnt until after
the door slammed behind him that Ellen realized he had been
humming Burning Down the House.
Funny, very funny! she called after him.
A few minutes later, Ellen and Jo were sitting at the table with
their mugs. Jo stirred her coffee, moving the spoon around in slow
circles until a little whirlpool formed in the middle of her mug.
So, she said nally, looking up to meet Ellens eyes. Was that
really an accident last night?
Ellens heart thumped hard against her chest. Jo! she said, hoping she sounded surprised, and perhaps even slightly indignant.
Joanna looked at her. Oh, Ellie. I dont mean to accuse you,
and to tell you the truth, the only reason it even occurred to me is
because I thought of it, too. I mean, ever since you signed the papers
and Jordan came over that day Ive been thinking, What if a tree fell
on the house so she just couldnt have it? Sometimes I feel like Id rather
have a black hole there than your house without you in it. Emily
grew up in that house as much as your girls did. I just cant imagine it without all of you. I know Im going to run through that gate
a million times to tell you something before I stop and remember
you dont live there anymore. And Im going to be looking for
Saras face at the back door every day.
Well, if the house did burn down, Id certainly feel relieved,
Ellen said carefully, avoiding Jos eyes. Would it make her best
friend an accessory somehow if she told her that the candles had
not been an oversight? I know its crazy. Its the if-I-cant-have-itno-one-else-can-either that you feel when youre six. Only Im not
six, and its totally irrational, and I dont know what to do with all
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this feeling I have about it. I dont wish Jordan ill, I really dont. I
just dont want her to have my house. I think it would be easier if
it were somebody who was older, or single, or had no kids. Its just
Jordan . . . Ellen trailed off.
Is living your life, Joanna said gently. Shes having the life
you were supposed to have, living there in that house with her kids
and her husband.
Oh, yes, Jo, yes. Thats it exactly! Ellen looked directly into
her friends blue eyes. She paused for a minute. Then, I planned
the party very carefully, she said evenly.
Joannas eyes searched Ellens face. She took a deep breath.
Okay, she said. Okay. Whats next?
Ellen looked at her in amazement. Jo, she said. I cant. We
cant. This was my one shot.
Joanna played absentmindedly with her spoon, pushing her nger down and spinning it on the smooth surface of the table. Im
not saying we should do anything to destroy the house, she said.
But things happen all the time that make houses unlivableor
simply bad deals, and then buyers back out. They nd out theres
a huge water problem, or an environmental hazard or
They cant back out, Jo. The sale has gone through. They own it
now, Ellen said. Ive thought about this over and over again, she
continued, wrapping her hands around the warm mug. Theres
nothing I can do. I keep thinking if I had a million dollars I could
make them some outrageous offer and buy the house back no matter what the cost. Even Jordan would give it up if she could sell it
and move to Dunthorpe or Portland Heightsnow those are real
MAC club addresses, not Grace Lane.
Right, Jo said. You need to hit the lottery, or rob a bank.
No. What if I franchised the business, tried to get the numbers
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to be really impressive, so I could sell it? Then I might have

enough.
Ellen, Jo said quietly. Thats a pretty tall order. And once
Jordan gets into the house and starts knocking down walls and
painting and creating her perfect little vision, shes not going to
want to leave.
I know, Ellen said. She looked out the window at the thick
trunks of the Doug rs, with Emilys bright blue tent pitched between them. She was silent a long time. She thought about all the
hours she had spent gazing at those trees, either from here or from
the windows of her own house. She thought about Jordan taking
over that view, and Jeffrey, with his quiet smile, digging a new garden in her yard. While she was frustrated with Jeffreyand angry
at herselffor getting her hopes up about the house, she couldnt
help but feel a kinship with him, another overly attached being
somehow propelled along an unexpected path. She thought of his
blue eyes, and the way hed leaped when shed touched his arm.
You know, I think Jeffrey is attracted to me, Ellen said.
Jo looked at Ellen carefully. Hes also married.
I know, I know. Im not going to do anything about it, Ellen
said quickly. And hes never said or done anything out of line.
Hes way too honest and straitlaced for that.
He probably likes you because you have normal eyebrows, Jo
said. Jordans eyebrows are so overwaxed she looks constantly
surprised.
Well, Ive always counted on my eyebrows to get me through,
Ellen said wryly. Really, Jo. I have this strange connection with
Jeffrey. He denitely empathizes with meits as though hes the
only one who understands what the house means to me and why
its so hard to leave it.
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Oh, please, said Joanna, rolling her eyes. Hes the only one
who understands me, she mimicked. If you want to try to justify having an affair with Jeffrey Boyce, youre going to have to do
much better than that.
Im not having an affair with Jeffrey Boyce and I dont plan
to, Ellen said. Although that would be a hell of a way to get the
house back, wouldnt it?
They both laughed, but then Joanna grew serious. You have
two weeks, sweetie, she said. Lets think. Does Jordan know
were in an earthquake zone?
All of Portland is in an earthquake zone, Ellen said.
Yes, but were in the hills, were on a fault here. If shes earthquake phobic
Oh, God, and if shes afraid of snakes we could ll the basement with them and then invite her down, Ellen said. Come on,
Jo. Its a lost cause.
Ellen rested her forehead against her palm. Her head still
ached. Maybe she needed a piece of good dark chocolate.
I need to research this, Joanna said thoughtfully, getting up to
pour herself a second cup of coffee. I know there are certain issues that can void the contract. When we bought our rst house,
there was a horric mistake about a week after the closingthe
mortgage company thought Pete had gotten laid off and called in
our loan. Wanted us to pay off the entire hundred thousand. It
was a mess to sort outsomeone in the HR department at Petes
work had confused his name with some other guy who had been
red. But, Lord, the bank was all over us. She scratched her nose.
What if Jeffrey lost his job, or quit? Jordan doesnt work, so
theyd have to sell.
I dont know, Jo, said Ellen, getting up to root around in the
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pantry for something to eat. I dont see how we can get Jeffrey
red, and anyway, I dont want to ruin his life; I just dont want
him to live in my house.
What about doing a search to see if there are any claims against
the title? Joanna said. I know there have to be ways to invalidate a
contract after closing. Im going to check this out today.
You do that, said Ellen, absentmindedly munching on an oatmeal cookie shed found in Jos mouse-shaped cookie jar. I think
Im going to go out to the coast Monday on a buying trip. I need
more stuff for the shop, and I just have to stop thinking about all
this for a dayor an hour.
She drank the last of her tea and put her mug down on the
counter. Yuck. I guess its time to go pay the piper now. Ive got to
shower, and see the mess in my house, and pick up the kids and explain it to them, and face Sam. I really wish you had some chocolate
here.
Ill come over to help with the mess, Jo said. The kids can
play upstairs while we deal with the living room. You know, Pete
may be able to repair that bookcase for you.
She hugged Ellen hard. Now you go home and get cleaned up
and stop thinking about the house and Jordan and Jeffrey, okay?
Youre right; just block it out for now. Were going to get through
this.
That would be a relief, Ellen said. So okay, I promise, Ill
stop thinking about it all.
All but Jeffrey, that is, she thought. Im not ready to give up thinking
about Jeffrey yet. But she didnt say it aloud, not even to dearest Jo.

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H A P T E R

I N E

llen picked up the stiff plastic brush and scrubbed hard

at the soot stain on the living room wall. Clearly she was
going to have to paint over it; half an hour of hard labor had done
little other than get the wall thoroughly wet. Jordan had called
twice already with instructions on how the damage was to be handled. She wanted to send her own carpenter, at Ellens expense, to
x the built-in bookshelves, and her contractor to repair the wall.
Ellen, too tired to argue, had agreed to everything and then decided to try to clean the wall herself, hoping to avoid paying
money to anyone hired by Jordan. Now shed stopped answering
the phone because she knew she couldnt talk to Jordan again
without completely losing her temper.
Ellie? Sam came straight into the house without knocking
and followed the sound of her scrub brush into the living room.
Ellie? Why didnt you call me?
Ellen put the brush down in the bucket and sat back on her
heels. She was wearing gray sweatpants cut off at the knee and a
faded pink V-neck T-shirt shed bought almost six years ago at
Target. Her hair, which shed washed and carelessly twisted into a
knot behind her head, was escaping its clip and hanging in damp
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strands around her face. She could feel the bags under her eyes.
God, why hadnt she spent more time appreciating all those years
when she could roll of out bed with no makeup and still somehow
look fresh and lovely? In Ellens opinion, the supposed wisdom
that came with being forty-something really didnt make up for
the enormous pain in the ass of having to apply undereye concealer
before being seen in public.
Are the kids with you? she asked.
No, theyre at Jos. Emily saw us drive up, and Jo said shed
take them for a while. Now what happened?
Look, Im sorry, she said, trying vainly to push her unruly
hair back into the clip. Everything happened so fast last night.
Nobody was hurt; the house is ne. I just didnt see any reason to
call in the middle of the night and wake you up. I was going to call
you this morning and explain everything.
Jordan called me in the middle of the night and said youd almost burned the house down. I was really worried.
Its ridiculous that she called you. You see why I hate her? Its
like shes telling on me and youre my father or something. Its
none of her business.
It is her business if something happens to the house; she owns
it. And its certainly my business if something happens to you.
Sam. She looked at him. Somehow since their separation he
had grown more protective of her, as though he saw the strands
that connected them as impossibly fragile, like spun glass stretched
taut and ready to crack with the slightest movement.
Sam had always been independent. He didnt need reassurances of love or anniversary gifts or birthday cards to know that
Ellen cared; he assumed she felt the same about him, year after
year, as he always felt about her. He didnt call home much when
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he traveled; he knew that she could manage and that shed call if
one of the kids got sick or anything else went wrong. He went
about his days immersed in his work and his lunchtime basketball
game at the gym and picking up the salmon at the Wednesday
farmers market for dinner. He liked to tinker in his shop in the
basement, making funny little songbird sculptures out of old
wires and nuts and bolts. His life was one of immediacy, whereas
Ellens was one of thinking and planning and analyzing and
rethinking.
Once, earlier in their marriage, hed been away on a research
trip. On the fth night hed been gone, she had lain awake sleepless,
worried that, after three months of trying, she still wasnt pregnant.
Finally shed called him. I cant sleep, she said. I cant stop thinking about it. What if I cant have kids? What if its not just that Im
infertile but that I have some terrible disease, like in Love Story? What
if Im dead before Christmas?
I wish I were there, he said.
Why? she asked. What could you do? Its me; I cant stop
thinking.
Id rip your clothes off and give you something else to think
about, he said.
That was Sam. But now he hovered more. Since their separation, hed taken to calling every evening to talk to the girls and
then making them put Ellen on the phone. He suddenly wanted to
know about things hed never paid attention to before, like when
the kids annual physicals were and if shed had the oil in the car
changed recently.
For Ellen, it was too little too late. After more than a decade of
being hyperresponsible for every aspect of their lives together, she
didnt need Sam suddenly stepping in and trying to x things.
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Listen, we just have to get through getting moved out of the

house, okay? she said.
Okay, he said. But you still havent told me what actually
happened last night.
I had a party, I forgot to put out all the candles, there was some
smoke, and Jo called the re department. It was a dumb mistake.
But all the batteries in the smoke detectors were dead? Thats
not like you, Ellie.
Well, its certainly like you. When was the last time you changed
the batteries, or even thought of it? You really cant give me a hard
time about this, Sam. Youre not exactly Mr. Responsible.
God, Ellen, Im not trying to pick a ght. Youve just been so
angry and intense about the house, I
Ellen stood up. Angry and intense? You bet. Most women
whose husbands mortgaged their homes for a hot dog diaper
would be calm and detached, right? Sam, I made a home for us
here. It was our whole world, and now its all gone.
Its not all gone, Ellie.
I know. She felt sheepish, even in the midst of her rage. She
was grateful for her strong, healthy children, for the work that
made it possible for her to buy another house, for her own sturdy
health. She knew all that, but she also knew that this was her fatal
aw: to love things too much, and to nd it too hard to let them
go. Losses haunted her, gnawed away at her present joys instead of
sweetening them.
But all the most important things in my life happened here,
she said quietly, stubbornly. Getting pregnant with the girls and
bringing them home here as babies, and losing the other baby . . .
She trailed off. When she had been ve months pregnant with
their second child, she had gone in for a routine prenatal visit.
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The doctor had asked after Sara, laughed over the story of how
she had stuffed a large piece of playground chalk into the Thanksgiving turkey, taken Ellens blood pressure, then put his stethoscope to her abdomen. Hed moved it around a few times, then his
face had changed.
What? Ellen said, her heart suddenly lurching.
Im sure its nothing, the doctor said with a reassuring smile.
Im just having a little trouble nding the babys heartbeat.
Ellen felt a cold sense of dread, and in that instant, she knew.
The doctor brought in the ultrasound machine, spread the warm
jelly on her abdomen, and they both stared at the screen, at the little fetus there, one tiny hand still clenched into a st, so perfectly
formed and so perfectly still. There was no heartbeat; her baby
oated dead inside her.
Im so sorry, the doctor said, turning off the machine and
putting a hand on her shoulder.
Shed had to have a procedure to remove the dead fetus, a boy,
from her body, and had lain in bed in their room upstairs for a
week afterward, mired in grief. Sam had brought owers, and
taken care of Sara, and cooked little meals for her, but he hadnt
grieved in the same way Ellen did, and it was his grief she had
craved. The baby had been an idea, a hope, to Sam; to Ellen it
had already been a person who wiggled and kicked and hiccuped.
She was the only one who had known the little creature moving
inside her, and she was the only one to miss him once he was gone.
In leaving the house, she was leaving that baby, the boy shed
dreamed about while planting sweet woodruff under the hydrangeas, whose name shed pondered gazing out the window
above the kitchen sink, whose place at the dining room table had
already been rmly established in her mind.
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Sam was silent. He looked out the bay window at the swing set,
the one that was usually in motion with Sara and Emily and
Louisa swinging simultaneously. He rubbed a hand through his
hair. Just so you know, I had to tell the kids about the re. I told
them Mommy forgot to put out a candle and there was a little
smoke but everything was ne. They really werent that concerned
once they knew you were all right and their toys were all right.
He walked over to her and picked up the brush from the
bucket. I can nish cleaning this, he said. Youre right; I never
changed the batteries. I always knew youd take care of it.
The phone rang, and Sam stepped into the kitchen and answered it reexively. Hello? Hi. Oh, okay. Good. Thanks for letting us know. Yeah, thats ne.
He hung up and turned to Ellen. That was Jordan, he said.
She said she talked to her decorator and theyre going to be
painting the walls chocolate brown or something anyway. So we
dont have to scrub the walls.
What?
Jordan said shes going to paint the walls chocolate brown, so
dont worry about scrubbing out the soot stains.
I heard you, Ellen said irritably. She looked around the living
room at the rich cream-colored walls, dotted with bright patches
of sunlight from the bay window. She tried to imagine it all dark
brown; then she tried to imagine it without the carved bench in
the bay window, or the rug by the replace that Sam had found in
Turkey, or Saras sculpture of a penguin, lovingly glazed in purple,
that rested on the mantel. Her imagination failed her.
Brown will look awful in this room, she said.
Ellen, Im sorry, Sam said. He stood there by the window,
holding the scrub brush. His dark hair had grown long and curled
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around the nape of his neck in a way Ellen had always loved. He
was wearing a navy Hoodoo sweatshirt and baggy cargo shorts
that couldnt completely conceal his athletes body. She knew he
was sorry; she knew if he could undo all the actions that had
brought them to this point he would. But she was just sick of the
whole thing.
So she did the only thing she could think to do: She picked a
ght with him.
You have absolutely no right to lecture me about this, Sam,
she said, returning to the conversation theyd been having before
Jordans phone call. Just tell me the last time you changed the
batteries in the smoke detector, or paid a bill on time. God, its a
good thing we didnt have another baby, because Ive spent the past
ten years being responsible for three kids as it is.
If you want to talk about being immature, Sam said, in the
loud voice he used only when he was really angry, lets talk
about giving up on eighteen years of marriage because you cant
have the house you want. He paused. Ellen, its a fucking house,
he said and turned and walked out, slamming the screen door behind him.
Ellen put the bucket and scrub brush away in the basement and
made lunch. After lunch she was going to start packing up the
books and paintings in the family room, something shed been
putting off because she knew the empty shelves and walls would
make the impending move so tangible, so real.
She sat on the deck and ate her sandwich, icking the crumbs
from her lap onto the grass for the birds. She loved this spot, with the
sun-warmed wood of the deck underneath her and the sound of the
birds in the laurel hedge and the lbert trees. Directly across from
her, she could see the little sculpture of a cherub, reclining amid
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the violets and sweet woodruff, which Sara had chosen at the nursery one day. The cherub had since become a grave marker, with
several generations of goldsh buried beneath it. Ellen couldnt help
but smile thinking of the shDottie Whiten, Dottie Blackn,
and the incongruously named Lindsay Warmnose. She didnt want
to leave the cherub here but couldnt bear to move it, either.
The phone rang in the kitchen, and Ellen ignored it. If it was
Jordan, she denitely didnt want to talk to her, and Sam would
still be way too mad to call. The kids were with Jo, so she knew it
had nothing to do with them. She listened to the phone ring and
ring and then stop. A few seconds later, Jo leaned out her kitchen
window.
There you are! Pick up the damn phone, will you? I want to
talk to you.
I can just come over, Ellen said, standing up and tossing the
last of her crumbs into the yard. Whats up?
No, dont come over, Jo shouted. Little pitchers have big
ears, if you know what I mean, and if youre here theyll all come
running. Im going to call you. She disappeared, and the phone
rang again immediately.
Ellen ran into the kitchen and picked up. Okay, Im here.
Well, I found out a few things, said Jo. Mostly, that its pretty
impossible for a seller to get a house back after closing. Most lawsuits seem to have to do with buyers remorse, not sellers remorse.
I mean, you might be able to sue Jordan and Jeffrey if you could
prove that they fraudulently induced you to sell the house, but
since you put it on the market and signed the contract, that would
be pretty tough.
I know, Ellen said. Its impossible.
Oh, Ellie. Dont sound so hopeless. Im still rooting for Jeffrey
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either to quit his job or to show a little backbone and tell Jordan
he doesnt want to move.
Right. Im sure Jordan will be really open to that now that
shes found out he talked to me about selling the house back. Shes
probably more determined than ever to hang on to it.
Then maybe hell see the light and divorce her, Jo said.
Ellen laughed. Yeah, Ill count on that. Thanks, Jo. I know youd
do anything to help me, but I think we have to give up now. Really.
The opera aint over until the fat lady sings, Jo said.
Fine, Ellen said. But I can hear her humming.

;
on monday mor ning, she left home just before ten, once
the girls were off at school and shed cleaned up the kitchen.
She headed west on Highway 26, past the farms of Helvetia and
the trailer homes in the foothills of the coast range. She planned
to spend the day in Astoria, poking around antiques shops to nd
new inventory for Coffee@home, with a stop on the way at her favorite used bookstore in Manning.
The overnight rain had stopped, and the sun streamed through
the clouds in broken shafts. The pavement sparkled; along the
sides of the road the boughs of the rs, heavy with rain, glistened
with thousands of tiny droplets, and water dripped from the needles into the dirt at the side of the road. As she crested one rise,
she could spot the round, snow globeshaped dome of Mount
Saint Helens off to the north. Ellen was thrilled to have the temporary distraction of this trip.
Thirty minutes later she pulled into the parking lot of Hole in
the Wall Books. The store was literally in the middle of nowhere.
From the road, it looked like an expanded shing shack, with
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weather-beaten cedar boards, a crooked front porch, and a blue

tarp covering a small upstairs window that had been blown out in
a windstorm and boarded up. Inside, the oorboards were uneven, but the shelves were arranged in neat rows and everything
was spotlessly clean. Ellens favorite spot had always been the corner with a love seat, two green velvet armchairs, and a giant oor
lamp with a fringed shade, where you could sit and read.
She stepped inside, savoring the slightly musty aroma and the
sunlight that slanted across the old pine oors. Dottie Murphy, the
owner, was behind the counter, busy ringing up the purchases of
someone in a blue jacket.
Hey, Dottie! Ellen called. Im heading out to Astoria today
for a buying trip and wanted to be sure I got to see you.
Dottie looked up and smiled. She had a strong Irish face, bright
blue eyes, and soft brown hair fading to gray that she kept pinned
up in a loose bun at the back of her head. Good to see you, Ellen.
I think I got more Miss Read inThrush Green.
Ellen smiled. Miss Read was a prolic British author who had
written a series of novels about life in a small village in the
Cotswolds. There was nothing remarkable about the storiesa
widow guring out how to live after her husband dies, a lonely
schoolteacher falling in love with a stray cat. Ellen had read them
over and over, and was amassing a collection of everything Miss
Read had ever written. It was pure escapism. God, a few good Thrush
Green novels would really ease the pain of the move, she thought.
After ten years of patronizing Dotties shop, she knew just
where to nd Miss Read. A woman after Ellens own heart, Dottie
believed that authors, both ction and nonction, were profoundly inuenced by place, so all books were arranged by geography. Some authors were shelved according to where they were
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actually from, such as ireland for James Joyce; other were shelved
according to the locales where their signicant work took place,
such as africa for Isak Dinesen. Sometimes you really had to
hunt, or give in and ask Dottie. Miss Read, of course, was set
squarely in the middle of england.
Ellen was completely lost in reading the back cover of Return to
Thrush Green when the door opened again. Joan and Edward
Young have to face an illness in the family, Ellen read, while
crabby old Albert Piggott is rapidly going downhill without his
wife, Nelly, and the Curdles family fair is making a loss. Most of
the denizens of Thrush Green seemed to live in their cozy cottages without ever having to move, Ellen thought. Now, if she
lived in Thrush Green, shed have a whitewashed cottage with a
thatched roof and a garden full of hollyhocks. Shed grow gooseberries and drink jasmine tea. She was so engrossed in her daydreams that she didnt even look up when the bells hanging from
the door jingled, but then she heard a familiar voice.
Excuse me, said the voice that Ellen recognized at once. Im
looking for a book called Markings, by Dag Hammarskjld. Do you
have a copy?
What on earth was Jeffrey Boyce doing in Manning at 10:30 on
a Monday morning? Ellen stood rooted to her spot in the stacks,
stunned, holding Return to Thrush Green in one hand and frantically
trying to gure out where to hide. She remembered mentioning
Hole in the Wall to him in her shop, back when he was Mr. Tall
Vanilla Latte, but she hadnt expected him to appear there less
than a week later.
Ah, Dag Hammarskjld, she heard Dottie say. One of my
favorites. Do not look back. And do not dream about the future,
either. It will neither give you back the past, nor satisfy your other
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daydreams. Your duty, your rewardyour destinyare here and

now. Great man. We dont get a lot of requests for him.
Ellen heard the rustle of Dotties corduroy slacks as she bustled
out from behind the counter. No matter what Dag had to say,
Ellen most desperately did not want to meet her destiny here and
now. Dotties wooden clogs clacked against the oorboards.
Lets see, hes Swedish. So hes probably in scandinavia.
Thats right across the aisle from england. Makes sense, you see.
After all, the real Scandinavia is right across the North Sea from
Britain, right?
Ellen was standing between two large rows of oor-to-ceiling
bookshelves. The aisle ended at a wall with a framed print of a
woman in a yellow dress reading a book. Ellen was trapped. She
hadnt seen or spoken to Jeffrey in the three days since her candle
party, and she didnt want to see him and couldnt imagine that
he would want to see her. She was sure Jordan had drawn an absolute line in the sand about visiting Coffee@home for vanilla
lattes, and just the sound of his voice called up such a hurricane of
anger and compassion and evenwas it desire?that Ellen felt
as if she were about thirteen.
So she did what any thirteen-year-old would do in similar circumstances; she pulled the hood of her red rain parka down over
her head and face, turned her back to the approaching footsteps
of Dottie and Jeffrey, and tried to make herself invisible.

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llen clutched her book to her chest and squeezed her

eyes shut. My God, this is so ridiculous, she thought. She heard
Dottie and Jeffrey round the corner into the aisle while Dottie
kept up a stream of patter about Dag Hammarskjld.
He died in a plane crash, you know? Quite a Christian mystic.
And of course you know he won the Nobel Peace Prize. Have you
read his book before? If you like it, I have other authors who
might be right up your alley.
Jeffrey was silent. Ellen could hear the squeak of his shoes, wet
from the puddles in the parking lot, against the dry oorboards.
Oh, Ellen, Dottie said brightly. Ellen felt a ball of lead drop
from her throat into her stomach. Did you nd the Thrush
Green books?
Ellen turned, shaking the hood of her parka back from her
head. Jeffrey froze. He stared at her wordlessly for a moment and
then blushed. She expected him to make a stumbling excuse and
leave. And indeed, his eyes darted to the dead end of the row of
shelves and then around, as though looking for an escape. But then
he turned and looked at Ellen straight on, with those blue eyes that
crinkled at the corners. She liked his little laugh lines. Jeffrey had
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laughed so seldom in her presence that she found them almost

mysterious, a clue that he did indeed laugh, although at what remained unknown.
Hello, Ellen, he said.
Dottie, who had been crouched on the oor searching for Dag
Hammarskjld, looked up. You two know each other? Figures,
doesnt it. Thats Portland for you. Whats that they say? Its three
degrees of separation between you and someone you both know
here.
Yes, Ellen said. Three degrees.
Jeffrey continued to look at her, so long and persistently that she
didnt want to look at him anymore.
She held out the book in her hands. I found it, Dottie. It looks
great.
And heres Markings, Dottie said, pulling a book with a yellowed paper jacket from the bottom shelf. Youll really like this.
Very thought-provoking. Have you ever read St. John of the
Cross? Or Kierkegaards Fear and Trembling?
Jeffrey looked at Dottie and smiled. Im afraid youve mistaken
me for an actual intellectual, he said. My mother wanted Markings, and its her birthday next week. I dont really read much anymore; I never seem to have the time.
Dottie grinned. But at least you have time to shop. If we cant
have readers, well take shoppers who are related to readers. Next
best thing.
She turned to Ellen. Suddenly Ellen wanted to giggle over the
absurdity of it all, running into Jeffrey in Hole in the Wall Books of
all places, and hiding from him inside her rain hood. But she simply held her book more tightly and said, Ive read this one twice,
Dottie, but I dont have a copy of my own. Im so glad to nd it.
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Good, Dottie said briskly. Ive got more there, too, so take
your time and poke around. Ive got to get back to the register.
Glad we had what you needed, Mr. Nonintellectual. She winked
at Jeffrey and headed back down the aisle toward the front of the
store.
Ellen, I owe you an apology, he said once Dottie had disappeared. Im so sorry I got your hopes up about the house.
For three days now, ever since the night of her failed attempt to
burn down the house, Ellen had revisited her conversation with
Jeffrey again and again. Why on earth had he implied that they
were willing to sell the house back to her when he hadnt cleared it
with Jordan? It seemed almost cruel, but she knew, by the way
hed been so concerned about Saras letter and her own tears that
day in the shop, that he wasnt a cruel man. Looking at him now,
she realized he simply had wanted it to be true, he had wanted to
sell the house back to her so he could keep his beloved garden and
the play tower he had painstakingly built for his children, and the
familiar, quiet life he had there with his family. Ellen also had
wanted it to be true, so when Jeffrey had thrown out a thin thread
of hope that night, she had clutched it foolishly, as though it could
be a real lifeline.
It also seemed to her that perhaps Jeffrey was one of those people who are exquisitely tuned in to the feelings of others, and that
he had seen in her the cold, blue wound of losing her house and
history and husband, and felt a genuine empathy. Her despair and
regret were as subtle as the reworks on the Fourth of July, she
knew, but it softened her to think that Jeffrey, a stranger really,
seemed so concerned. And now his wife was furious with him,
Ellen was sure, and he was going to have to move and leave the
world he had so happily made for his children, just as she was.
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Ellen knew that if Jo were here she would read Jeffrey a riot act
laced with choice swearwords. But Ellen wasnt Jo, and she felt
such a connection with Jeffrey that she said only Its all right. It
really is. I have to let it go.
They were both silent for a minute.
What are you reading? he asked cautiously.
Ellen looked down at the book in her hands, with its homey illustration of an old-fashioned wood stove with a kettle on the
burner and a dog curled up on a rug by the hearth. Oh, its the
literary equivalent of comfort food. My all-time favorite author. A
series of novels about life in an English village.
The silence covered them again, and Ellen felt suddenly, chokingly claustrophobic, trapped in this aisle in this bookstore with
this man who was going to live a life in her house.
I have to go, she said, pulling her parka close around her.
Im actually working todayon a buying trip. I shouldnt even
be here.
She turned sideways to edge past him in the narrow aisle, and
he stepped back. He was wearing another charcoal gray threebutton suit, only this time he had on a dark green hooded parka
instead of the usual trench coat, and wore thick-soled oxfords instead of wingtips. A few drops of rain, from the hanging boughs
of the cedars in the parking lot, glistened in his hair. He smiled an
awkward, small smile at her as she passed.
Im sorry about the re and everything, she said. Good luck
with the house. I know youll take care of it.
Ellen was close enough to Jeffrey to see the lapels of his suit rise
and fall with his breath. He smelled like cedar. She felt an urge to
lean against him, to say that she knew he understood her, that they
were just alike. After all the months of ghting with Sam about the
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money and splitting up and selling the house, she wanted nothing so
much as to be able to lay her head down on a comforting shoulder
and not have to make decisions anymore. She wanted to feel that
someone else would take care of guring out how to sort through
ten years of a life lived in one place and box it all up and move it.
She wanted someone else to handle the kids on the last day in the
house, walking with them through the strange, empty rooms. Actually, shed be thrilled if someone else would just gure out what to
cook for dinner that night.
She cleared her throat. If you have any questions about the
house or garden once you move in, you can call me, she said. Ill
leave a can of the exterior paint in the garage so youll know the
color if you need touch-ups. I know youll be changing everything
inside, so
Look, Ellen, dont, Jeffrey said suddenly. I feel terrible about
what happened. I hate to move into the house knowing that
theres bad feeling between usbetween our families, I mean.
Couldnt I take you out to lunch? We dont have to talk about the
house. Id like to talk books with you, since you seem to be a regular here.
Ellens heart thumped once, a frantic rabbit leap in her chest.
She looked at him in surprise. Lunch? What are you even doing
here? Dont you work downtown?
Yes, at Merrill Cole. But I have a meeting with a client out in
Astoria at two, and I came early so I could stop here, and in Cannon Beach to buy kites for the kids. Id ask you to get a cup of coffee, but I gured maybe you get enough coffee in your life as it is.
And he smiled again, a genuine smile this time that did reach his
eyes.
Im headed to Astoria, too, she said. But I guess I could take
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time for lunch. Maybe we could drive on from here and meet in
Cannon Beach. Im not having an affair, Ellen said rmly to the
voice of Joanna in her head. Its just lunch.
Do you want to ride with me? he asked. If were both going
to Astoria . . .
Oh, no, no, she said. Im going to a bunch of little antiques
stores and resale shops, so Im hopping from place to place. I really need my car.
Well, maybe I could ride with you, he said. Im just going to
one meeting. Seems silly to take two cars when were both going to
the same town.
Ellen looked at him, thinking hard. Did she really want to
spend the next few hours with Jeffrey Boyce? Was it wrong,
because he was married and she was (almost) single? Probably
not, except for the fact that she felt so strangely attracted to him,
strangely because, with his short hair and neatly trimmed beard
and general tucked-inness, he was denitely not her physical
type. She had always been drawn to men like Sam, with tousled
hair and ve oclock shadow and carefree (or was it careless?)
attitudesbad boys. Jeffrey was most denitely not a bad boy.
He was the kind of guy she should have married, if she had
married for predictability and security and all the things that
seemed so much more appealing to her now than they had when
she was twenty-ve. The only other thing that made lunch with
Jeffrey feel slightly illicit was the fact that she disliked his wife so
much.
I guess that would work, she said slowly. Do you know the
Lazy Susan, in Cannon Beach? We could have lunch there and
then get on to Astoria. I have to be home by six-thirty, so Ill need
to bring you back here to Dotties to get your car by ve-thirty.
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Thats ne, he said with a smile. Thats good. Lets pay for
our books.
He reached out to put a protective hand on her elbow as they
turned to make their way down the narrow aisle but then drew it
back, as though he was unsure whether the gentlemanly gesture
might be misinterpreted. She liked his reticence. He seemed to
Ellen to be considerate, a refreshing change from lets-all-do-ourown-thing Sam.
They walked to the front of the store, past the aisles marked
canada and south america and antarctica. Are there authors from
Antarctica? Ellen thought wildly. Dottie was leaning over the counter
at the front, her tortoiseshell glasses at the end of her nose, paging
through a publishers catalog. She looked up.
All set? Come on, Ellen, just one Miss Read?
Ill be back, Dottie. You know Im moving in two weeks, so Ill
be lucky if I nd time to read this one.
Moving? Youre not leaving Portland?
Damn. Ellen hadnt seen Dottie in months, so of course she
didnt know about the split from Sam and selling the house. The
last thing Ellen wanted was to go into long explanations, especially
in front of Jeffrey.
Oh, no, no, no, she said vaguely, waving her hand. Just moving to a different house.
Dottie looked at her over the rims of her glasses. Im a little
surprised, Ellen. I thought you adored your house. Its old, right?
Yes, a 1938 Cape Cod. I just need something a little bigger
now that the girls are getting older, Ellen said. Anyway, Ive got
to get going. Ill stop by again on my way home this afternoon. Id
love to catch up more.
She quickly paid for her book while Dottie rang up Jeffreys
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purchase, carefully wrapped it in tissue paper, and put it in a paper

bag. They walked to the front of the shop, where Jeffrey pulled
open the old oak door with its crooked wrought-iron handle and
held it for Ellen. She smiled in appreciation and walked past him
into the parking lot, stepping carefully around the puddles in the
gravel. Jeffrey walked next to her. She glanced at him sideways. She
felt the way she had in high school when she and her boyfriend had
skipped class one sunny afternoon and driven to Tiger Stadium to
watch the Detroit team playdaring and reckless.
The Toyotas mine, she said, pointing across the parking lot to
her silver car. If we go straight to Cannon Beach, well be there before the Lazy Susan opens, so you should still have time to buy those
kites.
They tossed their purchases in the backseat and climbed in.
Ellen pulled the car through the wet gravel and out onto Highway
26. The sky was overcast again, with thick, low gray clouds that intensied the vivid green of the ferns and trillium leaves in the forest on either side of the road.
They were both silent for a few minutes. So how long have you
lived in Portland? Ellen asked nally.
Four years, he said. We moved out from Washington, D.C.
Ah, the other Washington, Ellen said. It kind of drives me
crazy that all the East Coastbased papersyou know, The New
York Times and The Wall Street Journal and USA Todayassume that
Washington must mean D.C. It never even occurs to them that
some of us think of Washington State rst.
Jeffrey nodded, considering. True enough, although I hadnt
really thought about it before. And how long have you been in
Portland?

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More than ten years, Ellen said. It just feels like home to me
now. I grew up in Michigan.
The land of Nick Adams.
Ellen turned her head briey to look at him. So you are a
reader.
I used to be, he said. I used to read a lot. But working fulltime, and having three young kids, and a house . . .
I know, Ellen said. I used to read a lot more than I do now.
They were both silent again. They passed the sign for The
Worlds Tallest Sitka Spruce, with its crooked arrow, and a farm
stand with old mason jars lled with spring owers and a sign that
read Bouquets: $5. Honor system.
Ellen, Jeffrey said tentatively. I dont mean to pry, but why
did you sell the house? I know youre getting divorced, but it seems
to mean so much to you. Surely you and your husband could have
found some way to keep it. You could have made some arrangement to pay off his share of the equity . . .
Ellen looked at the road. The million-dollar question, she
said. My husband is an inventor, and we took out a second mortgage to nance one of his inventions. It didnt y, and we didnt
have the money to pay both mortgages. So we had to sell.
What was your husbands invention? Jeffrey asked.
A hot dog diaper, Ellen said. Its a special kind of wrapper
that keeps the mustard and ketchup from dripping out the other
end of the hot dog.
Hmm, really, said Jeffrey. Thats interesting.
Its not interesting. Its completely ridiculous, Ellen said. I
mean, a hot dog diaper! My husband is very creative, and hes a
great father, but hes never been good at planning and organizing

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and anticipating. Thats always been my department. I really blame

myself for this mess. I should have known not to agree to the second
mortgage. Im the responsible one.
Jeffrey smiled. Ive always been very responsible, too, he said.
Sometimes I wish it was easier for me to take risks.
Well, Ellen said drily. Watch what you wish for. I felt the
same way. Thats why I married Sam. Hes not afraid of anything
and never worries and always takes risks, whether its skiing off a
cliff or mortgaging the house for the hot dog diaper. Marrying
him was the one great risk Ive taken in my life, and it doesnt seem
to have turned out very well.
Jeffrey stared pensively at the crest of the ridge of mountains in
front of them. I did just the opposite, he said. Jordan is even
more responsible than I am. I make a to-do list once a week; she
has lists of everythingall the places she needs to see before she
dies, all the books she has to read. You should see our pantry: all
the spices and lentils and our are in Tupperware containers with
labels that she hand-lettered. She is unbelievably organized.
But why did you pick someone who is so like you? Ellen
asked. She was really curious. She could not imagine being married to someone who had the same need she did to balance the
checkbook every week and buy extra life insurance. It would be a
constant battle for control.
Jordan was so responsible that I thought, Finally, I can relax.
Heres someone even more responsible than I am, Jeffrey said. It just
seemed like it would make my life easier to know someone else
was being vigilant, too.
Ellen looked at him in amazement and for a moment almost
forgot she was driving. She had to swerve when she looked back at
the road and realized she was drifting across the yellow line. What
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a concept! For her entire life she had been convinced that opposites
attract, and that the best relationships were those like hers, or Jos
ones that involved two radically different people. But Jeffrey was
brilliant, she thought. He was completely right. Constant vigilance was exhausting. Ellen had spent all the years of her marriage
double-checking the locks on the doors at night and consulting
with a nancial planner to make sure they were saving enough for
retirement and reading all the handwritten prescriptions from the
doctor before getting them lled to make sure the pharmacist
didnt make a mistake. Imagine if she had been able to just hand
off some of those things to Sam and never had to think about
them again!
And has it? she asked intently. Made your life easier, I mean?
Jeffrey smiled a little and cocked his head thoughtfully. I dont
know. In some ways, yes. In other ways, its been more difcult. I
guess thats like all marriages.
Ellen was quiet for a few minutes, considering. I guess I thought
if I married someone like me, wed ght all the time because wed
both want to be in charge of everything. You know, Ill balance the
checkbook. No, let me balance the checkbook.
Jordan and I dont really ght, Jeffrey said. She likes to run
things a certain way, and shes very good at it. So I let her run
things, because I know she does everything as carefully as I would.
But then do you only do what she wants? Ellen thought. Do you ever
want to just say, The ski report is fantastic this morning, lets skip pressurewashing the deck and head out to Mount Hood? She was completely intrigued to consider what her life might have been like had she
made the choice Jeffrey had, to marry someone who would have
handled things while she devoted more time to her garden, or to
visiting Scandinavia, or to anything other than worrying and trying
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to remember everything she was supposed to get done. But she

also saw just a glimmer, like a faint light shining from beneath a
closed door, of what Sams spontaneity had added to her life. She
led this away in her mind to think about later.
And dont you ever want to run things? she nally asked, trying to make the question sound as she meant itcurious and not
judgmental.
Hmm. Its not so much that I want to be in charge, Jeffrey
said. Its just that sometimes Id like to live without the lists. Go
back to the same vacation spot year after year, or reread a favorite
book, like you do with that British author you were talking about.
Jordans even got a reading list for me, books that everyone must
read before they die. Certain things are more important to her,
like joining the MAC or belonging to the Junior League.
Actually, he continued, looking out the passenger window,
away from Ellen, this whole push Jordan has made to move, and
move up, has been very difcult for me. Its made me question a
lot of things.
What things? Ellen asked, a little uncertainly.
He turned and looked at her again. My job. I was a good student, went straight to college, then on to law school, then immediately got married and went to work for a rm. Then I took the job
at Merrill Cole, on track to make partner. I just feel sometimes as
if Id like to do something completely differentown a vineyard
maybe. Id love to do something that let me work outside, in the
dirt.
Jeffrey ran his hand absentmindedly back and forth along the
cloth-covered armrest on the car door. I think I told you that Jordan is eager to move into a better house; thats why we bought
yours. And in a few years I know shell want to move to Portland
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Heights, or Dunthorpe. Its just that I feel a little trapped sometimes. You know, Ive got to keep working and earning and working and earning so we can have all these things. I know its a clich.
Middle-aged man begins to ask, What do I really want to do with
my life? Its easy to start to question everything.
Ellen was silent, listening. She knew what it was like to feel
trapped. At the same time, her mind couldnt help leaping to the
thought that, if only hed had this impending midlife crisis a few
weeks ago and, say, quit his job, he might never have bought her
house, or qualied for the loan to buy her house even if Jordan
wanted it. What was it Jo had said? Their lender had tried to call
in the mortgage a few weeks after the sale because they thought
Pete had lost his job. Something like that.
You know, Jeffrey said, turning toward her as if hed been
reading her mind, Im thinking about quitting my job.

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llen was so distracted by the idea that Jeffrey wanted to

quit working that she almost missed the turn to Cannon
Beach. As far as she knew, Jordan was a full-time mom, which
would mean that, if Jeffrey gave up his job, theyd have to sell the
house. Hadnt he told her that night at Coffee@home that they
still hadnt sold their old house? Surely they couldnt afford two
mortgages, if he stopped working, particularly the more expensive
one on her house. Ellen knew from the closing that Jeffrey and Jordan had put just 5 percent down, so their monthly payments had
to be pretty signicant. God, maybe Jeffrey really would quit and
theyd be begging her to buy the house back.
You cant quit, she said, trying to switch lanes. She pulled the
car into the next opening in the ow of trafc and gently braked as
they rounded the curve of the turn onto Highway 101. You just
bought a house.
I know, he said with a rueful smile. Ironic, isnt it? I just
bought a house I dont really want, and you really want a house you
just sold.
Ironic? Ellen said. Its awful. Couldnt we just trade lives?

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You take over the coffee shop and fulll yourself with some handson work; Ill take my house.
Jeffrey gave a small, mirthless laugh. Now theres an interesting idea, he said.
Ellen took her eyes off the road for a second to look at him. He
was leaning at a slight angle, knees toward her, so he could look at
her as they talked. He seemed more relaxed than shed seen him
before. Maybe it was because he was wearing a parka instead of
his usual trench coat, Ellen thought. She tried to imagine him behind the counter at Coffee@home, with a red apron tied over his
three-button suit, steaming milk and chatting up the customers
about Fiesta ware, and the image was at once so improbable and
silly that she couldnt help but laugh.
Whats so funny? he asked.
I dont know, she said. You wearing an apron and working at
Coffee@home. The fact that you and I both want something we
cant have. Just the whole thing.
Jeffrey smiled at her, at the great cosmic joke of their mutual
longing and loss. There was a poignancy in his smile that touched
Ellen. His empathy threatened to erode the mountainlike steadiness she had carefully built over the painful last six months. She
had held Sara night after night as shed cried about the divorce
and moving, and wiped her tears and snuggled her to sleep. Shed
played endless games of dollhouse with Louisa, just as theyd always played it, with Mommy and Daddy and the two baby dolls.
She had arranged for all the repairs to the house so they could put
it on the market, decommissioning the old oil tank, patching the
rotten beam outside the back door, repairing the leak in the roof
over the bay window. She had handled it all; she was a rock.
But what she really wanted was to melt like the Wicked Witch
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of the West, a puddle on the oor, to be down, lower than down.

For a long time, the thing that had kept her from dissolving into
nothingness was the house, the tangible proof that she had created a home that meant something, that nurtured them all.
When she was young, living a perfectly ordinary life in a perfectly manicured Detroit suburb, she had thought that adventure
would make her happy. Shed wanted to be Ernest Shackleton or
Isak Dinesen, facing a future full of the unknown, a present full of
constant challenges that would lift her out of herself.
When she met Sam, she did start to have adventuresying in
a tiny plane over the mountains of southeast Alaska to see the glaciers, dancing at Grateful Dead concerts, rafting down the churning waters of the Deschutes River. But after several adventures,
Ellen started to realize that her favorite part was the return home,
the enveloping warmth of the soft cotton sheets on the bed, the
cup of tea at the dining room table, poring over a novel. Sam always said to her, You dont have to go. I knew when we got together that you didnt like doing stuff like this. And I married you
anyway. Thats not really whats important to me.
Finally it had begun to sink in. She was a homebody, and she
was good at it, and she was happy. Sam loved her. She didnt have
to leap off cliffs to be different, to live a worthwhile life. She was
who she was.
And who she was became clearer to herand richer, fuller
because of Sam. Left to her own devices, she might have become
a hermit, she thought sometimes, her adventures conned to wild
ights of the mind through the novels she devoured, or exotic
combinations of colors in designing a room. Sam pulled her out
into the world. And when she worriedsecond-guessing the doctor who said the mole on Louisas knee was nothing to worry
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about, spending endless hours envisioning what shed wear to her

childs funeralSam balanced her, calmed her. He was the one
who helped her escape from the crazy Ferris wheel in her brain.
But now Sams closet was empty and his baseball caps and catalogs of magic tricks and used coffee mugs no longer cluttered the
coffee table and hallways, and no matter how many games of dollhouse she played with Louisa, there was no way to hide that emptiness. And when Jeffrey smiled at her in sympathy over their shared
losses and desires, she realized that part of her wanted not just the
house but also all that it representedsomeone to love and understand and accept her.
Suddenly Ellen felt tears well up in her eyes. She could not cry
again in front of Jeffrey. She blinked hard.
What does Jordan think about your proposed job change?
she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral, normal.
Jordan doesnt know I want to quit, Jeffrey said quietly, turning again to look out his window. Its a pipe dream. I cant quit.
Its just that Ive always had this interest in owning a vineyard, and
theres a small one for sale right now in Dundee. I keep thinking
about what that would be like, to give up lawyering and move
down there and live on the vineyard and run it. Its not a big place,
about twenty acres, mostly Pinots and Gewrztraminer. The kids
could go to the little county school. But Jordan would be bored
silly in a small town like that.
Its your escape fantasy, Ellen said. I thought only middleaged women had escape fantasies.
Is that what you call it? Jeffrey said. I thought it was a midlife
crisis.
A midlife crisis is when you change the spouse or the car, Ellen
said. An escape fantasy is when you change the place. Although a
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true escape fantasy, at least the female, forty-something version,

usually involves escaping absolutely alone. No spouse, no kids, not
even a lover or a pet. Its all about not having to be responsible for
anybody.
Jeffrey contemplated this for a while. I havent told Jordan
about the winery thats for sale, either, he said. Of course she
knows Ive always been interested in good wines, and gardening,
but Ive never told her that I might like to own a winery someday.
Thats a little far off the plan.
But why cant you talk to Jordan about this stuff ? Ellen asked.
Now Im the one trying not to pry, but it seems so important.
Jeffrey sighed. He stared out the windshield at the road curving
before them beneath the towering trees on either side.
Its complicated, I guess, he said nally. When we moved
here, four years ago, it was hard on Jordan. She hated leaving the
East Coast; all her friends and family were there. And while Portland is small and friendly, sometimes its surface friendly. It took her
a really long time to break in, to make friends. She grew up in
D.C. and went to private school there and then to U.Va. Its just a
different culture. It drove her nuts that people here dont dress up
to go out to eat, or to go to church, or that they dont know the difference between Wesleyan and Williams. In D.C., small talk is all
about where you went to school and what you do. She felt like she
was speaking a foreign language here.
Jeffrey paused and cleared his throat. He was quiet for a moment. Then, right after we moved here, Jordan had a miscarriage, he continued. We already had Lily and Daisy, but she was
almost twelve weeks along when she lost the baby, and we didnt
know anyone here yet, and her family was all back East. I guess its
pretty common; women have miscarriages all the time, but it got
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to her. I felt really guilty. I thought maybe it was the stress of the
move that caused it. The doctor said that had nothing to do with
it, but . . . His voice trailed off, and he stared down at his knee.
He lifted his head. Anyway, Im afraid that if I start talking
about quitting my job and moving again, it will really upset her.
Shes been pretty happy over the past year or so. Besides, shes
moved once for me. Its a lot to ask her to do it again, especially for
something that might not even work out.
Ellen felt an unexpected stab of sympathy for Jordan. She had
lost a baby, too, an experience she wouldnt wish on anyone. And
she hated moving, too. If she hadnt moved next door to Joanna
when she rst arrived in Portland, it might have taken her years to
feel rooted. All those long months from October until March or
Aprilwhen it rained all the timemade it difcult to just run
into someone, to get to know her and chat outside the grocery
store or in the front yard. People joked about it, but it was true:
You saw your neighbors for the last mow of the lawn in late
September, then didnt see them again until April. It was easy to
feel isolated, particularly if you were trapped in your house, prisoner to the needs and routines of small children.
Jeffrey turned to her with a smile. So now you know my deep
dark secret, he said. Whats yours?
That Im obsessed with my house, Ellen said, although I
guess thats hardly a secret.
He laughed. Hardly.
No, Ellen thought, my secret is that I am not a rock, and I need someone
to lean on. But she said, Actually, my secret is that I have an escape
fantasy, too. Mine is to live on San Juan Island, homeschool the
kids, and learn how to hook rugs and let my hair go gray. I love the
idea of waking with the whales and working with my hands.
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And you want to live on an island, Jeffrey said. Im sure thats

very signicant, somehow.
Ellen laughed. They were getting close to Cannon Beach now.
The sky beyond the r trees was clear and blue, ocean sky. Even
when you cant actually see the ocean, Ellen thought, you can always sense
its there because the sky over water has such a different feel to ita wider sky,
with a different light. White clouds scudded across the horizon.
They drove into town past the cedar-shingled cottages and the
kite shops and art galleries, and the small front gardens overowing with deep purple iris that always seemed to grow larger here
than anyplace else. Its the sea air and the cool nights, Jeffrey said
when Ellen commented on it, that, and the six months of rain
each year. Ellen pulled into a parking spot on Hemlock Street
near the Lazy Susan.
I think the best kite shop is over on Spruce Street, she said.
They got out and walked down the block. The sidewalks were
almost empty, and many of the shops were closed because it was a
Monday and May, and the busy summer season hadnt ofcially
begun. The air was cool and damp, salty, and the late morning
mist left a ne sheen on Ellens skin. She felt shy, almost schoolgirlish, walking down the sidewalk next to Jeffrey, their shoulders
close but not touching.
So how did you and Jordan meet? she asked.
Jeffrey smiled. At U.Va., he said. I was at law school there; she
was an undergrad. I had a law school friend who was really into
theater and dragged me along to a play the drama department was
doing, and then to a party afterward. Jordan was the set designer.
She was just so involved; you know, connected to all these people,
so condent. Ive always fallen more on the introvert side
Ellen lifted her eyebrows in mock amazement, and Jeffrey smiled.
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I was really drawn to her energy, he continued. She had this

big circle of friends and acquaintances, and seemed to have her
hand in everything. I was leading this almost hermetic life in law
school, just grinding it out. I wanted to be in that circle.
So you asked her out?
No, God, no, he said. Way too shy for that. Believe it or not,
she was interested in me after we chatted for a while at that party.
So she called and asked me out. I was really surprised, and really
attered. Then we started dating, and that was it. We got married
the week after I graduated from law school.
Ellen was quiet for a minute. She watched the gulls wheeling
against the sky. They were almost at the kite shop now, a bright
blue shingled building with a peaked roof and the words Once
Upon a Breeze cut out in white wood against a dark cedar board
above the front door.
How did you meet Sam? Jeffrey asked.
Ellen blushed. She had been skiing, on a spring break outing in
Vermont during college. Her friend Sally, who went to Middlebury College, had a share in a ski house in Waitseld; Sam, who
was also at Middlebury, had a share, too. Ellen had been standing
with Sally at the bottom of the mountain when Sally had pointed
up the slope to a gure in black almost oating down the steep incline in quick, graceful turns. Ellen watched him, struck by the
sheer athletic beauty of the way he moved. As he swooped down
the end of the trail, he caught sight of Sally and glided over to
them. As soon as Ellen saw him up closehis dark eyes, his easy
and casual elegance on his skisshe wanted him, in a purely animal way. She wanted the body that moved in such a graceful and
effortless rhythm down the mountain to move inside her in a similar rhythm. She was shocked by the intensity of her physical
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attraction to him, and a little frightened by it. As a result, she was

stiff with him, awkward, almost cold.
But then, as she watched him over the weekend, she grew more
interested in him, and not just his body. He was passionate about skiing, up early to be at the lifts when they opened, on the mountain
until the last run at three. His enthusiasm extended to everyone in
their little group. He skied down the bunny hill over and over with
Sallys young niece between his legs, showing her how to turn, and
accompanied Ellen and Sally on their rst, tentative forays on some
of the harder runs. He was kind; when they ran across a teenager
whod fallen and lost what seemed like every possible piece of ski
gear, Sam stopped and helped collect his stuff, then got him back
into his skis, all the while telling tales of his own incredible wipeouts
to restore the boys wounded pride.
Ellen and Sam had danced around each other all weekend, exchanging jokes and glances, brushing past each other in the kitchen
of the small house. On Sunday night, as they were about to leave,
he had cornered her in the mudroom as she was collecting her gear
and kissed her, ercely, urgently.
She responded with all the pent-up desire she had contained over
the last two days, kissing him just as urgently, her hands pulling at
his thick hair, her body pressed against his. He nally pulled his
mouth away rst, his arms still wrapped around her, his face hot
against her neck.
I have a plane to catch, she murmured. I have to get back to
Ann Arbor.
Or, he said, kissing her ear, you could miss your plane and
spend the night here, in this house thats about to be empty of
everybody except you and me.
She was elated; she was appalled. She didnt miss planes and
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skip classes; it was unthinkable. But leaving was equally unthinkable now, and her bodys insistent need was stronger than her
thinking brain, her rapid calculations about airfare and timing
and her Psychology of Religion seminar. She stayed.
They spent the night on the oor of the cabin, in front of the re,
on a pile of quilts and comforters and sleeping bags scrounged from
the bedrooms. They made love all night long, in the orange glow of
the re. For Ellen it was a night in which all her senses were heightened. She was aware of the sharp, cold air just beyond the res
reach, the smooth, soft wood of the pine oors, the musky, warm
scents of balsam and damp wool and sweat, and her own exquisite
sensitivity to Sams touch.
After she returned to school the next day, Sam called her immediately, and the day after that and the day after that. But she
was scared by the emotion he called up in her, the physical desire
that seemed to be literally out of her control. She was in a fury
of indecision about getting together with him again. Sam, in
turn, hated talking on the phone, and just wanted to see her. He
couldnt understand her reluctance when his own desire was so
straightforward. He thought she was playing hard-to-get, and he
hated games. After a month he stopped calling, and their night
in Vermont became a memory of what Ellen thought of as a
highly uncharacteristic moment, the only one-night stand shed
ever had.
Three years later she was living in New York, taking a year to
study interior design at the Parsons School, when she bumped
into Sam, who was in the city while visiting family and friends on
Long Island. She was coming out of the subway at Fourteenth
Street, and there he was, standing with two other men, laughing,
his dark hair long and curling around the nape of his neck, his
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face wind-burned and covered in a two-day stubble. She took one

look at him, recognized him immediately, and thought, Im going to
sleep with him again. He turned and saw her, grinned with delight,
and they chatted and had a beer with his friends before going back
to her place. They were married a few years later.
We met on a ski trip in college, Ellen said nally in answer to
Jeffreys question. She didnt want to elaborate. She didnt want to
think about Sam right now.
Jeffrey reached forward and held the door open for Ellen, and
she stepped inside. The shop was a riot of color, with brightly colored kites hanging from the ceiling, stacked on shelves, leaning
against the walls. Kites in the shape of sharks, orcas, and dragons
uttered against one wall, while on another wall rainbows, suns,
teddy bears, cats, and puppies waved gaily from diamond-shaped
kites that hung in rows all the way to the ceiling. Ellen felt giddy,
almost drunk, on the sensory overload of the ocean air and now
all the colors, as well as the strange sense of freedom she had at
being alone with Jeffrey.
She walked up to a purple and red box kite and ngered the
smooth nylon fabric. The kite was huge, almost six feet across.
Thats bigger than all three kids put together, Jeffrey said with
a smile. Im looking for something a little smaller.
Do youwhats the word?kite often? Ellen asked.
When we can, Jeffrey said. The kids love it. It was something we never did before we moved to Oregon. Then, our rst
year here, Lily was turning ve. We didnt know that many people,
but Jordan called everyone from Lilys preschool class and invited
all the kids and parents to a big kite party at the beach. It was really wildsixteen preschoolers and several siblings and at least
twenty adults, all ying kites. Thats the great thing about Jordan;
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I would never have had the guts to call people I barely knew and
organize something like that.
Ellen was quiet, trying to imagine Jordan, her hair mussed by
the wind, running barefoot through the sand with a kite streaming
behind her. It seemed completely out of character with her image
of Jordan, the neatly coiffed perfectionist.
And did Jordan y a kite? Ellen asked. She was too curious; she
had to know.
Jeffrey laughed. The biggest kite on the beach. She took it as a
personal challenge.
Its amazing she wasnt lifted off the ground and blown to Nebraska,
Ellen thought, picturing the petite Jordan hanging on for dear life
to a giant box kite like the one in front of her.
She wasnt trying to show off, he said a minute later, as if he
was almost afraid that Ellen would think poorly of Jordan. It was
for Lily. She wanted Lily to be able to hold the biggest kite.
Jeffrey bought three kites, a big one with a dragon face and a
twenty-ve-foot tail for ying on the beach, and two small Tiny
Dancer kites for his daughters to attach to the backs of their bikes.
They stashed the kites in the trunk of Ellens car, then walked to
the Lazy Susan.
The restaurant had just opened, and they had their pick of tables.
Ellen sat on a wooden chair with her back against the wall in a corner, while Jeffrey sat opposite her. They ordered omelets and fresh
juice and strong black coffee (for Jeffrey) and Earl Grey (for Ellen).
They talked about Ellens business and love of antiques, about
Jeffreys favorite wineries in the Willamette Valley, and nally,
about their kids. Jeffreys two girls, Lily and Daisy, were nine and
six; his son, Stamen, was three. Ellen told him about bringing
Louisa and Sara to Cannon Beach for a day trip a few years ago.
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Louisa, a chubby three-year-old in a blue gingham bathing suit

with a fat rufe across her behind, had toddled toward the waves
and then stopped as the cold water hit her toes. She had stood
stock-still for several minutes, letting the water lap at her feet, then
squatted down and put her tongue out to lick the next wave.
Watching her, Ellen had had an almost out-of-body experience,
feeling the salt shock her own tongue as Louisa licked the water.
She wanted to tell Jeffrey that she remembered that incident as a
spiritual moment of grace, witnessing the miracle that was her
child encounter the miracle of the ocean for the rst time, but
thought it might be too sillyor too intimatea remark. He
seemed to understand, though; he told his own story, about a
young Lily standing barefoot in their garden one night with a plastic beach pail full of water and a cup, carefully offering up a drink
of water to the full moon.
Jordan actually drew a picture of that for Lilys scrapbook,
Jeffrey said, smiling at the memory. Shes made these amazing
scrapbooks for each kid, with photos and all kinds of stuff she puts
together. A little square of fabric from Stamens baby blanket, or
the ticket stub from the time we took Daisy to Disney On Ice for
her birthday. Shes got a whole series of scrapbooks for each of
them, one for each year. I dont know how she nds time to do it
with everything else she does. She volunteers at their school, she
volunteers at our church. Thats what I mean about when I met
her, shes just the kind of person who takes care of things.
Ellen shifted uncomfortably. Jordan sounded passionately involved and maternal. Ellen would have loved to have scrapbooks
marking each year of her childrens lives, only she could never
nd the time to sit down and organize all the boxes of mementos
she had collected, let alone arrange them artfully on pages. Im
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too busy living my life to document it, she had remarked crabbily
to Jo once, after receiving yet another invitation to yet another
home scrapbooking party. But here was Jordan, with her lists and
schedules and labels, accomplishing something Ellen would really
love to do. It was easier just to hate Jordan, to think of her brisk efciency and life lists as silly, almost cartoonish.
Its great she gets so much done, Ellen said nally, trying not
to think of all the things Jordan would be getting done in her
house, the remodeling and painting, the removing of all traces of
Ellen and her life there.
Yeah, shes pretty amazing, Jeffrey said. He pushed the remains of his hash browns around on his plate with his fork.
He looked up at Ellen. So, he said. We should probably get
going. He insisted on paying the bill and took Ellens elbow as
they walked out, guiding her between the now-crowded tables.
Outside, theyd started down the street toward Ellens car, when
she suddenly stopped and reached for Jeffreys arm.
Wait a minute, she said. Weve got to stop at the candy store.
Candy store? he asked.
Oh, yes, she said. Dont tell me youve never eaten taffy
from Bruces.
Jeffrey grinneda big, genuine, wide smile. Well, if its taffy,
he said.
They walked up Hemlock Street to the pink and white striped
building that held Bruces Candy Kitchen, a Cannon Beach institution for more than forty years. Inside, a small basket by the door
proffered free samples of taffy, and glass-fronted cabinets held
even more, as well as assorted chocolates, licorice, gummies, and
Swedish sh.
Ellen was surprised at how quickly she had fallen into an easy
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rapport with Jeffrey, at how light-spirited she felt after these long,
heavy, despairing months. She couldnt help but compare him
with Sam. Jeffrey, at least, didnt seem to have Sams ridiculous ignorance of the realities of life, the bills and repairs and door locks.
Being with Sam was like having a third child. And Jeffrey was
sweet, buying his children kites, telling the story about Lily and
the moon. Although Ellen had to admit that there was an ineffable sweetness about Sam, too; he would piggyback the girls upstairs at night and lie on the oor between their beds, telling crazy
stories about guys named One-Eyed Joe and Blondie Openshirt.
Was Jeffrey passionate about things the way Sam was? she wondered. Sam had such intense and infectious enthusiasm for the
things he lovedskiing, inventing, baseball, sex Stop, Ellen told
herself. Dont think about that. Jeffrey was still a mystery to her.
They paid for their candya pound of assorted taffy each
got back in the car, and headed north to Astoria. Ellen dropped
Jeffrey at his meeting, in an old blue and purple painted Victorian
house, now converted to ofces. Then she spent the next two
hours browsing in a variety of antiques stores and thrift shops,
where she found some great items for Coffee@home, including a
hand-carved Scandinavian cuckoo clock and a complete set of
1950s state glasses, from Alabama through Wyoming. It was a
wonderful distraction to paw through piles of old linens and postcards, and to study the dovetailing on the drawers of an old
dresser. For a while, Ellen even forgot about the move. But then
shed run across somethinga small, old print of Crater Lake in a
rustic wood frame that would just t into the spot above the clock
in her kitchenand shed suddenly remember that she had to
think about her new house, the one that still seemed like a borrowed dress that would never really t.
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Her cell phone rang; it was Jeffrey, calling to say his meeting had
ended. Are you done shopping? he asked. Because I have a briefcase full of papers. I can sit here and read if you need more time.
No, no, its ne, Ellen said. I have to get back home to x
dinner for the kids anyway. Sams dropping them off at six-thirty.
Ill be by to pick you up in about ten minutes.
An hour later they were back on Highway 26, and then driving
east, past thick forests interspersed with open scars of clear-cutting.
They were both quiet, but it was a companionable silence. Something about Jeffrey felt restful to Ellen. She liked his shyness, his gracious manners, the way he observed things, like the bright orange
undersides of the wings of the northern icker that darted from
tree to tree just above the road. After all the roiling intensity of her
relationship with Sam, it was nice to just be quiet with someone.
Before she knew it, they were within sight of Dotties bookshop,
where Jeffrey had left his car. Ellen pulled into the parking lot, tires
scrunching across the gravel, and turned off the engine.
They were both quiet for a minute.
Its been a really nice day, Jeffrey, she said nally. Thanks for
lunch. Im glad I ran into you. Her words sounded at. She
wanted to say something to let him know that the day had been an
unexpected gift for her, a respite from so many things. But it
seemed too forward, too intimate.
I wish there was something I could do to help you, Ellen, he
said, leaning back against the car door to look at her. I really do.
About the house, I mean.
Oh, its all right, she said. Two years from now it will seem
crazy to me that I was ever so obsessed, right?
He was quiet. At least hes not agreeing that Im crazy, like Sam does,
Ellen thought.
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Maybe I should sell Coffee@home and buy that vineyard in

Dundee, she said nally, to break the silence. Id probably like
picking grapes and drinking wine. Working in a wine-tasting room
has got to be a lot like working in a coffee shop.
Jeffrey had his hand on the handle of the car door but didnt
open it. He looked at Ellen, then looked out the front window, and
sighed.
I wish he began, but then stopped, his hand still on the
door handle. He didnt move. Well, he said nally, turning to
look at her again. Maybe Ill see you at the coffee shop.
Yes, sure, that would be great, Ellen said, feeling oddly bereft.
She put the key ring on her index nger and spun the keys around
and around absentmindedly. It seemed as though there should be
something else to say, but she couldnt think of anything. Suddenly
the keys ew off her nger and landed at Jeffreys feet.
Im sorry, she said, feeling foolish, and leaned over to grab
them at the same time that he leaned forward to retrieve them for
her. They bumped heads lightly, and Ellen turned to look at him
and apologize, but before she knew what was happening, he had
put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him and
was kissing her, hard, on the mouth.
She was shocked at the feel of his lips, the unfamiliar bristle of
his mustache and beard. She hadnt kissed a man other than Sam
in twenty-some years. Jeffreys tongue parted her lips, met her own
tongue, and she was kissing him back. She put her hand around
his neck and pulled him to her, feeling the strange, soft crop of his
hair, so different from Sams thick curls. Her bodycelibate for
more than six months nowresponded with a rush, and she was
ooded with the desire to rip her clothes off and have sex with
him right there in the car.
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Oh, God, stop, she said nally, pulling away. I cant do this.
Youre married. And to tell the truth, I really dont like your wife,
but I still cant do this.
I am so sorry, Jeffrey said, slumping against the car door. Ive
never done anything like that before. Ellen, I
Her cell phone rang, and, grateful for the distraction, she
picked it up without thinking and snapped it open.
Hello? she said, trying to make her voice sound normal and
not breathless, amazed. Hello, its Ellen.
Oh, Ellen, Im glad I reached you, said the voice at the other
end. Its Jordan Boyce.

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W E L V E

ordan? Ellen said.

She was stunned. She was instantly overcome with guilt
and the insane but terrifying notion that Jordan was standing in
the parking lot watching them. At the same time, she felt intensely
annoyed that Jordan had somehow gotten hold of her cell phone
number. Would the woman never leave her alone?
Jeffrey, at hearing Ellen say Jordans name, had gone completely
white. He was frozen like a trapped animal in the passenger seat,
pressed up against the hard gray vinyl of the car door.
Alexa gave me your number, Jordan continued. Ive been
trying to reach you all day. It turns out that the measurements we
have for the kitchen are wrong, and I need to get into the house today to take new measurements for the window. The contractor is
leaving town and wants to go over the plans tonight. Alexa didnt
have a key, and we couldnt reach your husband. Dont you leave a
spare key with the neighbors?
Of course Jo had a key, Ellen thought, but it would be a cold
day in hell before shed give it to Jordan or let her into the house.
You need to get into the house, Ellen said, still too shocked to
do anything other than restate the obvious. Jeffrey, at hearing this,
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relaxed visibly. It seemed he too had envisioned his wife, armed

with binoculars, standing somewhere nearby and watching them
make out like teenagers in the car.
Yes, Jordan said impatiently. Thats what I said. Can you
meet me at the house sometime this evening?
Im, Im not at home right now, Ellen said. I should be
home around six. You couldnt reach Sam?
No, Jordan said. You know, Ellen, as owner I really should
have a key. Most landlords do, I believe, and Im juggling a lot of
deadlines here with the architect and contractors to get everything
going when you move out. I need to be able to get access to the
house more easily.
God, Ellen thought, she is so annoying. Jordan, we have a contract. Im living there with my kids for two more weeks. Its ne if
you need to get in once in a while when were not home, but I
cant have you or your contractors coming in and out all the time.
Its too disruptive for the kids.
It wouldnt be all the time, Ellen, Jordan said. Anyway, I need
to get in tonight to take these measurements. Youll be home by
seven?
Yes, and getting dinner for my kids and trying to gure out what the hell
happened to me today, Ellen thought. I cant see you.
Seven wont work, Jordan, she said. Ill try Sam again and
see if he could meet you over there now. Ill have him call you.
She snapped the phone shut before Jordan could say anything
else.
Ellen and Jeffrey were both silent for a minute.
Well, that was certainly unexpected, Jeffrey said nally. Ellen
couldnt tell if he meant Jordans call, or their kiss, or both.
Jeffrey stared out the windshield. Ellen knew without being told
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that she was the rst woman other than his wife hed kissed since
hed been married, and she felt his guilt. Conscientious, highly responsible Jeffrey had just impulsivelyand passionatelykissed
her. He looked so overcome that she couldnt stand it.
She reached out and put a hand on his arm. Jeffrey, she said,
holding his arm so he would look at her. Dont feel badly about
this; we both just gave in to an impulse, and no one will ever know.
It just happened and its not a big deal. I had a lovely day with
you.
He turned his head and looked at her, his eyes moving from her
eyes to the tendrils of hair around her ears to her mouth and back
to her eyes. So does this mean Im moving from escape fantasy
into full-edged midlife crisis? he asked with a halfhearted smile.
She laughed. No! We shared a kiss, but no one is getting divorced over it. At least youre not. And my divorce certainly isnt
about this.
She took her hand from his arm and looked ahead, out the
windshield, at the tangle of Oregon grape and salal and blackberry vines ringing the parking lot. She didnt know what else to
say. She wanted to see him again; she was appalled that shed
kissed a married man with three children. She felt oddly and unexpectedly attracted to him, yet kissing him felt like a betrayal of
Sam. She felt she desperately needed some time on her own to
sort out her conicted feelings about her marriage, yet she was
lonely, and Jeffrey, who was so like her, seemed to understand her
in a way that even Joanna did not. She wanted him; she never
wanted to see him again.
Oh, shit, she thought. I am thirteen.
Ive got to go, Ellen, Jeffrey said, looking at her.
He opened the car door and stepped out, closing the door behind
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him. He stood there for a moment, looking at her through the window; then he turned and walked quickly across the parking lot to his
car, straight through the puddles, with the muddy water splashing
over his thick-soled shoes and onto the cuffs of his neatly pressed
wool trousers. He didnt pause and didnt look back, and once he
was in his car he pulled out quickly. Before Ellen knew it, he had disappeared onto the highway.
Her cell phone rang again, but this time she looked carefully to
see who it was before she answered. It was Sam.
Hey, he said. Jordan just called me. She wants to get into the
house today to take measurements or something. Is that okay with
you?
Yes, thats ne, she said. She just called me. She said she
hadnt been able to reach you. Can you meet her there to let her in,
though? I really dont want to have to see her again.
Sure, Sam said. Where are you?
Im at Dottie Murphys bookstore, she said. I should be
home in an hour. How are the girls?
Theyre great. I picked them up at school and took them to the
batting cage, Sam said. I guess thats why Jordan couldnt reach
me. Louisa really nailed a few shots.
They were slow pitches, Mommy, but I hit them really hard!
Louisa yelled from the background.
Tell her I said fantastic and she can show me her swing when
I get home, Ellen said. How about Sara?
Shes ne. She wasnt quite as excited about the batting cage
as Lulu, but we went to Starbucks afterward and got big scones, so
she was happy.
Starbucks? Ellen said archly. As the owner of an independent
coffee shop, she was an avid antagonist of big chains.
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Im sorry, Sam said. Starbucks is two minutes from the batting cage and I didnt have time to drive twenty minutes to take
them to Coffee@home, okay?
Youre overreacting, Sam, she said. It was a joke.
Okay, he said. I guess I just dont expect jokes from you anymore.
How did this happen? Ellen wondered. How did we go from reading
each others minds and nishing each others sentences to snapping at every remark?
Well, never mind, she said with a sigh. If you could let Jordan in before I get home, Id really appreciate it.
Thats ne, he said. Ill go over now and stay with the girls until you get there. You know, the move is coming up pretty fast. I
guess we need to talk about dividing up some of the furniture. Ive
been sleeping on an air mattress in my apartment and eating standing up at the kitchen sink.
Dividing the furniture? Ellens mind had not made the leap from
Sams moving out to both of them really setting up homes of their
ownseparate homes. Shed been so focused on the house and not
losing it that anything beyond that had seemed simply unimaginable. She tried to picture it. The little pine shelf shed bought to
complement the corner cupboard in the dining room, the blue
porcelain candlesticks that looked so good in their bedroom with the
blue-green painting of the Willamette Valley, the pair of Hitchcock
chairs with the rush seats that sat on either side of the bay window
would they all be split up willy-nilly, tossed here and there to ll out
a room? Who would take the photo albums? Who would get the
beautiful black and white portrait of six-month-old baby Louisa,
grinning impishly with her dimpled ngers stuffed in her mouth?
Who would get the blue and white quilt that covered their bed?
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Um, okay, she said slowly. Obviously were not going to do

that in front of the kids.
Yeah. Well gure it out later. We just need to get it done.
Ellen said good-bye and snapped the phone closed. She rested
her forehead against the warm vinyl of the steering wheel for a
minute. She was suddenly, overwhelmingly tired. Finally she put
the key back in the ignition and headed home. She drove in sunlight that was just beginning to fade, a radiant brightness that
made the pavement sparkle even though it was after vethe
start of the long, long summer days that were among the million
things she loved about Oregon. The sun was a brilliant light in her
rearview mirror all the way back.
She kept thinking about Jeffrey, about the strange, soft feel of
his mustache and beard against her face, about the pressure of
his lips and his tongue, so insistent, and the way she had responded. She was surprised. She had always been so profoundly
attracted to Sam that she didnt even fantasize about other men,
yet here was another man who clearly called up something in her.
She suddenly wondered if Sam had kissed another woman since
their separation. The thought disturbed her. While she was angry
with Sam and disappointed by Sam and just fed up with Sam,
she still believed he loved her, and even more, she realized, she
wanted him to love her, even if she wasnt sure that she loved him
anymore.
I cant think about this, she thought. Im going to make myself crazy.
Ill think about it tomorrow, she said out loud, in her best imitation of Scarlett OHara.
When she got home, Sam was in the kitchen, unscrewing the
switch plate for the light switch next to the back door.
What are you doing? she asked.
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This switch plate is cracked, he said. I thought Id just replace it with one that isnt broken.
Youre replacing switch plates for Jordan?
Well, I guess I didnt think of it that way. It just needed to be
xed.
Ellen didnt want to pick another ght, so all she said was Did
Jordan come by?
Yeah, shes been here and gone. The kids ran over to see Emily
when we got back, so they werent here when she was. She wasnt
that bad, Ellie, really, he said, holding the new switch plate in place
and carefully inserting the rst screw into the tiny hole.
She just really annoys me, Ellen said.
Her husband seems nice enough, Sam said.
Ellen felt herself blushing and turned quickly to hide her face.
I met him at the closing, Sam continued. Quiet guy, kind of
buttoned up. But friendly. I think hes a lawyer. Youd probably
like him. Hes not as abrasive as she is.
I dont really need to have anything to do with either one of
them, she said tartly.
Okay, okay, ne, he said. So since the kids arent here, can
we talk about some of the furniture? I need to get my place set up.
The kids will be sleeping there, too, you know, and it should feel a
little like home.
Well, what do you want? Ellen asked. She rummaged in the
cupboard for her large pasta pot and lled it with cold water, then
set it on the stove to heat. She was trying to sound calm, neutral,
but her emotions were churning.
Ive been thinking about it, Sam said. He put the screwdriver
down on the counter and then turned and opened the refrigerator.
Id love a beer, he said.
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I dont have any, she said. Im sorry. I havent bought it since

you moved out.
He stood up with a sigh, running a hand through his hair.
Right. Anyway, I dont want to take the living room sofa or anything major thats going to make things seem too different to the
kids. I just need some chairs, a table, a couple dishes and pots and
pansthat kind of stuff.
The screen door ew open, and the girls ran in with Emily in tow.
Wheres some paper, Mommy? Sara said. She was wearing
knee-length boys shorts and a red shirt, and had her brown curls
pulled back in a careless ponytail. Louisa was wearing the only
thing she would wear most days, a blue gingham dress with a big
yellow bow in the back. Were going to play post ofce and we
need paper and pens and envelopes and scissors.
Its all in the den, in the usual place, Ellen said. Second
drawer on the right. Why do you need scissors? she asked suspiciously. Sara had once cut Louisas hair and put all the tendrils
into an envelope, so youll have something to remember her by,
Mommy.
For cutting the paper for small letters, Sara said. She picked
up the screwdriver from the counter where Sam had left it. Hey,
Daddy, can we use your screwdriver?
For what? Sam said.
For screwing and unscrewing things, she said, beaming at
him.
Very funny, missy. What things do you need to unscrew?
Sara looked around the kitchen, at the table by the door piled
with permission slips and reminders of PTA meetings, the pot
simmering on the stove, the clean white ceramic countertops.

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Her eye fell on the discarded switch plate that Sam had just removed.
That! she said. We need to x all those light switch holders,
okay?
Not okay, Sam said, gently taking the screwdriver from her.
Go play post ofce.
Fine! Come on, guys, lets go. They trooped past Ellen into
the hallway, Sara, then Emily, then Louisa, with Louisas giant yellow bow trailing along behind them.
Jo appeared at the back door, in jeans and sandals and a long,
loose green tunic, her curls bound under a red bandanna.
Hey, look at you, she said, eyeing the screwdriver in Sams
hand. Its Mr. Fix-It. I didnt know you had it in you, Sam.
Very funny, Sam said, grinning at her. Actually, if you give
me a beer, Ill x something for you.
Ill give you a beer if you promise not to x something for me,
Joanna said. Mirror Pond. Theyre in the fridge. Petes there;
hell probably have one with you.
Sold. Sam put the screwdriver down and turned to look at
Ellen. Well have to nish guring out the furniture stuff later,
he said. Okay? Why dont you think about it and let me know
what youre willing to give up?
All right, she said.
Ill be back to say good-bye to the kids, he said. See you in a
minute. He disappeared out the screen door.
The furniture? Jo asked, raising her eyebrows at Ellen. Sheesh.
Thats like getting into the nitty-gritty divorce stuff. Yuck.
Yuck is right, Ellen said with a sigh, reaching up to get some
spaghetti from the cupboard to drop into the now-boiling water.

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Its all starting to get very real. I mean, well be moved out in less
than two weeks, Jo. Well be gone. Two weeks from today this kitchen
probably wont even be here anymore. I think its the rst thing Jordan is going to rip apart.
Ellen poured a jar of marinara sauce into a saucepan and lit the
burner beneath it. She was silent for a minute. Finally she said, I
ran into Jeffrey today. On the coast. We actually had lunch together.
Are you kidding? Joanna sat down on the stool by the back
door and looked at Ellen expectantly. What was he doing there?
I stopped at Dottie Murphys bookstore on my way to Astoria,
and he stopped there, too. We started talking, and then he asked
me to have lunch. So we went to Cannon Beach.
Like a date? Jo said. My God, I was joking about your having
an affair with him. I never in a million years
It wasnt a date, Ellen said, burying herself in the refrigerator
so she didnt have to look at her friend.
Then what was it?
I dont know; it was like we were friends. He really is a nice
man. Ellen opened the crisper and pulled out a head of lettuce
and a red pepper.
And?
I was sure I had a tomato in here. And nothing, Jo. We had
lunch. We talked. I probably wont see him again, unless I run into
him in the neighborhood when were at your house sometime.
But what did you talk about? Jo said, leaning forward. Are
you sure youre not attracted to him at all?
Attracted to whom? said Sam, pulling open the screen door
and stepping into the kitchen, beer in hand.
Ellen was so startled she stood up and banged her head on the
top shelf of the refrigerator.
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Ow! Dont you knock? she said. Attracted to nobody. Geez.

She rubbed the top of her head gingerly.
Sam looked at her, his brown eyes wide and dark, not moving. Jo
said, Are you sure youre not attracted to him? It must be somebody.
Joanna looked at Sam, at the stubborn intensity in his face. I
think I hear Pete calling, she said. Ill see you guys later. She
escaped out the door.
Ellen turned to face her husband. It was just girl talk, Sam. It
was stupid.
He picked up his car keys and cell phone, which hed left on the
counter, and shoved them in his pocket.
Okay, ne. I guess its really none of my business now anyway. He walked to the door and stood for a moment, his hand on
the knob. It just reinforces what Ive been thinking lately.
What do you mean? Ellen asked.
Sam turned his head and looked out the screen door, at the familiar view of the cedar tree and the deck and the garden cherub
in the backyard. He paused for a moment, then turned back to
look at her. I think we need to stop living in limbo, he said. Its
time just to go ahead and get divorced.

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H A P T E R

H I R T E E N

llen arrived at the store on Thursday morning exhausted from yet another sleepless night. Everyone tells you
about not sleeping when you have babies, she thought, but no one tells you
that once youre in your forties and the babies are nally sleeping like rocks,
you still wont be able to sleep, because you cant turn off your mind, not to
mention whatever the hell is going on with your hormones.
She had tossed and turned every night since spending Monday
at the coast with Jeffrey. Sam and the house and her divorce and
moving and Jeffrey were all tangled up in her mind and emotions
like shing line spun crazily off the reel. Maybe theyd be wildly
busy today and she wouldnt have time to think, she thought.
Thank God for work.
Cloud was already at the shop and had hot tea brewing in the
white stoneware pot. He wore a faded blue and green plaid buttondown shirt and baggy striped pants with dark shades of brown and
orange.
No offense, Cloud, but you look a little like bad TV reception
today, Ellen said. The plaid, the stripes, the colors
Sorry. He rolled his eyes. Ive been busy and didnt do laundry. I was hoping you wouldnt notice.
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Lord, these poor people havent even had their morning coffee
yet and theyve got to look at you. Here, at least wear this. Ellen
tossed him an apron.
All right, boss. He smiled.
They had a steady stream of customers all day. Ellen made
endless lattes and cappuccinos, gave a pep talk to the writer whod
just received his fteenth rejection, empathized with the mom of
three whod just found out she was pregnant with twins, and teasingly scolded the regular customer shed spotted at Starbucks the
week before. She also cleared out space in the main room for the
things shed bought in Astoria and spent an hour on her cell
phone ordering new inventory. She didnt have to think.
She was actually starting to relax, staring out the front window
of the shop while she waited for a fresh pot of coffee to brew,
when she noticed a man striding across the parking lot with dark
hair and a relaxed, athletic walk. God, here comes an attractive guy, she
thought, idly noting his broad shoulders and lean hips, the casual,
comfortable way he moved in his body. As the man drew nearer,
she realized with a shock that it was Sam.
He looked quickly to the left and right before crossing the parking lane in front of the shop and pushing open the glass door.
Hey, he said.
Hey, she said nally, trying not to look at him. So whats
up?
Coffee, he said.
Medium mocha?
Yeah, that would be great. Make it a triple.
He stood awkwardly at the counter, picking up the little packets
of honey-roasted almonds and mints and then putting them back
down.
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We really need to talk about the divorce stuff, he said at last.

The furniture, what the time frame is for nalizing all this.
Okay, Ellen said slowly, pouring steamed milk over the chocolate syrup and espresso shots in the cup. I just Oh, I had hoped
we could wait to do all this until after the move. She sighed.
It would make more sense to know where the furnitures going
now, instead of moving it all to your place and then moving some
of it from there to my place, Sam said. He took a long sip of his
drink. If we gure it out now, I can move out the stuff that Im
going to keep before you move.
Your place, my place. The words stung Ellen. She took a
deep breath.
All right. I cant talk now, obviously, she said, nodding at the
main room of the shop. Cloud was busily stacking the state glasses
Ellen had bought on a bookshelf in the corner, while six other customers sat reading newspapers and sipping drinks.
Yeah, I know, Sam said. And youll have the kids around tonight. Maybe we should just get a sitter and we can talk at my
house, or grab a bite for dinner some night.
I dont want to do this, Ellen thought. Cant I just pretend a little longer
that everything isnt changing all at once? If only the house had burned
down, the house and everything in it. Then there would be the refreshing sense of starting over and moving on, not all this unbearable heaviness of sorting through the past, splitting it up, and
dragging it forever forward like some Sisyphean boulder.
Lets just get this over with, she said aloud, to herself as much
as to Sam. She looked at him. Lets just do it tonight.
Hey, Cloud! She called to him across the room. Could you
watch the girls tonight for an hour or two while Sam and I get
together?
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Lemme think. He straightened up, stared at the ceiling for a

moment, then said, Sure, Ellen. I dont have plans tonight.
She turned to Sam. So where do you want to meet?
Next door? he said. A few doors down from Coffee@home
was La Prima Trattoria, a little Italian restaurant that they went to
all the time. The girls always got the same thing, spaghetti and exotically avored Italian sodas. Ellen and Sam usually shared a bottle of wine and grilled salmon with a side of pasta and salad.
All right, she said. Can we make it eight? I want to feed the
kids and get them through homework.
Fine, he said. See you then.
Ellen stared after him as he walked out, still somewhat stunned
that, when it came to Sam, her body seemed to be on a different
wavelength than her mind. She took a clean rag and wiped the
moisture from the steamer, then wiped down the counter by the
cash register. She untied her apron and hung it on the hook by
the storeroom door.
Im heading home, she said to Cloud. Ill see you after your
shift. Youre welcome to have some dinner at my house. Probably
high-end organic mac and cheese, if you can stomach it. Im not
meeting Sam until eight.
Sounds good, Cloud said with a wave. Ill see you tonight.
Ellen picked the girls up at school and headed home. They
were ecstatic to hear that Cloud was going to babysit.
We can play hot lava! Louisa squealed from the backseat.
And we can play it all night!
Hot lava? Ellen asked.
Its where everything is hot lava except the furniture and pillows, Sara explained. So you have to jump around from the
couch to the coffee table, or throw pillows on the oor to walk on
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so you dont get burned. Cloud taught us, and he always plays it
with us.
Sounds like fun, Ellen said. Ill just be gone for a couple hours.
Cloud will tuck you in, okay?
Where are you going? asked Sara.
To have a late dinner.
With who?
What do I do? Ellen thought. Do I tell them Im meeting Sam? Will
they think its a date? I need to go the library to get a manual on how to handle all this. Its like being dropped into a foreign country and not speaking the
language.
With Daddy, she said cautiously, turning in to their driveway.
We just need to talk about a few things.
What things? Sara persisted.
Ellen looked at her in the rearview mirror. Her older daughters
dark eyesso like Samswere intent, focused. She was looking
at Ellen, too, straight into the mirror.
Just things about the move, sweetie, Ellen said, meeting her
glance. We need to make sure Daddy has some furniture for his
apartment, so we have to decide what he should take. We want it to
be nice for him there, and we want our new house to be nice for us.
Why? Sara said. They were parked in the driveway now.
Louisa had already unbuckled and hopped out, and she was picking up pieces of the giant pinecones from the deodar cedar that
had dropped and splintered in the driveway.
Why what? Ellen said.
Why should it be nice at our new house? Its not really our
house. This is our house. Sara nodded toward the yellow house,
glowing in the late afternoon sun. That other place is like a hotel,
someplace were going to stay but not to live.
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Oh, honey. Ellen didnt know what to say. She felt exactly the
same way, only she was forty-four, not ten.
Cmon, you can help Lulu get ready for whatever games you
want to play with Cloud.
Sara frowned but allowed Ellen to lead her inside, where the
girls collected every pillow in the house and piled them in the living room in preparation for hot lava. Louisa then went to work
coloring an elaborate card for Cloud, with plenty of clouds and
rainbows.
Ellen wandered through the house, trying to gure out what
would t into her new house and what would work for Sam. Did
he want the upholstered yellow chair that he always sat in, usually
with a girl or two on his lap, to watch baseball games on TV? Did
he want the rocker in the girls room that hed spent countless
hours in, shushing and rocking the colicky Sara? Did he want the
pine coffee table, with the deep grooves where Sara and Emily
had rolled their Matchbox cars over and over and over? Sam
never seemed to care about his physical surroundingsif the furniture was even remotely clean and comfortable, he was happy.
I might as well do eeny, meeny, miney, moe, Ellen thought. I dont
know what to give him, and I dont even want to think about arranging all these things in that other house. She made a halfhearted list on a piece of scratch paper and folded it away in the
back pocket of her jeans. Well, there, she thought. Im done.
She made dinner for the kids, welcomed Cloud and xed a
plate for him, too, and quickly brushed her hair and threw on a
clean shirt. She had to hunt for Stella Blue Moon for Louisa, and
Saras favorite blue sweatshirt, which they nally gured out had
been left in Sams car. Ellen tried to call Sam on the way to the
restaurant to remind him to bring it, only to realize that shed left
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her cell phone at work. By the time she got to La Prima, Sam was
there already, seated at a table in the corner, with a bottle of red
wine and a basket of bread. Ellen was surprised. She was the
prompt one; Sam was the late one. She sat down a little breathlessly, feeling rushed, apologetic, even though she was on time.
Hey, he said. I hope you dont mind, but I already ordered.
Im starving. You want to split the salmon?
Thanks, she said, turning to the waiter, who was already at
her elbow. The salmon would be perfect. And I guess Ill have
some wine. She nodded at the bottle that was already uncorked
in front of Sam.
You look nice, he said, gazing at her shirt, a simple buttondown in a rich, deep rose, and the plain silver cord that circled her
neck.
Its the lighting, Ellen said, nodding at the small oil lamp on
the table. The walls were a rosy peach plaster, which also worked
wonders on tired forty-something complexions. This place would
make Joan Rivers look great.
Sam smiled. Right. Dont accept a compliment or anything. It
might make it seem like youre going soft.
Ellen ignored the comment, shed around in her purse for her
reading glasses, and put them on.
So, I went through the house and thought about what you
might need and wrote it all down. She pulled the hastily scrawled
list out of her back pocket. Of course, if there are other things
you want that arent here we can talk about that . . . Her voice
trailed off.
Sam relled his wineglass. As long as Ive got a bed, a table, a
chair, and some eating utensils, Im pretty good, he said.
But I thought youd want some of the sentimental stuff, she
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said. Those big framed portraits of the girls as babies, or the

rocker. Or I thought maybe youd want our bed. I guess theres no
reason that I cant take the guest room bed and you could have
our bed. Youre the one who loves a big bed.
You know, Ellen, Sam said, leaning forward across the table,
I really dont give a shit about the stuff. Youre the one who cares
about the stuff. What I care about is us, and the kids. Our family.
Thats what I want.
She sat perfectly still, silent.
He leaned closer. Ive made huge mistakes, and the house is
gone. But, God, Ellie, I thought maybe, once it was over, and we
got through the fact that we had to move, youd think again about
what youre throwing away here. I mean, I love you. I love the
kids. I dont want us living in different places. I get it that you
dont want to move, and Ive signed on with a consulting rm
here. Im not moving anywhere to market new inventions anymore; thats done. I had high hopes for the hot dog diaper, but
who knows? I can work on it in my spare time, and maybe the
Florida Marlins will end up here and Portland will have a majorleague team and Ill have a shot. No more moving; no more putting our own money into inventions. Really.
He looked at her expectantly.
Ellen was overwhelmed. It was just about the longest speech
shed ever heard Sam give.
But you said you were tired of living in limbo and wanted to
go ahead with the divorce, she said nally. Just on Monday you
said that!
Yeah, I know, he said, leaning back. He turned and looked toward the opposite wall, where glass bottles lled with olive oil stood
in neat rows along the shelves. And just on Monday I overheard
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that maybe youre interested in somebody else. He looked at her

again. So are you?
Ellens face grew hot; she could feel the warmth creep up her
neck and her cheeks. She thought of Jeffrey, kissing her in the car,
and she couldnt help it.
No, she said. No. I mean, we just split up a few months ago.
Im moving out of the house in two weeks. Sara is going crazy
over the move and our separation, and to top it all off the house
almost burned down last weekend. The last thing on my mind
right now is getting into a relationship. Really, Sam.
He reached for the little jug of olive oil on their table and poured
a small pool of the golden liquid onto his plate. He tore off a piece
of bread from the basket and dipped it in the oil. We never talked
about that, Ellie, he said, about dating other people while we
were separated. I guess I wasnt planning to, so it never occurred to
me that you would.
Well, Im not, she said and looked at him. And it was true. She
certainly hadnt planned to run into Jeffrey and have lunch with him.
All right, he said, picking up the bottle of wine and pouring
more into her glass. Okay. I trust you. But what about reconsidering about the divorce? If you think we should go back to counseling, Ill do it.
Ellen took a long sip from her wineglass and looked around the
room. She felt completely blindsided. Here she was, in her clean
shirt and pretty necklace, with a list in her pocket, prepared to
have a civil discussion about dividing their earthly possessions,
and now Sam was zooming off course. She had been so focused
on the house, the house, the house that she hadnt really thought of her
life after the house, her life as a divorced, single mother. It was all
part of a nebulous future.
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I just dont know, Sam, she said nally. Im not ready to

think about this.
The waiter appeared with their dinner. Ellen, grateful for the
distraction, was happy to pick up her fork and break off a bite of
the aky salmon, to twirl spaghetti around in the bowl of her
spoon. Did she want to stay married to Sam? Since the day theyd
split up, in that bitter last ght over being forced to sell the house,
Ellen had considered it nal. The house was lost. Her marriage
was over. They were both irretrievable. And since then, while she
had considered many times how to get the house back, she had
never considered trying to repair her marriage. It was the house
that was important. She realized how ridiculous that seemed now,
that the loss of timber and plaster and nails should mean more to
her than the loss of Sam. They had gone to marriage counseling;
they had hashed out her hyperresponsibility and Sams recklessness. But she had never talked to the counselor about her passion
for the house. She couldnt say in front of Sam that losing him was
bearable but losing the house threatened her very sanity, could
she? As she looked at him across the table, she did feel a horrible
sense of loss and longing for Sam, for herself with Sam. Its not the
house, she thought.
I dont know, she said. I just cant imagine that youre going
to be happy doing consulting work. Whats changed? Youll still
want to be creating things and trying to market them. Youll stay
settled until the next big idea comes along.
I didnt say I was going to give up inventing, Sam said, leaning back in his chair while still looking at her. But I dont have to
move to do it. I want to be with you and the kids.
I cant reconsider our whole relationship in the next ten days
while Im also going through this move, she said atly. I cant.
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She looked at him defensively. You just have to come and move
out some furniture and keep things the way they are for now.
All right, Ellen, he said. I wish this was easier for you. The
move, I mean. Giving up the house. Im sorry that its just so hard.
She poured herself another glass of wine. Might as well drown my
sorrows, she thought. She slid the list across the table. Okay. So is
this list of furniture all right with you?
Sam picked it up, folded it without looking at it, and handed it
back to her. Its ne, he said. Ill let you know when I can get a
truck and stop by to get the stuff. Im sure Pete will help me move
anything heavy.
Ellen was quiet for a minute. All right. So thats settled. I can
cross it off my list, she thought, feeling angry with herself. Split up
with husband, check. Divide the furniture, check. What the hell do I want?
She reached across the table for Sams arm and looked at his
watch.
Oh, geez. Ive gotta go, she said. She pulled her napkin off
her lap and put it on the table, then rooted around in her purse for
her keys. They paid the bill and walked out into the cool night air.
Ellen hugged herself and jumped up and down on the sidewalk
for a minute.
Where did you park? Sam asked. Ill walk you to your car.
Hang on, she said. I have to stop in the shop and pick up my
cell phone. I left it by the cash register.
Coffee@home was dark, the Closed sign in the window. Ellen
unlocked the door and stepped inside with Sam behind her.
You dont have to bother, she said, turning to him. I can
get it.
No, he said. Ill wait. You have any candy in here? he asked.
We didnt get dessert.
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Sure. I think there are some Junior Mints over there on the
counter.
I hate Junior Mints, he said.
Why? Ellen said, feeling a little drunk and slightly silly. Because they have the name Junior in the title? Is it just too sissy a
candy for you?
Sam grinned. Thats it. Junior Mints are a threat to my masculinity.
Ellen laughed. She picked up her cell phone and came around
to the middle of the room. It takes a real man to like Junior
Mints, she said. Come on, lets go. Clouds been stuck putting
the kids to bed, and I have to work tomorrow.
I know. They moved to the door. Out of habit, he bent to kiss
her good-bye, and, out of habit, she turned her face to meet his.
He kissed her gently, and then harder. She kissed him urgently,
too, her lips meeting his, then the soft, insistent pressure of his
tongue against hers, her arms around him, pressing him to her.
Ellie
Oh, God. Dont talk.
She kissed him again and again. He pulled away and kissed her
face, her eyelids, her throat. She pushed him, kissing him the
whole time, toward the storeroom in the back. They clattered
through the door into the little room, lit only with the glow from
the streetlamps shining through the small window up near the
ceiling. Sam pushed her down onto a pile of braided rugs on the
oor and lowered himself next to her. His hand slid inside her
shirt, reached for her breast, expertly exploring her nipple,
twirling it gently between his thumb and index nger. She was
completely overcome with wanting him, needing to feel his weight
on top of her and inside her. She sat up and pulled her shirt over
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her head, unbuttoned her jeans and kicked them off. She reached
for Sams shirt and helped him pull it off. The feel of his bare skin
against hers was electric. She rolled on top of him. He pulled
down the front of her bra so he could play with her nipples with
both hands while she rubbed herself against his hardness like a
teenager.
He rolled over so he was on top now and sat back to slide her
panties down over her ankles. He looked at her, then bent forward, kissed her stomach, and slowly traced a path of kisses
downward, his lips just grazing her skin. She lay, barely breathing,
as he traced a lazy circle of kisses inside her thighs, toward her
knees and back up again. She reached down with both hands and
pulled his head up. I want you inside me, she said.
She guided him into her. Everything had changed; nothing had
changed. He rocked slowly, knowing exactly what she liked. She
wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly against her
while she moved under him, feeling all of him around her and inside her. She ran her hands up and down against his back, thinking
of nothing but how wonderful it felt to have his weight on top of
her, his heat and hardness inside her. They moved together in a
rhythm honed in countless hours and years of lovemaking, like water running over rock, tracing a path always the same but always
changing, moving. Like being rushed along in the water, like going over the
waterfall, Ellen thought. She could think of absolutely nothing but
her own pleasure and how great it felt. She knew that Sam knew
she was close by the way she moved under him; she knew hed wait
for her. She arched her back and moaned, gripping him so tightly
that he ung his head back and grimaced. He responded to her
with a more urgent rhythm of his own, nally collapsing on top
of her with a head-shaking groan. He lay there, covering her
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completely with his body, then slowly rolled over, with one arm and
leg still ung across her protectively.
Wow, what was that? Sam said nally.
I dont know, Ellen said. For the rst time in months she felt
calm, relaxedeven sleepy. It gures, she thought. I spend weeks not
sleeping while I agonize over what to do with my life, and then as soon as I get
laid I could sleep like a baby. She smiled.
What? Sam said.
Nothing, she said. I just suddenly feel really sleepy.
He rubbed his hand absentmindedly against her arm, a familiar feather caress. Ellen, really, he said softly. Can we talk about
this?
No! she thought. Please dont ask me about this. I want to just not think
for a few minutes.
Maybe later, she said, as kindly as she could. I just need time
to think.
Sams look was at once tender and cautious and confused. She
put a hand up and rufed his hair.
He studied her face, ran his ngers lightly over her stomach,
bent his head to kiss her collarbone. Okay, he said, getting up
and rooting around in the dark for his clothes.
She got dressed slowly, then smoothed out the rug, making sure
everything was in place. She walked Sam to the door of the shop
and stood on tiptoe to kiss him gently on the cheek. He put an
arm around her waist and held her to him, hugging her, then let
her go.
Ill see you tomorrow, he said.
Ellen picked up her coat and purse and carefully locked the door.
She drove home, still feeling languorous and dreamy, half-asleep.
She thought about their bed, with the carved pine headboard and
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the quilt, a blue and white drunkards-path pattern, which shed

found on a family trip to Colorado. It was so cozy in that bed, lying
back among the pillows and looking out the window toward the old
orchard and the mountains in the distance.
At home she dropped her things by the back door, paid Cloud
and said good night, then stuck her head in the girls room and listened to their steady breathing. She walked across the hall to her
room and slipped out of her clothes and into her nightgown. She
climbed into bed without even brushing her teeth, feeling the cool
softness of the sheets against her skin, already anticipating a blissful sleep.
She was just drifting off when she heard something. Was it one of
the girls, wandering around downstairs? She listened again. No, it
was a knock, at the seldom-used front door. Sam? Oh, God, she really didnt want to talk. Why was he suddenly going all touchy-feely
on her now, when she least wanted to deal with it?
She pulled on the gray zip-front sweatshirt that hung on the
bedpost and groped her way downstairs in the dark. The knock
came again, soft but insistent.
Ellen opened the door. And there, standing on the front stoop
in the moonlight, was Jeffrey Boyce.

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H A P T E R

O U R T E E N

effrey stood there in jeans and a sweater, looking at her

apologetically. Ellen stepped out onto the bricks. Under her
sweatshirt she was wearing the nightgown Sam had given her three
years ago, on their fteenth wedding anniversary. It was pale purple, a clingy silk with spaghetti straps, and she was suddenly aware
both that she was freezing and that she was not really decently
dressed.
Jeffrey! Its almost midnight.
Ssh, Ellen, I know its late. I just want to talk to you for a
minute.
He looked at her, and she felt his eyes move over the hollow of
her collarbone, the line of her hips beneath the gown.
Ellen looked down at the thin nightgown, and pulled her sweatshirt closer around her body. Im sorry. I thought it was Sam,
so I didnt put on my robe.
Im actually here in a completely platonic capacity, he said,
blushing a little. He cleared his throat and looked at her. Ellen, I
havent been able to stop thinking about everything since we
talked on Monday. Its like being in high school again. I cant think
about anything else.
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Jeffrey, it was a wonderful day. I had a great time, too. But it

didnt
Ellen, I know it didnt mean anything, he said, nishing her
sentence for her. At least, it didnt mean anything signicant. And
Im not here to make a pass at you. I really just wanted to talk.
Sleep, Ellen thought. I need to sleep. But Jeffrey was so earnest and
sincere, and so gentlemanly. She felt inordinately fond of him, her
kindred spirit in loss and frustration.
We cant talk out here, she said. Its freezing. Come on in.
But if one of my kids wakes up, you better hide in the closet. I
dont want to have to explain to anyone what youre doing here.
Of course, Jeffrey said. I dont mean to put you in an
awkward position by coming by. I just knew we couldnt talk at
the shop because youre always so busy, and there are so many
people . . .
Ellen turned and opened the front door and stepped into the
hall, grateful for the warmth of the thick, round rug beneath her
bare feet. Come on into the kitchen, she said. Ill make us
some tea.
She padded quietly through the dark living room and dining
room with Jeffrey behind her. She couldnt face the harshness of
the overhead light, so she picked up two of the candles left over
from her infamous party, lit them, and placed them on the
counter. The brick oor was cold, and she slipped on her pink garden clogs from the shoe basket by the back door. This is pretty sexy,
she thought. The slinky nightgown with sweatshirt and garden clogs.
Have a seat, she said, nodding toward the step stool against
the back wall. Sorry its such a small kitchen.
I know, Jeffrey said. Ive seen the blueprints.
I guess it will be bigger soon, she said, hating to be reminded.
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It was so perfect now, this tiny, imperfect space in which shed

baked Christmas cookies and basted Thanksgiving turkeys and
simmered chicken soup for sore throats.
She picked up the red kettle from the stovetop and lled it with
cold water, then placed it back on the burner and lit the ame underneath.
Do you drink tea? she said, rummaging in the cupboard for
the strainer and some kind of tea without caffeine.
Sure. Anythings ne, Jeffrey said. He was sitting on the step
stool, his hands in his lap, looking excited, almost eager.
Ellen, I made an offer on the vineyard, he blurted.
She turned and faced him, amazed. You what?
I know, I know. It seems crazy. He smiled. And its very unlike me, although not completely. I spent all this week researching
it. The numbers are good; its a solid business, with room for
growth.
What on earth did Jordan say? Ellen stood across the room,
the tea strainer in her hand.
Well, thats the thing. Of course at rst, she thought I was
crazyliterally. But, after talking about it for the last few days,
shes actually willing to consider it. Jeffrey put both hands on his
knees and shook his head a little, as though he couldnt quite believe what he was saying. I told her about it Monday, after I saw
you. I believe we really could make a go of this. I explained we
wouldnt necessarily have to move right away. I was thinking at
rst I could stay at the law rm and hire a manager to oversee it,
just go down on weekends. It would be a chance for us to get our
hands into it without the risk of moving the whole family down
there. Its a beautiful place, with a nice house.
And Jordan is okay with that?
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Jeffrey stood up and paced across the tiny kitchen. Well, dene
okay. I mean, since shes known me the law has been my whole life,
or almost my whole life. She signed on to be a lawyers wife, knowing it would be a lot of long hours but also probably a lot of nancial security. And thats exactly what our life has been.
He stopped pacing and leaned back against the counter, looking at Ellen. I didnt want to tell her how trapped Ive been feeling; I didnt want her to take it personally. Its not because of her.
But then I began to think, Why not? Why not just talk about it?
He smiled gently at her. You were so sympathetic, Ellen, he
said. You made me think that maybe it wasnt totally crazy, some
kind of nutty midlife crisis. It gave me the courage to really talk to
Jordan. So I did.
And she was sympathetic?
Oh, God, no, not at rst. She really panicked once she understood I was serious. Shes dead set against anything that involves
leaving Portlandshe does not want to go through moving again.
But I kept thinking, I want things, too. And what I want isnt necessarily to be stuck behind a desk at Merrill Cole for another thirty
years. Id never make her move again if she didnt want to; I just
wanted her to think about our future, about how it might look if I
did something other than law.
Ellen stood across the room by the stove, the kettle beginning to
hum behind her. Oh, my God, she thought. Its an eleventh-hour reprieve. Its Dostoyevsky and the ring squad.
Im just stunned that Jordan would consider this, she said
slowly. I mean, I obviously dont know her well, but from what
youve said, and what shes said to me, she seemed very committed
to moving in here, and getting the MAC club membership, and all
the rest. This is such a huge step in another direction.
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I know, Jeffrey said. I think she realizes how important this is

to me, and how hard Ive worked since weve been married so we
can have all that we do now. He paused. And I think shes
known on some level that I havent been truly happy lately. She
thought it was her; that maybe I was sick of her complaining about
Portland for so long, about wanting to move back East. She told
me she leaped at buying your house because she thought it would
convince me that shes okay with staying in Portland now, that she
wants to be here long term.
Ellen remembered the night of the candle party, when Jordan
had arrived after the re, the uncertainty and fear in her eyes
when Ellen had mentioned Jeffrey.
And the kids are still little, Jeffrey said. If it worked out and
we wanted to move down there in a couple years, theyd still be
young enough to adjust. And its not going to happen overnight
it may be that after a year or two of managing it from a distance
we decide its too much work, or not the right lifestyle for us. But
at least well have tried it, at least Ill know I gave it a shot.
Ellen was wide awake now, her heart pounding. She suddenly
felt hyperaware of everything around her, the cool air on her bare
legs, the sweet smell of the tea leaves in the open tin, the ickering
shadows on the wall opposite the candles. She couldnt stand it
any longer. But does that mean you want to back out of the deal
here, that you dont want to move into my house?
Yes, Jeffrey said, looking at her and smiling. Yes, Ellen, thats
exactly what it means. And Jordan agrees.
Yes! Ellen wanted to leap and pirouette in a ballet of joy. She
wanted to run across the kitchen and kiss the beautiful sink where
shed bathed her babies. She wanted to throw her arms around
Jeffrey and kiss him. But she did none of these things.
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Oh, Jeffrey, she said. Oh, Jeffrey. And then she began to
cry. She stood there in her nightgown and sweatshirt and garden
clogs, her arms at her sides, weeping in a ood of relief and gratitude that felt completely overwhelming. Jeffrey watched her helplessly for a few seconds, then came over and wrapped his arms
around her, letting her cry into the nubby wool of his brown
sweater.
I couldnt wait to tell you, he said. Thats why I came tonight. Im glad its all going to work out now, Ellen.
She let him hold her for a moment, then raised her wet face to
look at him. She could feel the attraction and knew he felt it, too.
His face, with the warm, bristly beard and full lips, was just inches
away. He bent down and kissed her. She raised both arms and
pulled his head closer, kissing him hard, too. Her tears salted their
lips. He began to kiss the side of her jaw, near her ear, then her
neck, then her clavicle. His hands slid around her waist, and he
pulled her to him, pressing the fullness of his body against hers.
But after having been with Sam just a few hours ago, it felt strange
to her, foreign. She had a deep affection for Jeffrey, who was truly
a sweet, good man. But the memory of Sams lips on her body
was too recent, too full with feeling for her even to know what she
wanted right now. She couldnt complicate things even more.
She broke away and stumbled backward, until they were standing several feet apart, not touching. At almost the same moment
the kettle began to whistle shrilly. Ellen turned automatically,
picked it up off the burner, and turned off the ame.
Ellen, Im sorry, Jeffrey said, staggering back and sitting
down hard on the step stool by the door. Jesus! This has never
happened to me before. I really did just come here to talk to you
about the house.
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Ellen pulled her sweatshirt jacket tight around her, conscious of

her nipples sticking up through the thin fabric of her nightgown
beneath.
Its okay, Jeffrey, she said. Its me, too. I get very emotional
about the house, and youve been really understanding and supportive. I probably misinterpreted that. My God! Youre married,
and Id never
Neither would I, he said. All appearances to the contrary.
He stood up and shook himself, as if to clear his head.
I shouldnt stay here too long. Jordan and I went down to look
over the vineyard yesterday and just made the offer this morning.
They called tonight to let us know its been accepted. Anyway, we
can get in touch on Monday about whatever we need to do to sell
the house back to you.
Ellen still felt suspended in disbelief. Her mug, lled with a tea
strainer and a spoonful of chamomile leaves, sat forgotten on the
counter, waiting for water. The kettle steamed on the stove. Her
postsex languor had given way to an intense alertness.
Youre really sure? she asked, looking directly into his eyes. Jordan is really sure, too? I mean, we have been down this road before.
Jeffrey smiled. I know. I know. I was wrong last time. This time,
though, Im completely condent. Jordan and I are really on the
same page. Its actually been a great thing for our marriagewe
havent talked like that in a long time. If she does decide she wants
to move down there eventually, shell probably launch a new chapter of the Junior League and turn Dundee into the social center of
the Willamette Valley.
Ellens eyes searched his face.
Please thank Jordan for me, she said. This means so much,
to my kids, too. Im so grateful.
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Me, too, Jeffrey said. Really, Ellen, if Jordan hadnt rushed

into buying this house and I hadnt met you, I might just have
plodded along on the same old path for another thirty years. I feel
very lucky.
Ellen stood close to him, as she had that day at Dotties bookstore, her head eye level with his chest, inhaling the slight aroma of
cedar from his sweater. She had completely conicted feelings
about saying good-bye to him now. She was euphoric to think she
might really be able to stay in the house, but she also felt a profound connection to Jeffrey, who understood why watching Louisa
lick a wave was important, and why the house meant so much. He
understood what she couldnt articulate about the ordinary things
and moments that, taken together, made her life so extraordinary. She wanted the house; she wanted Jeffreys friendship, too.
Cant I have both?
Ill miss you, she said. I really will.
He turned his head, so as not to look at her. He seemed slightly
uncomfortable. Okay, then, he said.
Ill walk you out, Ellen said. She followed him through the
dark rooms and back into the front hallway, where Jeffrey stopped
with his hand on the doorknob.
Thank you, she said. For everything. She stood on tiptoe
and kissed his bearded cheek.
I dont know if getting the house back will make a difference
with whatever happens with you and Sam, he said nally. But
good luck.
He opened the door and walked down the brick path, through
the little front gate, and out to his car, which was parked by the
side of the road. Ellen stood for a moment looking after him, then
turned her gaze up to the night sky, to Orion and the three stars of
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the hunters belt glowing above the tips of the rs across the street.
Her view. Her house. She couldnt believe it.
I have to call Jo, she thought. And Sam. And tell the kids. But not yet.
She was denitely not going to tell the kids a thing until after all
the papers were signed and it was absolutely, positively, once and
forever her house again. Shed need to talk to her accountant
about the money, and possibly selling off a share of the business.
Shed need to talk to Sam. But right now, she was just going to savor this most happy, precious moment.
Ellen turned and walked into the darkened house and closed
the door. Once inside she walked slowly through the house, in and
out of every single room. This is mine, she thought, opening the
door to the basement stairs. This is mine, twirling in the middle of
the living room. She bestowed her silent benediction of thanks on
every corner of every room. Finally, she extinguished the two candles in the kitchen, slipped quietly out of her clogs, and walked
upstairs to bed, where she slept the deepest, soundest, most
dreamless sleep of her life.

;
the next mor ning Ellen woke the girls by leaping on top of
each of them and nuzzling their ears.
Get up, get up, get up, she said. Its a beautiful day. It was
true. The sky outside the girls bedroom window was a brilliant
blue. A carpet of sweet woodruff covered the garden below with
green and white, and the roses were blooming in creamy bursts of
yellow and pink.
Why are you so happy? Sara asked, eyeing her suspiciously.
Ellen playfully smacked her bottom through the thick comforter. What, Im not allowed to be in a good mood?
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Youre allowed, you just usually arent, Sara said matter-offactly. At least not lately.
Im in a good mood! Louisa announced, rolling out from under her covers and standing up on the bed. Im in a great mood!
She began to jump vigorously on the bed.
Are you in a good mood because you had dinner with Daddy?
Sara asked hopefully.
Oh, geez. Ellen winced. She hadnt even thought about that interpretation of her impossible-to-hide joy.
Stop that, Lulu, youll break the bed, she said automatically
to the bouncing Louisa, while still keeping her eyes on Sara.
We had a ne dinner, honey, but that really has nothing to do
with my mood. Im just happy today. She reached out and
smoothed Saras hair from her forehead, and tucked it behind her
ears.
Youre weird, Sara said, shrugging Ellens hand away.
All right. Well, lets get dressed. If you hurry, we can stop and
get pancakes on the way to school.
Pancake pandemonium broke out, with both girls gleefully
rushing through brushing their hair and teeth and pulling on their
clothes to make it on time. True to her word, Ellen drove them to
the Original Pancake House for their favorite strawberry crepes
on the way to school. She dropped them off and drove to work,
humming all the way.
She felt translucent, airborne. There had never been a more
perfect day in the history of Oregon, she thought. The sky was
clear blue. Everywhere she looked Ellen saw color and lightthe
shining, glossy green of the rhododendrons, now in full bloom,
with great mounds of pink and purple and white, the vivid, soft

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chartreuse of the leaves on the empress tree, the glowing white

peak of Mount Hood to the east.
She moved through her day lightly, greeting every customer with
a joyous smile that was instantly reected back at her, a contagious
happiness. She told endless corny jokes. At one point, in the midst
of the midmorning crunch as they were both steaming lattes, Cloud
looked at her and said, So, you gonna tell me whats up, or are you
just going to keep up this Cheshire cat thing all day?
Ellen grinned. I cant tell youyet. But I will, Cloud. I promise.
She knew she needed to call Sam. But she was so happy, and so
completely unable to conceal it, that she was afraid hed think it
was because shed slept with him last night and leap to the conclusion that they were now reconcileda conclusion she wasnt able
to make. Although on this day, feeling this way, I could love Sam again, she
thought. I really could.
She was standing at the espresso machine, tamping down the
grounds for a shot of espresso, when the front door opened. She
heard staccato footsteps across the oor and turned to greet
the new customer. And there, looking uncharacteristically disheveled, was Jordan.
She didnt look like Jordan, at least not like the Jordan that
Ellen knew. Her hair, usually shellacked into a perfect blond bob,
was uncombed. She was dressed in a T-shirt and denim overalls,
and her ubiquitous Tinker Bell sneakers. She carried her designer
raincoat under one arm. It was the rst time Ellen had seen her
without makeup.
Jordan Ellen began, smiling at her warmly.
Jordan cut her off. I need to talk to youprivately, she said.
Now.

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Ellen put down the cup in her hand. She felt her blood run
cold, like in a novel, in a movie, a chill that penetrated her soul.
Okay, she said, passing the cup in her hand to Cloud. Here,
will you nish this drink for me? Regular latte, extra foam.
She turned to Jordan. Come around here. We have a storeroom in the back where we can talk.
Jordan walked around the counter and brushed past Cloud.
Ellen held open the swinging door that led to the back hall, and
Jordan stalked through. Ellen followed her. Oh, God, what had
happened? Ellen opened the door to the little storeroom and motioned for Jordan to go in. She followed and closed the door
tightly. They stood face-to-face, next to the pile of braided rugs
where Ellen and Sam had made love the night before.
I really came here just because I wanted you to look me in the
face, Ellen, Jordan said harshly. I just wanted you to look at me.
Jordan, Ellen said. Im not sure whats happened. Jeffrey
Yes, Jeffrey, Jordan said. Lets talk about Jeffrey. Lets talk
about wanting a house so much that you seduce another womans
husband, the father of three children, so you can twist his mind to the
point where hes willing to give your goddamn house back to you. I
dont even know where to begin. I just cant imagine someone
stooping so low, being so calculating and cruel Her voice broke.
Oh, Jordan, Ellen said, taking a step back. Oh, no. Thats
not what happened.
Ellen, Im not an idiot, Jordan said contemptuously. Jeffrey
told me everything. He told me about spending the day with you
on the coast. He told me about kissing you!
It wasnt like that, Ellen said softly. Please let me explain. It
was all just so accidental. We ran into each other in the bookstore,
and we were both going to Astoria, and
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And nothing, Jordan said. From the minute you decided you
wanted this house back, youve been scheming how to get it, no
matter what the cost. So you encouraged this stupid thing about
the vineyard, just to get him to back out of the house deal. How
did you arrange it? Did you have some little network of spies who
told you he was going to the coast, so you could happen to bump
into him? It was all so accidental, Im sure. And so very, very
clever. And what did you do to get him to kiss you? Play on his
sympathy? Cry? Flash a little cleavage? Jordan looked contemptuously at Ellens V-neck T-shirt.
Oh, God. All I wanted was the house, Ellen thought. I didnt want to
hurt anybody. Why had Jeffrey told Jordan about the kiss? It seemed
insane to Ellen. Thoughts ricocheted through her brain like pinballs. He told her because he felt guilty. He told her because he thought she
knew, she caught him coming home from my house late last night. He told her
to protect himself, to make sure hed never have another opportunity to kiss me
again. Ellen wanted to believe the best of Jeffrey. Maybe, she decided, hed been so happy to nd that Jordan was willing to hear
him out, to consider the vineyard, to try to compromise, that he
wanted to give something in returnhis love, his honesty. He saw
it as the start of a new chapter perhaps, and wanted nothing between them to mar it.
Only now it was a mess. Ellen was horried to think that Jeffreys marriage was in jeopardy because of a few shared moments
of empathy and attraction. Looking at Jordan and imagining herself in Jordans shoes (albeit ridiculous Tinker Bell shoes), Ellen realized that she would have been horribly hurt if Sam had kissed
another woman. Actually, she thought, amazed that in the midst of
this anguished discussion she could even think about Sam, I dont
want him kissing anyone else.
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She turned her attention back to Jordan. You have to believe

me, she said, looking directly into Jordans red-rimmed eyes. I
didnt plan anything. I didnt seduce him. It was a kiss, and it
didnt mean anything. Hes very loyal to you, and hes so happy
that youve been so understanding about the vineyard. Really, Jordan. Ellen tried to sound calm, reasonable, not pleading.
So now you know everything Jeffrey thinks, Jordan said
sharply.
Of course not, Ellen said miserably. Jordan, Im sorry. Im
just so sorry. She stood helplessly, looking at her.
Well, I just wanted to let you know; Im moving with the kids
into the house on Grace Lane, my house. You need to be out on
May thirty-rst, as the contract states. I dont really care what you
do after that, although I hope its not with my husband. You make
me sick. Her voice was hard, brittle, contemptuous.
With one last bright-eyed stare, Jordan yanked open the door of
the storeroom, stalked out, and left Ellen alone, standing amid the
mismatched pottery and vintage snow globes and what seemed to
Ellen to be the complete shambles of her so-called life.

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hoa, whoa, whoa, start at the beginning, Jo commanded. Ellen was sitting miserably on the oor of
Joannas living room that evening, her back against the gray-green
sofa, cradling a glass of wine in both hands. She was wearing
jeans and her garden clogs and a pink button-down shirt, untucked and rumpled. Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail.
I missed about sixteen episodes here, I think, Jo said. She was
sitting across from Ellen on the oor, leaning against the worn
brown leather armchair that had been her grandfathers. A oor
lamp next to the chair cast a circle of light on the pale green rug
around her. Ellen could hear Pete in the kitchen humming as he
washed the dinner dishes; the kids were downstairs watching a
movie. Ellen wanted to just stretch out and bang her head against
the oor, thump, thump, thump, thump, until she couldnt think anymore.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid.
You never told me that you kissed Jeffrey Boyce, Jo said accusingly, taking a long sip of wine. Thats quite a detail to leave
out of your little day at the coast.
Oh, come on. We had just started talking about it the other day
when Sam walked in, Ellen said tiredly. What was I supposed to
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do, say, Hey, Sam, hang on while I tell Jo all about the guy I kissed
today? Really.
Well, okay, Joanna said. But you could have called me later.
It just felt private to me, Ellen said. We shared a moment; I
knew it wasnt going anywhere. It just happened. I didnt want to
gossip about it. I didnt think it was going to end up haunting me
and ruining my life. She slid farther down on the oor, till she
was almost prone, with just her head propped uncomfortably
against the sofa. She held her wineglass by the stem and balanced
it on her stomach.
Well, youre not exactly Hester Prynne, Jo said drily. Although I bet Jordan would love to carve a scarlet A into your little
forehead with her Martha Stewart paring knife. Still, you dont
need to martyr yourself over this. As you say, it was one impulsive
moment. Its just unfortunate that its the one thing you could
have done to pretty much guarantee you never get the house back.
Jordan is never going to believe you didnt plan the whole thing.
She looked at Ellen sympathetically. Im sorry, sweetie. I know
you didnt plan to seduce Jeffrey to get the house back. But it does
look bad. Joanna rummaged through the bowl of chocolate chips
and nuts and dried fruit at her side, searching for little chunks of
pineapple. She found one and popped it into her mouth. So is
Jordan leaving Jeffrey? Are you ofcially a home wrecker?
Ellen closed her eyes. She was haunted by the thought of Jeffreys kids. She hoped against hope that, although Jordan was furious, shed get over it enough to stay married to Jeffrey. The house
was lost to her forever; Ellen understood that now, even if she still
found it hard to accept. But she remembered vividly the day she
and Sam had told their own daughters that they were separating
the wide-eyed confusion on Louisas round face, the raw, tight hurt
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that had clenched Saras entire body. She didnt want to think of
Jeffreys children going through that because of one small thing
they had done.
She remembered the story Jeffrey had told her that day at the
Lazy Susan, about Lily standing in the garden, offering a drink of
water to the full moon. It was an image of such innocence and
generosity. What would Lily do if Jordan told her they were moving without Daddy?
Oh, God, Jo! Ellen closed her eyes and moaned. I dont
know! Im afraid to call Jeffrey; Im sure hes terried to call me or
try to see me. Hes probably devastated. He was so happy about
this, about everything working out for him with Jordan and the
vineyard, and for me and my house. Why did he have to tell her
about the stupid kiss?
Well, thats the million-dollar question, Jo said. The compulsion to confess is beyond me, I have to admit. I mean Im all for
honesty in a marriage, but that doesnt mean you have to share
everything. Hey, Pete! Joanna leaned her head back and yelled.
Peter!
Pete stuck his head in the living room doorway. His skin glowed
with a slight sheen of sweat from the steamy kitchen, and his red
hair curled around his forehead. His shirtsleeves were pushed
above his elbows, and he wore Jos Betty Boop apron, with a picture of Betty Boop in short shorts and a chef s hat above the statement Some Like It Hot!
Yeah! he said. You called?
Yes, Jo said. We need a male opinion. If you kissed another
woman just once, and it didnt mean anything and you never
planned to kiss her or any other woman again, would you feel
compelled to tell me about it?
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Pete eyed her cautiously and then looked at Ellen. Dont tell
me Sam kissed some broad and fessed up, he said. You guys are
separated after all.
Ellens stomach twisted; her shoulders went cold. Did Sam kiss
someone? she asked lightly.
That is not what this is about, Joanna said irritably. Lets not
get off track here. No, Sam didnt kiss anybody that we know of,
although if youre privy to some information you want to share,
Peter, feel free. This is just a hypothetical.
Your hypotheticals are never just hypothetical, Pete said,
leaning against the door frame. But okay, if I had a moment of
utter lunacy and kissed another woman one time, and it meant
nothing to me or to her, Id let sleeping dogs lie and not let the cat
out of the bag. He grinned. Brilliant and appropriate use of
mixed animal metaphors, wouldnt you say?
Joanna rolled her eyes. Yes, brilliant. Good answer. Thats what
Id expect a normal man to do. She smiled at him and blew him a
kiss. Pete smiled back and turned toward the kitchen. Im not answering any more questions tonight, though, just so you know, he
called over his shoulder.
All right, so weve established that Jeffrey is not a normal
man, Ellen said from the oor. It doesnt change anything.
Does Sam know?
No! Ellen said. Whats to tell Sam? That Jeffrey and I hit it
off and confessed our secret fantasies to each other, which consist
of really racy stuff like gardening and home decorating? That I
kissed Jeffrey once and now may have destroyed his marriage and
denitely destroyed any prayer I had of getting the house back? I
just dont see the point of telling Sam.
Ellen put her glass down on the oor and rolled into a sitting
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position. Besides, she said, tracing a circle in the thick green

plush of the rug with her nger. Sam isnt making life any easier. I
slept with him and he wants to get back together, although things
didnt necessarily happen in that order.
Jo shook her head hard as if to shake water out of her ears.
What did you say? she asked. I could have sworn you said you
slept with Sam.
I did, Ellen said. Last night.
Last night? Jo said, eyes wide. Wow, I want to be you! One
day youre making out with Jeffrey, a few days later youre having
sex with Sam. I love this whole middle-aged siren thing!
Oh, please, Jo, Ellen said, rolling her eyes. You sound like Jordan. She thinks Im some conniving temptress, running around
Oregon in my scarlet push-up bra and stilettos in search of a man to
have my way with.
Well, you did kiss her husband, Jo said.
I know, and I feel guilty enough about it, believe me. He also
kissed me, you know, Ellen said. It wasnt exactly one-sided.
Lets get back to the point, Joanna said, reaching up to set her
empty wineglass on the little oak table next to the chair. Does
Sam really want to get back together? Would you consider it?
Ellen was silent. I dont know what I want, she said nally,
lifting her head to look at her friend. I know theres something
wrong with me, Jo, but I feel such grief over losing the house that
I almost cant think about anything else. It feels like losing a person I love, and I need to mourn it before I can move on to whatever is coming next. She looked at Jo with bright eyes.
You are losing a person you love, Jo said. Sam.
Ellen was silent.
Its also the baby, Jo said. I never thought you really let
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yourself grieve enough after losing that boy, when you were pregnant before Louisa.
Ellens eyes lled with tears. Well, those are the simplistic answers. I just cant believe thats all of it. I probably need years of
psychotherapy. The Woman Who Mistook Her House for a Life.
It feels like my whole life, everyone and everything Ive ever loved
most, everything that I am, is represented by that houseis that
house. I dont know how to explain it.
Joanna looked at her, so sympathetically that Ellen could hardly
stand it. Ellen, you are a fucking nutcase, she said. And I love
you. Well get through this.
Thanks, Ellen said, standing up slowly. I better get the kids
home and to bed. Please tell Pete not to tell Sam about all this.
Jo stood up, too, and came over and put an arm around Ellen.
Of course. I think Ill jump his bones tonight and put him in
such a sex haze that he doesnt remember anything about this evening. Hows that for a plan?
Ellen laughed. Let me pry the munchkins away from Emily.
She leaned forward and kissed Jos cheek. Thanks, sweetie. Id be
lost without you.

;
ellen moved through the next two weeks in a fog. As each
day ticked off, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,
she had a growing sense of unreality. It couldnt be true that ten
days from this moment shed be sitting in the middle of her other
living room, with the house on Grace Lane just a memory and a
photograph stuck on the mantel.
Sam stopped by on Thursday with a big powder blue pickup
truck hed borrowed from a friend. It was the rst time shed seen
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him since that night at the coffee shop. He had called once to see
how she was doing and to set a day and time for picking up his furniture. Hed been cheerful and friendly; he wasnt pushing her at
all, and she was grateful.
She had heard nothing from Jeffrey, and didnt expect to. She
didnt know if Jordan had kicked him out, or if Jordan planned to
allow him to move with her into the house. Ellen ached for him,
poor Jeffrey, who had been so happy and hopeful the last time
shed seen him. Alexa had called to say that Jordan had scheduled
the walk-through for 4:45 p.m. on the thirty-rst, moving day. She
requested that Sam be present and Ellen nowhere in sight.
I honestly dont know what her issue is, Alexa told Ellen on the
phone. I know you never liked her, but she was always ne with
me. She just seems incredibly uptight and pissed off right now.
Im sure. Ellen sighed. But I can be in the house until she
comes, right?
Yes, Alexa said. Thats ne.
So Ellen continued to go through drawers, clean out closets,
take down pictures. On the top shelf of the linen closet she found
the tiny cap that had covered Saras head when they brought her
home from the hospital, and the little hairbrush theyd used to try
to tame her newborn curls. She found a pile of dead pill bugs in a
box under the bunk beds in the girls room, a leftover from the insect circus theyd tried to have one summer.
She did most of it when the girls were in school. She wanted the
house to look as much like itself for as long as possible, to save the
bare walls and empty shelves and empty rooms for the last possible moment, so the girls would always remember it as it had been
for them, with the artwork taped to the kitchen walls and the papiermch duck hanging from the chandelier.
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Thursday rolled into the weekend, and then the nal week. The
move was scheduled for the next day. Ellen lay awake for most of
the night, not even tossing and turning, just still, silent, eyes open.
She felt the house as a living, breathing presence around her, witness to all the most intimate and important moments of her life.
She thought of the baby she had lost here, the little ghost spirit
whose presence she alone knew. His entire being had been in this
house, inside her body, in the things shed imagined about him as
she dug in the garden and folded the laundry on the big table by
the dining room window. Would he come with her to the new
house? She heard the wind brush the branches of the Douglas r
across the roof, heard the boards creak, and the rattle of the loose
window in the bathroom. The house was a presence, with its own
rhythms and voice and soul, and it was so tangled up with Ellens
soul that she didnt know how to extricate herself. Finally, she
closed her eyes and slept.
She didnt wake up until after seven. She had wanted to wake
early, to savor her last morning in the house, but she was so exhausted that she slept right through the early light. No time to
think about last moments now. She climbed out of bed, zipped a
sweatshirt over her nightgown, and went downstairs to make tea.
Sam had already arrived and was in the kitchen, rummaging
through the drawers and putting anything he found into a cardboard box. He was wearing baggy cargo shorts and a maroon cotton sweater. The ends of his T-shirt stuck out from beneath the
sweater.
Youre up late, for you, he said, looking at her carefully to try
to read her mood.
Its daylight saving time, she said, putting the kettle on to boil.
It doesnt get light until an hour later in the morning. I hate that.
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Ellen opened the cupboard to get the one mug shed left unpacked
and punctuated her sentence with a slam of the door.
I dont know why they have to mess with the natural order of
things, she went on. I think Ill start a movement to do away
with daylight saving time forever. I bet a lot of people hate it.
Theyll probably name a new coin after me when its nally
abolished.
Yeah, Sam said, giving her a strange look. Thatll be minted
right after the Ted Kaczynski quarter.
Ellen smiled; she couldnt help it. Right, she said. Me and
the Unabomber.
Sam eyed her tentatively. Well. I know youre not in a great
mood, he said, but at least you can smile.
Of course Im not in a great mood, Ellen said, irritated now
that hed actually gotten her to smile on this terrible day. What
did you expect? Really, Sam.
She opened the door to the tea cupboard and found it completely bare. Oh, shit. I remembered to leave out a mug and the
kettle, but I packed all the tea. Thats perfect.
Do you want me to run to the shop and get you some? Sam
offered.
No. Ellen sighed. Theres too much to do. Ill just drink hot
water. Why dont you go wake the girls? If you drive them to
school, I could start in on the cleaning.
Want some of my latte? Sam held out his giant cup, which
was not, Ellen noted, from Starbucks. You may have a better day
if you get a little caffeine.
No, thanks, she said.
Sam looked at her. Ellen could see the realization in his face
that she was going to be unhappy and difcult no matter what he
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did, so he disappeared toward the stairs. In moments Ellen heard

delighted squeals and laughter and thuds as the girls leaped out of
bed and wrestled with their father. How could they be happy today?
Ellen thought. Have they forgotten?
She poured cereal into their favorite bowlsblue for Sara, orange for Luluand got out the milk. Our last breakfast here, she
thought. Then, Stop it! Youll make yourself crazy.
The girls came bounding into the kitchen within minutes, fully
dressed, with hair uncombed. Louisa, who was wearing her favorite
blue gingham dress again, held Stella Blue Moon by one leg. Sara
was dressed in jeans and a green Tryon Creek Park T-shirt. They
were both smiling over something Sam had done upstairs. Ellen felt
a pang for their innocence and resilience.
Hey, guys, she said, bending over to kiss the top of Louisas
head, then reaching for Sara. Ready for cereal?
Yes! Louisa grabbed her bowl and headed into the dining
room. Bring the milk please, Mommy, she yelled.
Sara picked up her bowl and gazed at Ellen. Are you eating
breakfast with us? she asked.
Ellen looked at her, at her face, now serious, with traces of
sleepy dust still in the corners of her eyes. She knew suddenly that
a hurricane of emotion was roaring just beneath the surface of
Saras calm exterior and that she must somehow, in spite of her
own despair, help her precious girl navigate this difcult day. She
handed the carton of milk to Sam and crouched down in front of
Sara.
Hey, baby, she said, putting a hand up to caress Saras cheek.
So I guess you remember this is moving day.
Sara nodded.
Heres whats going to happen, okay? Daddy will drive you to
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school. Then hes going to come back and the movers are going to
help us move all our furniture and boxes into the truck and drive
them over to our new house. Then were going to get our new place
all xed up. For a few days it will be like campingmaybe we can
all sleep on the oor in my room until we get the beds set up. Emily
and Jo will be over a lot to help us. Her eyes searched Saras face.
If you want, I can bring you back here after school to say good-bye
to the house. Or it may be that you want to go right to our new
house and just remember this one the way its always been for us.
I want to come back, Sara said, ghting back tears. After
school. I want to come back and say good-bye to the house.
Then thats what well do, sweetie, Ellen said. We have the
house until ve today. Well see if Daddy and Lulu want to come
with us. Now eat your cereal.
I want to go to my new house, Louisa said, sitting at the table
with a mouthful of cereal.
Sara, who had wolfed down her own cereal, cast Louisa a look.
Maybe Lulu and me can say good-bye to the basement before we
leave for school this morning, she said. We need to make sure
we packed all of our things from the Turtle Club.
Okay, Ellen said. Why dont you guys brush your teeth and
comb your hair and say good-bye to the basement? Then Daddy
will take you to school.
The girls ran toward the basement door.
Teeth! Ellen called. And hair!
Well do it after! Sara shouted, already halfway down the
basement stairs, with Louisa close behind her.
Ellen stared after them, listening to the clatter of their feet on
the wooden steps, the murmur of their voices. She closed her eyes
and put both hands over her face.
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Ellen? Are you all right? Sam stood across from her.
She rubbed her eyes. As if, she wanted to say. As if, Mr. Hot Dog
Diaper.
She dropped her hands and looked at him. Sara is really upset
about this, you know.
She seems ne.
Shes not ne, Sam. Shes acting ne for you, because she
doesnt want you to feel bad. But shes totally on edge.
Well, Im sure if thats what you expect from her, shell oblige,
he said with some exasperation. Ellen, I know this is not what
any of us wanted. But cant we just make the best of it now? Cant
we just move on and assume things will be good again for all of
us? His voice was pleading.
Ellen was silent. She took the kettle off the stove and poured
hot water into her mug. Im going to nish packing. You take the
kids to school. The movers will be here at eight. Then well get
everything loaded, and then Ill clean. I just have to get through
today. I just have to focus on that.
All right, Sam said. Im here, Ellen. Whatever you need. He
went to the top of the basement stairs and whistled for the girls.
They raced back up the stairs, breathless. Ellen handed them
their backpacks from the basket by the back door. Have a good
day, girls, she said, bending to kiss them. She put a hand on
Saras shoulder. Daddy will pick you up after school and bring
you back here, honey. You and I can say good-bye to the house
while he and Lulu go and get things set up in our new house.
Sara nodded. Thats good. She looked at Ellen. You have a
good day, too, Mommy, she said. Okay?
Ellen smiled over the lump in her throat. Yes, sweetie. I will.
Ill see you after school.
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The furniture and boxes were all loaded into the truck by one.
What had seemed to be so many things, the accumulation of
more than ten years of family life, looked pathetically small once it
was all boxed and stacked inside the giant truck.
How can it be so simple? Ellen thought. One day you possess a
place completely, with all your photos and sneakers and furniture
and socks, and the next day its all boxed and moved and the place
is empty. It was so abrupt, so strange, that she could barely wrap
her mind around it.
And now for the cleaning. No matter what Jordan was going to
do to the house, Ellen planned to leave it spotless, with the oors
scrubbed, the windows shining, the tile gleaming. She decided to
start with the kitchen. She lled a bucket with hot, soapy water
and grabbed a scrub brush from under the sink. The mover, an
unbelievably tall and skinny thirty-something guy with a coarse
black beard, stuck his head in the back door.
Were going to grab lunch, then well take the truck over to
your new address, he said. Well meet you there at three.
Thats great, Ellen said, kneeling on the oor. Thanks.
She bent to work scrubbing the bricks. How many times had she
done this? A thousand? Ten thousand? She should be able to gure
it out, two times a week, for fty-two weeks, for twelve yearsa
hundred and four times twelve . . .
Ellen was scrubbing, glad for the mindless task, and the distraction of the math she was doing in her head, when the screen door
opened again. She looked up.
Hello, Jordan said coldly. She was herself again, as Ellen
knew her. Her hair was glossy and combed, and she was dressed in
neat, pressed jeans and an orange sweatshirt with a giant white V
across the chest. The Tinker Bell sneakers were gone, Ellen noted,
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replaced by sneakers with the same camel and black plaid as Jordans raincoat. She carried a grocery bag from Zupans Market.
Scrubbing the oor isnt necessary, Ellen, she said. Were going to be ripping it out.
Well, this is perfect, Ellen thought. Heres Jordan, looking composed,
and here I am, literally on my knees in front of her.
Do you need to drop something off ? Ellen was still trying to
gure out what Jordan was doing here, four hours early, when she
had made it so clear that she didnt even want to see Ellen.
Jordan put her bag on the counter.
No. It turns out we need to get in early. The carpenter has to
get started on the kids rooms, and its clear youve moved all your
stuff out.
Ellen stood up, scrub brush in hand. But we have until ve,
Jordan. Thats what it says in the contract. I need these last few
hours.
Really? Jordan arched one eyebrow. You need these hours?
Ellen, I think youre forgetting that this is my house. My guys need
to get to work now. If youve got a problem with that, get a lawyer.
Jordan picked up her bag and opened the refrigerator. I need to
unload my groceries. She turned to look at Ellen one more time.
And you, Ellen, need to leave.

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hes not going to let us stay until ve, Sam said, a few
minutes later. He had walked into the kitchen in time to
hear Jordan tell Ellen to go. He had pulled Ellen, who was in a
state of silent shock, out to the deck and pushed her onto the
bench under the cedar tree. Then he had gone back in the kitchen
to talk to Jordan. Now he was standing opposite Ellen in the backyard, with his hands in the pockets of his baggy shorts, trying to
explain the inexplicable.
We have to go, Sam said. Shes giving us fteen minutes
while she and her workers unload their stuff. Okay?
Ellen looked at him. But the kids
Its probably better for the kids to remember it the way it was,
Ellie, Sam said. Not to see it all empty like this.
Okay. Ellen felt panicky, the prisoner nally about to face the
ring squad after months of anticipation and dread. Okay. She
looked around helplessly.
Sam reached out a hand, and she took it, wordlessly, like a child.
He pulled her up, and they walked together to the back door and
into the kitchen. Ellen looked at the brick oor. Half of it was still
wet, the other half unscrubbed. The bucket sat forlornly in the
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middle of the room, the scrub brush next to it. She felt the urge to
get back down on her knees, pick up the brush, and resume her
scrubbing, swish, swish, scrub, dip the brush in the bucket, swish,
swish, scrub. The rhythm of it, the mindless monotony of it, seemed
irresistibly appealing to her. If only she could hang in that moment
forever, suspended like a cocoon dangling from a silk thread. Shed
never have to move forward then, into the moment when shed actually walk out the door of this house for the last time.
She and Sam walked into the living room, barren now, with
faded rectangles on the walls where the pictures had hung, and
holes in the plaster from the nails and hooks. The room looked
smaller and dingier with everything gone. Only the bookcase, repaired since the re, looked new and clean. Ellens footsteps
echoed against the hardwood oors, loud in the empty room.
There was nothing to say. They walked through the hallway, into
the small room that had been Ellens ofce, then into the big guest
bedroom with the view of the garden and the giant hydrangea
outside the window.
They walked upstairs. Their bedroom had always been one of
Ellens favorite rooms. It was small but full of light from the huge
double window across from the door. So much of what was important in their lives had been lived out here, sex and love and arguments and tears and sickness and the conception of children.
The closet door stood open, and Ellen saw with a pang the erratic
markings up and down the doorjambthe record of the girls
growth, marked haphazardly over the last ten years, from the time
Sam had held the newborn baby Sara upright so they could mark
her twenty-one inches to last month, when Sara had proudly
reached fty-six inches. Ellen had meant to copy all the measurements down on a piece of paper so she could reproduce them in
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the new house, but shed forgotten. There was no time now. She
closed her eyes.
Finally, they walked across the hall into the girls room. Ellen remembered when Sam had painted it, a surprise for her after shed
been gone for a week visiting her parents in Michigan with the
new baby. Hed spent days asking her, So if we did decide to
paint the babys room, what color would you paint it?
Cream, she had said. With pale purple trim and a purple
window.
Hed painted it a rich shade of cream while shed been away,
then shed found the wallpaper border with the purple wisteria
and shades of blue, and theyd put it up one day while the baby
bounced in her saucer. Sam had matched the trim color to the
shade of deepest lavender in the wisteria and painted the window
and the baseboard. Theyd hung an old crib quilt on the wall, tiny
squares of yellow and blue and purple, and placed a mobile with
tiny paper birds over the babys changing table. Ellen could still
see the hole in the slanted ceiling where the screw for the hook
had been.
This is the hardest room to leave, Sam said, looking around.
Its the room we brought our babies home to.
Ellen looked at him in surprise, stunned that he felt it, too. Then
the tears pricked her eyes and she started to cry.
Oh, Sam, please, she begged. Dont make me do it. Dont
make me go.
Ellen . . . He looked at her helplessly. We have to go.
He came around behind her, put both hands on her shoulders,
and pushed her gently toward the stairs. He walked her down the
stairs, through the living room and dining room, and into the kitchen
again.
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Cmon, Ellie.
Sam held her elbow gently and steered her out the back door.
The screen door slammed behind them, the sound that had punctuated all of Ellens days for thousands of days. Sam walked her
into the backyard and up the walkway by the garage to the driveway. It was a beautiful day, Ellen noted. She could hear the crows
in the tall r tree by Alfreds house, and a robin in the big hydrangea in the garden.
Sam walked her to his car. Get in. Well go to your house and
meet the movers and get all the stuff unloaded, then well pick the
kids up at school and bring them to the new house. We can make
it fun for them. Its an adventure. Its probably better this way,
without a long good-bye, and without seeing you upset.
Ellen stopped and looked at his car, then back at the house.
I cant, she sobbed. I cant. She stood helplessly, all the loss
of all the things at once washing over her in a wave of such grief
that she felt drowned. Her marriage, her unborn baby, her history
with her husband and children, her life as wife and mother, it was
all there, in the house, and leaving it felt like leaving behind a leg
or an arm or something even more, her brain, her heart, her
lungs, something she literally couldnt live without. She leaned
against the car and wept, not caring who saw her, not caring if she
ever stopped. Sam came around and held her.
Shhhh. Pull yourself together, he said, but not unkindly, and
he wiped the tears from her cheeks with the sleeve of his sweater.
Ellen let him hold her, then open the door and push her into
the passenger seat. She buckled her seat belt reexively and
leaned back, empty and bereft.
Sam got in and started the car and drove down the street, past
the white picket fence that bordered the yellow house, past the
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great mounds of candytuft and phlox blooming along the rock

wall out front, past the old orchard next door.
Ellen looked at it, one last time. Then Sam rounded the corner
and turned onto Canyon Road, and Ellens last view of the house
was gone.

;
the new house was white; a one-story 1940s bungalow with a
pitched charcoal-gray roof and black shutters. The front door was
weathered oak, with a tarnished brass knocker and two small glass
panes near the top. A large plum tree was in bloom in the front
yard.
The rest of that day seemed completely unreal to Ellen. She
pulled herself together so they could pick up the kids at school, dealt
with Saras wild outburst when they had to tell her that she couldnt
go back to say good-bye to the house, somehow oversaw the movers
and told them where to place each piece of furniture. Sam ran out
to get a pizza and a bottle of wine, and sodas, which were usually
forbidden, for the girls. They ate around their table, the old Irish
farm table made of thick white pine, in the new dining room. The
whole thing seemed crazy to Ellen, as though theyd been beamed
up from their rightful place in the world and suddenly deposited
somewhere else, into a foreign country, a strange new land.
Louisa talked nonstop, about her day in school, about the closet
shed discovered in their new basement that she was going to
claim for her ofce, about could they get a puppy now that they
didnt live next door to Emily, who was allergic. Ellen was grateful
for her chatter, for any distraction to cover her own despair, and
Saras persistent silence.
Sam talked, too, maintaining an easy patter about the tree
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house hed build for the girls in the back, and reminiscences about
the house hed lived in as a boy, on Long Island. He sat next to
Sara at dinner and kept one arm draped protectively across the
back of her chair, reaching forward every now and then to rufe
her hair. He kept his eyes on Ellen, to make sure she wasnt going
to break down again. Finally, after hed helped unpack the sheets
and make the beds, he came to Ellen, who was unpacking boxes in
her new bedroom, and said, I think I should go.
She felt completely spent, physically and emotionally.
Did you tuck the kids in? she asked.
Yes, he said. Lulus asleep already. But Sara seems pretty
wound up. I tried to talk to her . . . He shrugged. I really think
shell feel better in a few days, Ellie, he said, pleading. Once the
strangeness wears off.
It feels like the strangeness will never wear off, Ellen said. She
wasnt trying to guilt-trip him or be critical. It was a simple statement of fact.
Do you want me to stay tonight? he asked. If Sara has a
hard time, maybe I should be here, to help.
I dont know, she said wearily, stacking T-shirts into a pile and
placing them in a dresser drawer. I dont want her to think were
back together or something, and you havent spent the night since
we split up in January.
Ill sleep in the girls room, he said. On the oor between
the beds. Maybe it will make tonight seem better.
Fine, Ellen said. She was too tired to make decisions, or really
to care about the outcome.
That night Ellen lay awake in bed, the curtains drawn. With
her bedroom on the rst oor, she had a view of the backyard,
with its overgrown tangle of old rhodies and camellias, but she
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couldnt gaze out at the night sky as she had for so many years in
the house on Grace Lane. Once she heard Sara sobbing but didnt
trust herself to go to her, to comfort her without breaking down.
She heard Sam mumbling reassurances, and a creak that she
knew meant he had lain down in bed with Sara. It was a relief not
to have to be the rock for one night.

;
over the next week the girls were busy with a million end-ofschool-year activities, the class picnics and parties, the last spring
soccer game, the soccer pizza party. Ellen drove them to their
events, smiled, chatted, yet remained completely unconnected.
She felt as though she were moving through Jell-O. Sam called or
came over every day. He helped the girls unpack all the boxes in
their bedroom and arrange the furniture and stuffed animals. He
hung pictures on the walls. He showed them how to climb the
giant camellia tree in the backyard and promised them a tree
house by the end of the summer.
Ellen was a ag, waving stoutly in the wind, a model of resilience and exibility and optimism; she had to be, for her daughters. But with every smile, every word of praise for the new house,
every hug of encouragement she gave the girls, the lies grew thick
on her, coating her skin and tongue like molasses until she felt like
choking.
She had to talk to Jeffrey, just once more. She had to know what
had compelled him to tell Jordan about their kiss, to detonate the
bomb that had exploded their bright futures. Was he still in the
house in Beaverton? Ellen looked up his address in the closing papers. But she was afraid to drive by in case Jordan and the kids
were still living there while Jordans army of workers recongured
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Ellens beloved house. She didnt know Jeffreys cell phone number. Maybe she could call him at work. She racked her brain to remember the name of his rm. It was two words, she thought. A big
downtown rm. Miller Nash? No. Ball Janik? No. What was it?
The following Sunday she was standing at the sink of her new
kitchen, rinsing maple syrup off the breakfast dishes. Shed gotten
up early, in what felt like a pathetic effort, and made pancakes for
the girls. This kitchen, while not big, did have room for a small
table and three chairs, right by the window that looked out over the
front yard. Ellen had brought in a little round pine table from the
shop and covered it with a tablecloth shed found in the storeroom,
bright blue with red cherries across it. She had three mismatched
chairs from the old house, and a little lamp with a blue base that
she set on top. She had to admit it was nice being able to eat in the
kitchen, just the three of them, and it was also nice to look out on
the front yard and the street when she was doing the dishes, as she
was now. The girls were digging in the dirt by the root of the oak
tree in the front yard.
The phone rang, and she wiped one soapy hand down the side
of her sweatpants so she could pick it up.
Hello?
Well, they still havent moved in as far as I can tell, said Jos
voice. Thereve been a lot of workers and trucks, but no moving
van.
Has Jeffrey been there? Ellen couldnt help but ask. It was like
an autopsy. The knowledge wouldnt resurrect the dead, but there
was just the ineluctable urge to know what had happened.
Ive only seen your mystery date once, so Im not sure if hes
been there or not, Jo said. Remember the time I almost bumped
into him, back when he was Mr. Tall Vanilla Latte?
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Hes tall, thin, with short brown hair and a beard and mustache, Ellen said, ignoring the mystery date remark. Remember? Hes usually very neatly dressedbusiness suits, trench coats.
He looks like a lawyer.
Well, Ive seen a lot of guys who look like former or current
convicts, but no lawyers, so I guess he hasnt been around, Jo
concluded. I have seen Jordan and the kids.
But theyre not moved in?
No. Jordans over all the timeI assume shes supervising
whatever work theyre doing inside. Theyve been doing a lot of
work on the kitchen. And theyve torn down the fence.
The whole fence? All the way around? Ellen tried to imagine
the house without the white picket fence that had characterized it
for all her tenure therethe small swinging gate opposite the
front door, the pink climbing roses she had planted to cover the
fence and bloom every June.
Sshh, yes, sweetie, the whole damn thing, Jo said. The house
looks kind of naked and embarrassed, like Dick Cheney without
his clothes on.
Dick Cheney? Ellen repeated, startled by the image.
Well, I hate Dick Cheney. And I have to say I just hate the
house now. Although to tell the truth, its almost better that she
ripped the fence down. Before, it was like seeing someone you
knew and loved, like your mother, only it was just a mother mask
and inside was some horrible alien out to destroy you.
Ellen laughed. Oh, God, Jo, and Sam thinks Im dramatic.
You got nothing on me, kid, Jo said cheerfully. I am a writer,
after all. So when are you coming over?
Ellen stiffened. Not yet. Im not ready to see it yet, Jo. For a
while you guys are just going to have to keep coming here.
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Okay, ne, Jo said. Be that way. No, seriously, I wont push

you. But you cant stay away forever. And the kids need to get used
to coming back here and seeing the house and being okay with
that.
I know, I know, Ellen said. But its only been a week. Give
me a little more time. Hey, she said, changing subjects. Is Stella
Blue Moon at your house? I havent been able to nd her since we
moved, and Louisa says she doesnt know where she is.
No, shes not here, said Jo. Is Louisa going crazy?
Strangely, no, Ellen said. Usually she wont even go to sleep
without Stella, and the one other time we lost her, she was just inconsolable. Maybe shes outgrowing sleeping with a doll. But still
Id hate to lose Stella. Shes such a part of Louisa.
Ill keep my eyes peeled, Jo promised. So hows Sam? Any
more late night romps in the hay?
Ellen rolled her eyes. Yeah, Ive really been in the mood, she
said. No, no more romps. Sam has been great, I have to say. Hes
not pushing me at all, hes doing a lot of stuff with the kids. Im
just too depressed to make major life decisions right now.
Fair enough, said Jo. How about a minor one? Want to meet
for lunch today and go shopping on Northwest Twenty-third?
Can Sam take the kids? Or do you want to leave them with Pete?
No, Sam can do it, Ellen said, cradling the phone uncomfortably between her ear and shoulder so she could nish the dishes.
He was planning to come over at noon anyway. So yes, lunch and
shopping would be a great distraction. Ill meet you at twelvethirty. Kornblatts? Mio Sushi?
Sushi, Jo said decidedly. But Ill pick you up. No need to try
to nd parking spaces for two cars down there on a Sunday.
Ellen said good-bye, hung up, tried to stretch out the crick in her
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neck, and nished cleaning up the kitchen. Maybe shopping would

revive her, she thought. She pushed open the window above the
kitchen sink and yelled out to the girls that shed be in the shower.
Ellen walked into her bedroom, still the messiest, least unpacked
room in the house. She looked dispiritedly at the big boxes, piles of
clothes, stacks of books. She had done practically nothing in here
other than put sheets and a blanket on the bed. No pictures on the
walls, no beloved objects carefully arranged on top of the dresser.
The room was painted a bilious shade of green that Ellen couldnt
stand. Ill x up the rest of the house for the kids, she thought, in a wave of
adolescentlike rebellion, but this room will be the one that reects how I really feel about living here.
She peeled off her T-shirt and sweatpants, dropped them on
the oor, and stepped into the bathroom. She looked in the mirror. She looked old to herself, and tired, and sad. She didnt remember looking like this last year, or even last month. Now the
shadows under her eyes seemed to have deepened, and her skin
looked dull, faded. If she could just look at herself in the mirror in
the upstairs bathroom in the house on Grace Lane, shed know if
she was really the same Ellen. But here, in front of this strange mirror in this unfamiliar, pink-tiled bathroom, who was she?
The phone rang suddenly, and Ellen darted into the bedroom,
only to realize that it was her cell phone ringing. She followed the
ringing into the hall, where her purse sat on the oor. She scrambled inside it for the phone.
Hello? she said a little breathlessly. Its Ellen.
Its Jordan.
Ellen actually winced. She waited. She had nothing to say.
I was going to call Alexa about this but decided its better just to
deal with you directly. The notes, Ill have you know, are not funny.
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Ill tell you, if I could prosecute you for harassment, I would. So the
message is this: Weve found all your petty little notes, your joke is
acknowledged, and I want you to stay away from me and my family
in the future, is that clear?
Notes? Ellen racked her brain. Jordan, I dont know what youre
talking about. Did someone mail you something?
Jordan made a disgusted noise deep in her throat. Okay, Ellen,
you dont know what Im talking about. Im sorry I called.
Jordan, wait! Really, what are the notes?
There was a long silence. Finally, Jordan said, Well, as if you
didnt know, someone has left little notes saying Ill be back all
over the house. We found them behind all the switch plates when
we took them off to paint. They were stuffed in between the
cracks in the oorboards in the attic, and inside the fuse box in the
basement. We even found them behind the baseboards. Its just
childish, Ellen. Ridiculous.
Of course its childish, Ellen thought, because a child did it. She remembered the day Sam had been xing the switch plate in the
kitchen and Sara had wanted the screwdriver. That was the same
day, Ellen recalled, that Sara had asked for paper and scissors and
pens to play post ofce.
Im sorry, Jordan, she said. I didnt know about the notes.
The girls must have done it. Why do I spend my life apologizing to Jordan? she thought. It feels as though I end up saying Im sorry every time
we speak.
I hope this is the end of it, Jordan said abruptly. She hung up.
Aaaargh. Ellen snapped the phone closed. Reminder to self, she
thought. Stop answering the phone unless you check out whos calling rst.
Shed have to talk to Sara later about the notes. Had she enlisted

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Lulu and Emily to help? I have to give her credit, though, Ellen thought.
Thats a creative thing to do.
She showered, dressed, said hi to Sam, and nally sank gratefully into the front seat of Joannas car, happy to be getting away
from the new house. They drove into the city on Highway 26, past
the towering rs of Washington Park and the zoo, through the
tunnel that snaked under Portland Heights and into Northwest.
Lunch rst? Shopping rst? Jo asked, steering slowly up
Twenty-third Avenue.
I dont care, Ellen said. She was staring out the passenger-side
window. It was raining, as it always did in early June, and the pavement glistened. Everything was green and blooming. The sidewalks were crowded; Northwest Twenty-third was a destination
shopping-eating-walking neighborhood, and with tourists in town
for the annual Rose Festival, there were even more people than
usual on the streets. Ellen could spot the tourists easily; they were
the only ones carrying umbrellas. Oregonians just pulled up their
hoods or got wet.
They were stopped at the light at Everett and Twenty-third.
Ellen was idly counting tourists in the crowd of people waiting to
cross when she saw a familiar face.
Oh, my God! she said. Jo, let me out! Jeffrey Boyce is standing
right there on the corner. And with that she scrambled to unlock
the car door, nally pushed it open, and hopped out into the rain.

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llen leaped over the puddle in the street next to the

curb. Was he alone? She scanned the crowd but didnt see
anyone resembling Jordan. She saw only Jeffrey, in the forest green
parka hed worn that day at the coast, standing with his back to her
as he waited to cross Everett Street. She didnt want to call his name
out loud. She pushed forward through the people on the sidewalk,
her head bumping into umbrellas, until she stood behind him.
Jeffrey, she said quietly, reaching out to touch his elbow.
He turned just as the light changed. The crowd surged, moved
forward. He jumped, completely startled, when he saw her, then
stood rooted, his eyes on hers.
Oh, Jesus, Ellen, he said.
They stood on the southeast corner of the intersection, in front of
a brick apartment building, under a row of sweet gum trees that
lined the edge of the sidewalk. The rain was a ne mist, caught in
droplets in Jeffreys short hair, glazing the leaves of the sweet gum in
brilliant green.
I just have to know why, she said, without preamble. I mean,
its over now. Im out of the house. Ill never get it back. I just dont
understand why you told her.
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Jeffrey let out a long, deep breath. We shouldnt be standing

here, he said. Ellen, Im just so sorry. But Im trying to salvage
my marriage, and I cant risk having anyone see me talking to
you.
She grabbed his arm and pulled him down Everett Street, away
from the crowds and cars. She pulled him past the apartment
building, behind a laurel hedge that separated the apartments
from the two-story yellow brick house next door and shielded
them from the busy intersection.
That kiss was such a small thing, she said, still grasping the
sleeve of his parka. She looked up at him. The rain coated her
face, clung to her eyebrows and lashes. Why did you tell her?
She was pleading.
Jeffrey took a step back from her, so she let go of his sleeve. His
arms hung helplessly at his sides. Ellen he began, then stopped
and looked down at the pavement.
What? What? she asked. It just seemed that we were so close
to having everything we wanted, my house, your winery. I just dont
understand.
He lifted his head to look at her, his eyes dark. It wasnt that
simple, he said.
Jeffrey, just talk to me, she begged. I need to know.
I didnt plan to tell Jordan, he said. He ran a hand through
his hair, scattering raindrops.
Okay. Ellen looked at him expectantly. He was silent. So?
she prompted.
So after I saw you that night and told you about the house, I
went home. Jordan was still upshe thought Id been at the ofce.
I feltI dont know, confused. I was happy about the winery; I
couldnt believe Jordan was willing to consider it. I really thought
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Id just tell you about the house and go home, and that would be
that. Happy endings all around. He stopped and shrugged.
And? Ellen wanted to just throw a shing line down Jeffreys
throat and pull the words out, inch by inch.
To be totally honest, Ellen, Im very attracted to you, he said
nally, looking away from her, down the street toward the stone
tower of Trinity Cathedral. That day we spent together really
threw me; it wasnt just kissing you, it was talking to you, and
laughing about our kids and everything. We seem to see the world
the same way. Then seeing you so happy that night at your house,
and touching you again . . . His voice faded. He cleared his
throat.
And then there I was at home with Jordan, who is doing this
huge thing for me in giving up your house and considering the
wineryI just felt so disloyal. I feel a real connection to you. I
cant do anything about it, but there it is.
Ellen stepped back. Of course, she thought. I feel the same way. But
I dont know what to do with that, either. I dont know what to do about Sam.
I dont know anything and Im forty-four. My life is not supposed to be like
this.
Now it was Jeffreys turn to stand silently, waiting for the words
to come from Ellen. She was mute.
He smiled, a thin smile that didnt reach his eyes. I guess you
dont have to say anything. The point is really not whether you feel
the same way, he said. Anyway, Jordan and I had a few glasses of
wine after I got home that night, and I mentioned how well everything was working out for all of us, and how happy you were about
getting your house back. Stupid! She jumped right on me and
wanted to know how you knew about getting the house back already, so I had to tell her that Id stopped by. She was really upset
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about that. Then I really put my foot in it. I was trying to explain,
so I told her that youd been very encouraging about the winery,
that I went over to tell you about it because it was something wed
talked about. She got kind of hard and quiet and wanted to know
when Id talked to you about it, so then I had to explain about running into you in Manning, and having lunch together.
She completely freaked out. Couldnt believe Id discussed it
with you before Id discussed it with her. Couldnt believe Id
spent a day with you and not mentioned it to her. Couldnt believe Id run over to your house so late at night. She was crying; I
felt awful.
Jeffrey lifted his hands helplessly, as if in supplication, and
dropped them again. I really dont even want to talk about it anymore. It was the worst night of my life, he said.
Ellen didnt know what to say. Knowing why Jeffrey had told
Jordan didnt change anything, didnt bring back her house or
heal the brittle, aching grief she felt.
God, she said. Then you told her you kissed me? She
wouldnt have believed it possible, but she actually felt sorry for
Jordan.
It was a train wreck, Jeffrey said simply. I could see it coming, I just couldnt stop it. Once I started telling her, I felt I needed
to tell her everything. It was totally selsh; it was just to ease my
conscience. I was probably a little drunk by then, too.
He stopped and squeezed his eyes shut, dug his hands deeply
into the pockets of his parka.
Jordan was so furious that she called and withdrew the offer on
the winery rst thing the next morning, he said. It wasnt even
twenty-four hours later. Well lose our deposit, but He stopped
and shook his head. His face was a portrait of misery, his eyes
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drawn down at the corners in sadness, the lids heavy. Ellen had always loved the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, but even
those seemed faded, weighted down.
So the winery is off, she said. But are you moving into my
house, too, or
No, he said, shaking his head. No. Jordan has made that
clear. She and the kids will move in once the remodeling is done;
right now theyre staying at a friends house in Lake Oswego, and
Im still at our house in Beaverton.
Oh, Jeffrey. Ellen ached for him. She pictured him there, in
his house with the climbing hydrangea he had planted out front
and the playhouse with the tower hed built for his children, all of
it empty, all the noise and mess and life drained out of it now that
his family was gone. Jeffreys got his house but not his family, she
thought, and Ive got my family but not my house.
A dark green garbage truck clattered down the street, leaving
glistening tracks on the wet pavement. Jeffrey shook his head and
said, Im sorry. Ive screwed everything upfor you, for my family, for everyone. I dont know what else to say.
Ellen brushed her damp hair off her forehead and pulled up
the hood of her red parka.
You dont think theres any hope with Jordan? she asked.
Your kids are so little still.
Jeffrey closed his eyes. Right. Jordan is just Its like the spice
jars. She knew one day shed be married and have a perfectly organized pantry, so when she was seventeen she made all the labels
for the spice jars. She has always had a clear vision of what her life
was going to be. Thats why it was so amazing that she was willing
to consider the winery; it was a real left turn. But her vision of life
denitely does not include a philandering husband.
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One kiss isnt exactly the denition of philandering, she said.

He turned his head away. You and I know it wasnt just one
kiss, Ellen, he said. And its not just that. She thinks you planned
it all, that you somehow gured out my schedule so you could
catch me alone at the coast and Oh, never mind. But she thinks
you did it all to get the house back. Then she found those Ill be
back notes, and they just seemed to conrm it for her. She thinks
if Im dumb enough to fall into a trap like that
Sara wrote those! Ellen said indignantly. Really, Im fortyfour years old; Im a little beyond hiding notes in the baseboards.
He sighed. I gured Sara wrote them, he said. But Jordan
doesnt believe it. She doesnt think a ten-year-old could unscrew
the switch plates, or be so clever about hiding them. She thinks
you were behind it all.
So she can hate me, Ellen said, putting a hand up to her neck
to hold her parka closed as it began to rain harder. But I dont see
why she cant forgive you.
Jeffrey looked at her and smiled, a small, sad smile. I dont
know, he said. Youre getting divorced; why cant you forgive
Sam?
Ellen felt a shock shudder through her, an injection of ice water
into her veins. I dont know, she thought. Dont ask me that. She stared
at Jeffrey, her mouth open, her breath shallow and quick.
Its not the same thing, she said nally. What happened with
Sam and me is completely different. He did something truly selfish that jeopardized our familys security. I
Im sorry, Jeffrey interrupted. I shouldnt have said that. I
didnt mean it to be cruel. Youre right; its different. I just think I
want to try to get Jordan to reconsider.
Ellen looked at him. Oh, Jeffrey, she said, as kindly as she
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could. If you really want her back, youve got to do better than I
think I want to try.
He was silent a long time now, his hands still in his pockets, the
rain plastering down the hair above his ears. I cant, he said nally. Jordan was right to be upset; I was falling for you. I dont
know what to do.
Ellens cell phone rang, startling them both. Its probably Jo,
she said, scrambling to unzip her bag. I jumped out of her car in
the middle of the intersection, and shes probably wondering
what the hell happened.
Ive got to go, Jeffrey said. Im sorry, Ellen. I cant be around
you. He turned and shoved his hands into the pockets of his
parka. I really have to go. Weve been talking too long. Someone
might see us.
Ellen stopped searching for the phone and let it ring. The rain
had suddenly stopped and the sun was breaking through the
clouds, turning the wet pavement into a river of sparkling shards
of light. The sun warmed her face, lit improbable diamonds in the
raindrops caught in Jeffreys hair. She wanted to hug him and tell
him it would all be all right, but the words wouldnt come because
she knew they might not be true. And touching him was too loaded,
for both of them.
I think about Lily giving a drink of water to the moon all the
time, she blurted unexpectedly. I hope you get them back, all of
them, if thats what you really want, and youre happy.
Jeffreys eyes lled with tears. Thanks, he said and cleared his
throat. Good luck. He put his head down, walking quickly back
toward Twenty-third Avenue. Ellen watched him until he crossed
Everett and disappeared on the other side of the big Pottery Barn
store on the corner. Her phone rang again.
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Okay, so if Im interrupting something important, just hang

up, Jo said. Ill nd you later.
No, no, its ne, Ellen said. Where are you?
At Elephants Deli, on Twenty-second. I couldnt nd parking
near Twenty-third.
Ill walk over and meet you there.
Ellen snapped the phone shut and stood there in the sun, staring blankly at a carved King Tut gure on the art deco building
across the street. She heard Jeffreys voice in her head: Why cant
you forgive Sam? She thought of Jeffrey, alone now in the house he
loved, the one hed tended and nurtured just as she had cared for
her house on Grace Lane. Only what did the house hold for Jeffrey now that his family had moved out? Would she want the yellow house on Grace Lane without Sara and Louisawithout
Sam? She thought of the bond that she felt with Jeffrey and that
he clearly felt with her. Had she gotten so far away from Sam now
that a relationship with another man was something she could really consider?
A sudden gust of wind blew through the branches of the giant
oak tree in the yard next to where Ellen stood, sending a shower of
water down on her head. She shook herself off like a dog and began to walk east. She wished she could help Jeffrey somehow, persuade Jordan to reconsider, but of course there was no way she
could get involved.
God, what a mess. She and Sam and Jordan and Jeffrey and all
their children spun around and around in Ellens brain, coming together and breaking apart like the bits of colored glass in a kaleidoscope. She made her way to Elephants Deli, a Portland institution
that had recently moved into a soaring new building on Twentysecond Avenue just north of Burnside Street. Jo was waiting for her
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at a wooden table inside the front door, with a giant sandwich and a
bowl of tomato-orange soup. Ellen sat down, too dispirited to eat,
and recounted her conversation with Jeffrey.
Jo listened sympathetically, munching on her sandwich and offering bites to Ellen, who shook her head.
So thats it, Ellen said. Jeffreys lost his family, Ive lost the
house. Theres nothing else for it.
I can just hear Mick Jagger and the London Bach Choir in the
background, said Jo, whistling the rst few bars of You Cant
Always Get What You Want.
Its too much Unbearable Heaviness of Being for me, she
continued, blowing gently on a spoonful of soup to cool it off. In
my humble opinion, you need to gure out what you want and
stop dragging Sam along on a leash if youre not going to stay
married to him. Jeffrey likes you; do you really want to be in a relationship with him? And while Im dishing out opinions, Jeffrey
needs to get a backbone and push Jordan into marital counseling,
if nothing else. Furthermore, Jordan needs to smoke just a little
marijuana once a day to take the edge off and make her friendlier
to the whole human race.
Come to think of it, Jo said, putting down her spoon, a little
toke now and then wouldnt hurt you, either. Sweetie, your life
isnt over, not by a long shot. Youve got a couple of brilliant little
girls, a husband youre attracted to who actually wants to be married to you, as well as a pretty fun jobnot to mention fabulous
friends. Sure, I wish you still lived next door, and I get it about the
house, but only up to a point. Youre so hung up on the house you
cant see whats going on with your life. Jo nished her speech
and wiped her mouth with a paper napkin.
Ellen smiled at her wanly. Youre right, Jo, of course youre
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right, she said. Only I dont know how I feel about Jeffrey; I
dont know what I want to do about Sam. It was as though as long
as we stayed in the house I didnt have to decide. I could pretend
everything was the way its always been. I didnt have to do anything. I didnt have to choose.
Nice try, Jo replied. Too bad life doesnt work that way. She
grinned. Okay. I know youre not going to take my advice and
get stoned. So lets go shopping instead. You can bury your troubles in a pile of material goods and credit card debt, all right?
Ellen nodded and stood up. She picked up the one remaining
crust of Jos sandwich from the plate, put it in her mouth, and
chewed on it slowly as they made their way out. But she couldnt
taste it at all.

;
later that evening, Ellen lay in bed in the still-strange bedroom in her new house, staring at the plaster ceiling. Shadows
moved back and forth as the wind blew through the branches of
the giant rhododendron next to the window. Why cant I forgive
Sam? she thought. Because the house was our security blanket, the thing that
grounded us. Wasnt it?
She heard the bedroom door open and the soft padding of
bare feet on the wood oor. She sat up to see Louisa, in her pink
owered nightgown, standing there twirling her curls with one
hand.
What is it, sweetie pie? Bad dream? Ellen lifted the covers
and held them open invitingly.
No. Louisa came over and climbed into the bed, nestling
against Ellens side. Ellen pulled the sheet and quilt over both of
them and hugged her.
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Mommy, I miss Stella Blue Moon! I cant sleep without her. I

want her back!
Do you know where she is? Ellen wrapped both arms around
her girl, buried her face deep in Louisas neck to inhale her warm,
soft scent. I havent seen her since the move. Shes probably in a
box or a drawer we havent opened yet.
Louisa pushed her face against Ellens shoulder. No, she isnt,
she said, her breath warm on Ellens skin. Shes at our house.
Our old house? No, darling, we packed everything up, and
Daddy and I checked all the closets and cubbies before we left.
Shes got to be in a box somewhere.
No, shes at our house, Louisa persisted. I hid her there
when Sara and Emily hid the notes. They said wed be back, so I
thought Id get her back.
You hid her there?
Dont be mad. Louisa pulled back to look at Ellen in the halfdark. Are you mad, Mommy?
No, Im not mad. Im surprised. Where did you hide her?
In the basement. In a secret place. Can we go get her?
Ellen was thinking hard. She could never call Jordan and ask to
get into the house to retrieve Stella Blue Moon. Maybe Sam could
go.
We cant go now, honey. Well call tomorrow, and Daddy can
go over to get her back, okay?
Okay. Louisa snuggled close again, her head on Ellens shoulder, her small arm thrown across Ellens stomach. Within moments her breathing slowed and came in small, regular whispers.
She was asleep. Ellen held her but couldnt sleep herself. She
couldnt stop thinking about Jeffrey. What would happen if she
didnt get back together with Sam, if she stayed single? Would
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she date? Would she want to be with Jeffrey if his marriage was
truly over? She gently slid her arm out from underneath Louisa
and rolled over. She tried to picture being with Jeffrey, snuggling
against him in bed, talking to him across the dinner table, making
love with him. She imagined Jeffrey with her children, his serious
but kind manner, carefully constructing gardens and playhouses
for them. But as soon as she thought of the kids, she thought of
Sam, and then she could only picture Sam, making love to her, his
lips on her breast
Oh, God, its hopeless, she thought. Ill be attracted to Sam until I die.
Biology is destiny.

;
the next mor ning Ellen called Sam to explain about the
missing Stella.
Hey, cookie, he said when he heard her voice on the phone.
Cookie? Ellen asked. You never call me cookie. Were you
expecting someone else?
He laughed. Nope. I knew it was you. Im just in a good mood
today.
Ellen was silent for a minute. What was going on?
Any particular reason? she asked nally.
Well, yeah, he said provocatively. I got well-laid a couple
weeks ago after a long dry spell, and its put me in an excellent
mood. How are you?
Sam
Oh, relax, he said. Im not pressuring you, Ellen. Im just
kidding around. Whats up?
Louisa seems to have hidden Stella Blue Moon somewhere in
the house on Grace Lane, and she wants her back. I dont want to
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call Jordan to ask if we can go get her, so I was hoping youd

do it.
Call the dragon lady? And enter her lair? My God, Ellen, is this
like a quest? If I perform the task faithfully, will I win you back?
Oh, shut up, Ellen said. She was in no mood for giddy irtatiousness. If it wasnt eight a.m., Id swear you were drunk. Will
you call Jordan and see if shes found Stella or if shed let you go
in later today to look for her?
All right, Sam said. Ill call you right back. She heard the
click of the receiver.
Over breakfast, Ellen grilled Sara and Louisa about the notes
and Stella.
They were just notes, Mommy, Sara said. I didnt think it
would hurt anybody.
It didnt exactly hurt somebody, Ellen said. She mixed together some cinnamon and sugar in a small blue bowl so it would
be ready for Louisas toast. Its just What? she thought. What?
Its just that the woman who bought our house thinks I put the notes there and
that it was all part of a devious plot to seduce her husband and get the house
back. Its just the lady who bought the house was a little upset,
thats all. Now where did you hide Stella?
Sara looked at Louisa and frowned.
In the basement, Sara said.
I know, Ellen said. But where in the basement? Ellen
silently wondered if Stella had been found and discarded by the
workers doing the remodeling. She didnt know if they were working on the basement or not, but surely theyd been down there for
the fuse box or the water shutoff.
We hid her in a place I cant really describe, Sara said. Its
safe. I dont think anybody would nd her for a hundred years.
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Well, youre going to have to describe it so Daddy can nd

Stella and bring her home, Ellen said with some exasperation.
She picked up the toast as it popped up and put it on Louisas favorite orange plate. She buttered it carefully and sprinkled a light
powdering of cinnamon sugar over it.
There, she said, putting the plate down in front of Louisa.
Did you eat all your yogurt? No toast until your yogurt is gone.
I need more cinnamon sugar, Mommy! Louisa said. And I
dont want Stella to be hiding for a hundred years. Shes in a big
box.
A big box? Had Louisa hidden her in one of the moving boxes?
Maybe Stella really was here in the new house, buried beneath a
jumble of extension cords and old ashlights and other detritus
from the basement.
You mean a cardboard box?
No, a big box, Louisa said, cheerfully munching her toast.
Sam called back.
So I talked to Jordan, and she said I can go over this afternoon, around four-thirty, quarter of ve, he said. No one will be
there; she has something going on at her kids school or something, but she said she hasnt changed the locks yet so I can use my
old key. He paused.
Thats great, Ellen said. Except Im not clear on exactly
where Stella is. Louisa couldnt seem to explain it.
Jordan sounded really weird, he said. Not snotty, although
youve always thought she was worse than I did. Her voice was
really tight, and she seemed to want to keep me on the phone
forever.
Ellens stomach lurched. To tell him about Jeffrey?
Well, maybe Ill pick the girls up at school and bring them with
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me, Sam said. Unless you think thats going to traumatize them
or something.
I dont know, Ellen said. I think its too soon. Ill talk to Sara
some more on the way to school. I actually planned to go to Jos
this afternoon. Maybe you could pick the kids up after school and
drop them at Jos, then go in the house and nd Stella.
Fine, he said. Ill see you around ve.
Ellen dropped the girls off at school. She drove over to Coffee@home, trying to imagine where, in an empty basement, three
children could possibly have hidden a doll that was almost sixteen
inches long. She was slightly surprised that Jordan had agreed so
readily to let Sam into the house. But then, she thought, she probably
sees him as her partner in cuckoldom, betrayed by his spouse or about-to-be-exspouse or whatever I am. She wondered if Jordan would tell Sam
about her day with Jeffrey, and the kiss. God, it would hurt him,
particularly if he stopped to think that shed been kissing Jeffrey
just a day or two before shed slept with him. Ellens mind was
whirring.
The shop was crazy, with Rose Festival tourists buying coffees
and regulars seeking refuge from the rain and the moms group
that met every Monday morning chasing after their toddlers.
Then one woman bought sixteen Harlequin plates and eight wine
goblets that she wanted shipped to Virginia that day so theyd be
there when she arrived home. The wrapping and packing occupied much of Ellens afternoon while Cloud manned the espresso
machine.
At ve she suddenly realized that she was supposed to be at Jos.
She ripped off her apron, tossed a hurried good-bye to Cloud over
her shoulder, and got into her car. It was cold, and still raining.
She didnt even think, until she turned onto Grace Lane, that this
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would be the rst time since they had bought the house that she
would drive onto this street and not pull into her own driveway.
She drove slowly up the street. She was shocked at the sight of the
house without the white picket fence. It did look naked and embarrassed, as Jo had said. Mostly it looked unreal, foreign, a stranger
you tap on the shoulder because you think its someone you know,
only to nd when she turns that theres barely a resemblance to
the person you thought she was.
She pulled up across the street from the yellow house and
parked in front of Alfreds. She sat inside the car and studied her
house hungrily, the way you study pictures of someone you havent
seen in a long time, searching for every change, every nuance. She
was amazed at how much landscaping Jordans army of workers
had gotten done in just a week. The fence was gone. The climbing
roses were gone. The great unruly masses of phlox and lambs ear
and candytuft were now carefully manicured into neat round
mounds. The foxglove, which had grown in crazy stalks of pink
and white and purple in front of the fence, had all been removed.
The entire garden was mulched and neat. The rain had dyed the
beds dark brown. Rocks had been placed in careful rows along the
edge of each bed, and along the grass next to the curb, so no one
would make the mistake of driving over the grass.
Its all contained, Ellen thought. Everything in its place, and everything
held back, pulled in, cut down. Its all arranged, like the spice jars in the pantry.
She got out of her car and started to walk up the street. Her feet
made splattering sounds on the wet pavement. She walked around
the corner, up the hill along the side of the yellow house and toward the low-slung black roof of Joannas brick house just beyond.
She could not take her eyes off the yellow house. Was the purple
wisteria wallpaper border in the girls room gone already? Was the
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living room chocolate brown? It was like staring at a bloody operation on one of those medical shows on TV; she didnt want to look;
she couldnt turn away. She saw Sams car in the driveway.
Jordan wasnt around; shed told Sam to use his old key to get in.
Maybe I could just peek in the back door to see the kitchen, Ellen thought.
Maybe if I see it all changed, it wont seem like mine anymore. Maybe that will
make it easier.
She walked down the driveway and put out a hand reexively to
push open the gate until she realized that the gate and fence were
gone. She smiled at herself, at her hand reaching out for the phantom fence. She made her way up the walkway to the new back door
in the new mudroom. She pushed on it tentatively; it was unlocked.
She opened the door, stepped in, and then drew back, coughing.
The house was lled with smoke.

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llen stood for a second outside the door, her heart and
mind racing. Was Sam in there? Oh, God, oh, God, oh,

God.
She turned to run to the car, to her cell phone, but then turned
back to the house. What if Sam had brought the kids with him?
Could they be in there, too?
The kitchen phone is closest, Ellen thought. She ran into the
kitchen, coughing. Her eyes stung as the smoke hit them.
Sam!
She felt for the counter, for the sink. What am I supposed to do?
Stop, drop, and roll. No, Im not on re. Im supposed to get a wet cloth and
hold it over my mouth and nose. The smoke seared her lungs. She
ripped off her sweater to hold it under the faucet, but the sink was
no longer there, taken out in Jordans remodeling. She dropped
the sweater on the oor. The phone, she had to get to the phone.
Get down. She dropped to her hands and knees, and felt her way
across the oor to the wall by the dining room door where the
phone was mounted, but it was gone, too.
Sam! She called his name even as the smoke choked her, even
as she was blinded by the sting of it. What if he was unconscious
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and couldnt hear her? What if the girls were with him? Shed nd
them, because of course she knew this house so well she could
make her way through it blind, nd her way around every corner
and into every closet or nook or cubby where two small children
might hide.
Sam! Sara! Lulu!
Ellen!
The voice came from below, from the basement.
Sam! Where are the girls?
Theyre here with me. But I cant get up the stairs.
Ellen turned and crawled toward the basement. She could see
the oor beneath her but nothing in front of her, around her. She
tried to breathe through her nose, but with each breath the smoke
made her cough. The air was hot, choking. Her heart was beating
so rapidly that for a moment she thought shed pass out, right
there on the kitchen oor. No! she thought, willing her body to
move forward. I have to get the kids and get them out. It became the only
thought in her brain, primal, instinctive, like the urge to shoot to
the surface for air after staying underwater a moment too long. I
have to get them I have to get them I have to get them. She kept crawling,
coughing, her heart hammering away. She felt the brick of the
kitchen oor beneath her hands and knees, then the smooth wood
of the back hallway.
She reached the basement door. It was open, and the doorway
was lled with smoke so thick and black it was impenetrable, impossible. And on the basement stairs, ames. Oh, God, they were
in the basement and there was no other way out and they would
die there, trapped like rats in a hole, her babies and Sam. She
could not even imagine it. She could hear the girls crying now.
And if they were going to die there, so was she. Because there
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would be nothing left of her if this re leaped through the glossy

brown curls on Louisas head, melted the smooth skin on Saras
sweet face Ellen slammed a door on the images in her mind and
started down the stairs.
Im coming! she called.
No! Sams voice was sharp, urgent. Get out! Call 911! Ive
got them as far from the re as possible. We just need help fast!
Get in the crawl space! The crawl space under the dining
room!
The voice was right next to Ellens ear, but Ellen couldnt see
her, although she felt the rough denim of Jordans overalls brush
against her arm.
We started digging yesterday to expand the foundation for the
dining room, Jordan said. There may be a space where they can
get out. The basement was a square, with cinder-block walls and
two small windows in the southwest corner. Along the south wall,
the top of the cinder-block wall opened onto a space about four
feet high with a dirt oor. The cement foundation surrounded it
on the other three sides, with small vents cut into the cement every
six feet or so.
Ellen was in a panic. Get them out! Get them out! They have
to get out!
She felt Jordan grab her arm, grip so tightly that it hurt, her
neatly trimmed ngernails cutting into Ellens skin.
Theyll get out, Jordan said. I called 911. Theyll be safe in
the crawl space and can breathe through the vents there if they
cant t through the opening. Now you have to get out.
No, no, no. Ellen was shaking her head and moaning, kneeling on the oor. The heat was incredible. She was drenched in
sweat and panting, breathless. If I just leap, she thought, crouched
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at the top of the basement stairs, I can get through the ames and get to
them. It didnt matter if the re tore through her clothes, singed
her hair, blistered her skin. She had to get to her children. Jordan
stood next to her, still holding Ellens arm. She began to drag her,
pulling her away from the ames on the basement stairs and toward the back door.
No! Ellen cried, stretching away from Jordan. My kids! My
kids are there!
Jordan continued to drag her, both hands wrapped around
Ellens forearm, pulling her along the bumpy brick of the kitchen
oor. She was surprisingly strong.
Sam will get them to the fresh air, Jordan said. Hell get
them out. It doesnt help anyone to have you in here.
My kids are in there, Ellen sobbed. She repeated it over and
over. My kids are in there.
With a heave, Jordan dragged Ellen across the threshold of the
back door and pulled her out onto the concrete, into the fresh air.
Ellen felt the damp, cold pavement under her legs, felt the mist on
her face. She could hear sirens now, and see the dim ash of lights
beyond the smoke that was pouring out the back door. Two remen in full gear materialized in the smoke, faces obscured by
masks.
Theres a man and two children in the basement! Jordan
shouted. You cant get down the stairs. Theyre in the crawl space
under the dining room, here. She held the arm of one of the
men and ran around toward the side of the house where the dining room was.
Ellen stood up. She started to run back in the door, back to her
babies and Sam, but the other reghter grabbed her and pulled
her up the driveway. There were re trucks everywhere.
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My kids are in there! Ellen screamed. She pulled and fought.

The reghter wrapped both arms around her and held her
back. Were getting them out, he said. You cant go in there.
No, no, no, no, no, Ellen said, shaking her head and nally
collapsing into sobs.
The reman pulled her across the street. Stay here, he said.
Well get them out and bring them here. He nodded to another
reghter standing by the truck. He came over and held Ellens
arm, and the rst reman disappeared.
No! Ellen said. No.
The reman led her to an ambulance parked by the curb. He
pushed her down onto the grass. A paramedic clipped a small black
probe to the end of her nger. Im checking the level of oxygen in
your blood, he said, to make sure you didnt inhale too much
smoke.
Ellen raised an anguished face to the paramedic. My kids are
in there, she choked out. And my husband.
He lifted his eyes from the probe to look her full in the face.
His skin was tanned brown and freckled, with lines carved across
his forehead and more lines etched from his nose to his mouth. His
eyes were a brilliant blue. Our guys are the best, he said evenly.
Theyll get them out. They will do everything to get them out.
His eyes and voice calmed her for a moment, and she tried to
stop sobbing, to slow down her breathing so she could take a full,
deep breath.
I tried to get to them, she said. I wanted to get to them.
Thats how most people die in res, the paramedic said. Let
the pros get them out. Your blood oxygen level is ne, he said.
You must not have been in there too long.
Then why did she feel starved for air? The rain-scented air
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cooled her skin, but she felt as though her lungs couldnt pull it in
fast enough.
Try to take slow, deep breaths, the paramedic said. Youre
hyperventilating.
Jordan appeared now, with yet another reghter. Her skin was
dark with dirt and soot. Little rivers of sweat carved clean pink
pathways down the sides of her face. Her blond hair was covered
with a ne layer of dust, too. She looked at Ellen. Its going to be
all right, she said. Theyre going to get them out.
Another EMT turned to Jordan and began to check her out,
asking her how long shed been in the house and how much smoke
shed inhaled.
Suddenly four reghters jogged into the yard in oxygen masks,
their heavy coats lthy. They moved cumbersomely in their big
boots. Two of them carried bundles in their arms, bundles with
brown hair. Ellen jumped up, yanked the probe from her nger,
and ran to the men, who carefully put down a dirty, sobbing
Louisa and an equally dirty, silent Sara. Ellen, shaking and weeping, gathered them into her arms.
Its all right, its all right, its all right, she murmured over
and over, rocking them, feeling the glorious living, breathing
warmth of them. She held both the girls, shushing them, murmuring into their hair. Sam fell onto the grass next to her, coughing. His face was black, and his eyebrows were gone, singed off.
Everything could have been gone, Ellen thought. My entire family could
have vanished in a few seconds, gone forever. She felt bile rise in her
throat, then pushed the girls toward Sam and crawled over to
the bushes and vomited, spewing out all the smoke and terror,
and the awful images that still crowded her mind. There was
nothing to say.
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She heard a high-pitched voice screaming across the street.

Let me go! Where are they? Where are they?
Joanna tore into Alfreds front yard, barefoot, in a sweatshirt and
jeans. She stopped short when she saw the four of them huddled
on the grass. Her eyes were wide, terried. She looked at Ellen, at
Sara, at Louisa, at Sam. Ellen could see her counting them in her
mind. Then she fell to her knees and burst into tears, sobbing helplessly with relief. Pete was right behind her and knelt down, gathering her in his arms, murmuring that everyone was okay.
Ellen looked at them, then at Sam, sitting on the grass with the
girls clutched against his chest, and burst into tears again in a
ood of relief.
Sam rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. Oh, great, he said.
Everybodys crying. Now that really helps.
Im not crying, Daddy! Louisa said brightly, wiping her eyes.
Thats because youre too dumb to cry, said Sara.
I am not dumb! Louisa wailed, releasing fresh tears.
Mommy!
Ellen gathered Louisa into her arms and held her. I know,
sweetie. Youre a big, brave girl and Im so proud of you. She
reached out for Sara, locked her eyes on her face. You did great,
Sara. You listened to Daddy, you didnt panic, you did everything
right. Youre so brave, and so smart.
Saras eyes welled up. It blew up. Everything blew up and then
the re got so big so fast.
Shhh. Its over now. Its all right.
Ellen looked at Sam over the top of Louisas head.
They hid Stella Blue Moon inside the furnace, he said. I guess
the furnace hasnt been on. But then it came on while we were
down there. I heard the click, like you always do when the pilot is
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lighting, then the gas, then there was a big poof of re and then
something under the stairs just exploded. I grabbed the kids and
ran to the far cornerthe stairs were on re. I thought I could get
them out the little window there, but it was jammed. I smashed it
with my stshe held up his arms, which were bloodied from elbow to palmbut I couldnt get the glass out. And the air came
in and the re just roared.
Ellen had never seen Sam afraid beforetruly afraid. She saw
now in his face what those moments must have been like, trapped
with the kids, with the smoke and ames and heat, clawing at the
shards of glass in the window frame so he could clear a space big
enough to squeeze through a small child. He would never have t
through the tiny basement window himself.
He would have saved the kids, Ellen realized, and then he
would have died there. She had a momentary vision of her world
without Sam in it, with him gone forever. It would leave a hole in the
center of my life that would never get lled again, she thought. I couldnt
bear it. She felt a rush of love for him that overwhelmed her, that
froze her in place, silencing the loud voices and sirens and activity
around her. She closed her eyes.
You did good, Sam. Thank you. If the girls Her eyes lled
and she stopped.
He looked at her, and then his eyes lled, too. He immediately
squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, hard. He struggled to
compose himself so he could talk.
I didnt want the ames to get them, he said nally. I couldnt
let that happen. It just happened so fast. I always imagined if there
was a re Id be able to run through it to save the kids, but I
couldnt get up the stairs with them. The heat was so intense. And

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I didnt know if whatever exploded under the stairs was going to

keep exploding, maybe while we were trying to get up.
You did everything right, Sam, she said, wanting to calm
him. You did. Theyre ne.
Jesus, think of the nightmares theyre going to have, he said.
They can sleep in our room for a while, Ellen said. For reassurance.
God, yeah, he said. Theyll have to. Or Ill have to sleep in
their room for a while, for reassurance.
Ellen stood up. Now that she was standing, she could see the
house. Smoke billowed from the back in thick, black clouds, completely obscuring the tall Doug rs in the backyard. Three re
trucks were arrayed around the house, one in front and two on the
side. They had driven right over the rocks Jordan had placed so
carefully to keep cars off the lawn. The neatly mulched ower bed
along the west side of the house was trampled into oblivion. Ellen
noticed Jordan standing about ten yards away, next to a reghter
who had his hand on her shoulder. They were both watching the
re, faces transxed. Ellen walked over to them.
Jordan? She touched her other arm.
Jordan turned to look at her. Are your kids all right?
Ellen felt tears rise again. Yes, God, yes. Theyre going to be
ne. She tried to swallow her tears so she could speak.
I need to thank you, she said nally. I would have run down
there after them. I couldnt think. You saved me, and you saved
them. I owe you everything.
Jordan looked at her. I dont know what happened, she said.
I was going to stop in to make sure your husband found whatever
he was looking for, and then I saw the smoke She stopped.

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We had painters in today, but they werent using blowtorches or

anything.
It was the furnace, Ellen said. Sam was in the basement with
the girls and the furnace came on.
Jordan furrowed her forehead, drawing black lines in the soot
on her face. We had the furnace inspected just last month, she
said, before we signed the papers. I havent had it on since you
moved out, but then the guys painted inside today, and it was so
damp they thought it would take forever to dry. She closed her
eyes and put a hand to her head, as though mentally running
through everything shed done that day. I set the thermostat for
the furnace to go on at ve. I thought I could run it all night and it
might help keep it warm enough inside to dry the paint.
Sam said he heard the furnace go on, Ellen said. But then
something exploded under the stairs.
Jordan opened her eyes. The paint. Weve been storing all the
paint and cleaning supplies, everything, under the basement
stairs. I just cant believe that having the furnace go on would ignite it.
It was Stella Blue Moon, Ellen realized. The pilot light went on,
and Stella, made of cotton jersey and cotton batting, with her
brown yarn hair and red felt boots, must have burst into ames.
And maybe the ames were big enough to ignite the paint, or the
fumes, that were there just a foot or two away.
Ellen was silent. It was Louisas doll, she said nally. The
one Sam was in the house looking for. I think she hid it in the furnace. Oh, my God. Im so sorry.
Jordan laughed, with a sound like a dry cough. It just gures,
she said, staring at Ellen and then looking away, her eyes rimmed
with tears.
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Ellen didnt know what to say. She was afraid that if she said more
shed make Jordan angry, or seem somehow fawning, pathetic. She
was genuinely overwhelmed with gratitude. She did owe Jordan
everything. Her gratitude was enormous, incomprehensible, inexpressible. She would be connected to Jordan for the rest of her life
now, even if she never saw her again, even if Jordan hated her.
Every day she would know that each silly laugh of Louisas, each
warm hug from Sara, each moment with Sam, would exist only because of what Jordan had done.
There were shouts coming from the direction of the house. Ellen
peered around the truck. The smoke was thicker now, blacker, but it
couldnt hide the bright orange glow of the ames that lit up every
window of the beloved yellow house. Flame licked at the window in
the girls upstairs bedroom, shone brilliantly from the living room,
roared and crackled through the dining room.
Its burning, Ellen thought. Everything. The doorjamb with the kids
measurements, the brick oor in the kitchen, the closet under the eavesits all
burning.
The reman turned to Ellen and Jordan. One of you owns
that house, right?
Ellen looked at Jordan. She does, she said, nodding. Its her
house.
The reman turned to Jordan and put an arm around her shoulders. Im sorry, maam, he said. We did everything we could. Its
gone.

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llen leaned against the blue Formica counter in the

kitchen of her house, staring at the photo she held. It
showed the yellow house last Christmas. Snow covered the roof,
dusted the steps leading up to the front gate, and coated the rock
garden in powdery white. The big deodar cedar and Doug rs
loomed over the rooine, black against the white sky. Swags of
cedar boughs were looped across the picket fence, with bright red
bows on every fence post, and a wreath of noble r adorned the
gate. The yellow house looked brave and cheery in contrast to the
gray sky, the white snow, and the green-black trees. It was like
looking at a photo of one of her babies at age three months or six
months, with their enormous dark eyes, the delicate shell-like
curve of each ear, the plump, dimpled ngers. It always made
Ellen ache for the baby who was gone, even while she loved the
child who was here. It was like that now looking at the photo of
the house. She loved it with all her heart; shed never see it again.
Even then, I knew it was our last Christmas in the house, Ellen thought.
I just didnt know it was the houses last Christmas, too.
The shock of the day before was still fresh. Indeed, at noon
Ellen still had not slept. After riding to the hospital, theyd all come
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home to Ellens new house. Sam had stitches in his right arm and
hand where hed been cut by the window glass, and minor burns.
The girls were ne. Ellen and Sam had taken turns showering,
then helped the girls bathe, washing the soot out of their hair,
scrubbing the ash from their skin. The water swirled in a murky
gray circle down the drain. Next Ellen had wrapped the girls in
uffy towels and their soft cotton pajamas. She laid them down to
sleep in her big bed, with herself and Sam wrapped around them,
afraid to let go. Sam, completely exhausted, had fallen asleep instantly, curled on his side, his body spooning Saras small form.
The girls were asleep quickly, too. The soft, even sound of their
breathing soothed Ellen, even as she had lain awake, staring at the
ceiling, trying not to replay all the what-ifs in her mind.
But she hadnt been able to shut them out. What if the kids had
been killed? What if theyd gotten out but Sam had died? What if
all three of them had died? It was so fast. One minute I was thinking
about Jordans compulsively organized garden, and ve minutes later everything
I loved most in the world could have been gone forever. Shed stared at Sam,
at the girls, and at the shadows on the ceiling until the pale, rosy
glow of early morning suffused the room. Then shed simply gotten up, pulled on a sweatshirt, and gone to the kitchen to make tea.
Sam was up now, whistling in the shower. He always showered
to wake up. Ellen ngered the photo of the yellow house. She
wished with all her heart she could be more like him, able to let
things go. He had slept for almost twelve hours straight, barely
even moving. Shed watched him much of the night. His thick,
dark eyelashes hadnt twitched, and his arm had remained around
Sara protectively, even in sleep. I love you, Ellen had thought. You
drive me crazy and probably always will, but I love you.
She didnt know how to tell him. Now, even after a sleepless
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night, the fact of the four of them, the need for the four of them to
be together, seemed indisputable. She saw a core of steadiness and
strength in Sam that owed like lava underneath the surface of
things. Yes, hed always have the love of risk that led him to ski off
cliffs orGod forbidmortgage the house for his latest invention. But he had hardened this year, in a good way, like the trees in
the Petried Forest. The vague sense of mistrust shed always
hadhes irresponsible, you must be vigilant in case he fucks upwas
gone. I dont need to be married to someone even more vigilant than I am, like
Jeffrey does. I just need someone whos vigilant enough.
She heard the shower stop, heard more whistling as Sam dried
himself offprobably with my towel, she thought with a smile. The
girls were watching a movie in the family room in the basement,
tucked under the old red and white couch quilt. Theyd wanted
the comfort and security of familiar things this morningcereal
in the blue and orange bowls, the sound of Ellens kettle whistling
on the stove, a video theyd seen a hundred times before.
Sam walked into the kitchen, his hair damp and sticking up in a
million directions. He had a towel around his waist and wore one
of his old sweatshirts that Ellen had kept.
I dont suppose my pants are wearable, he said. They must
reek of smoke. I couldnt even nd em.
I threw them in the wash this morning, she said. But they
may be a lost cause. I might have some sweatpants that t you.
He arched what would have been an eyebrow but was only
singed stubble. I doubt it, he said. Youre a midget. Dont you
have any of my clothes here?
I dont think so, but Ill look, she said, heading to the bedroom.
I guess I should be glad that your house isnt full of mens
pants, he called after her.
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Kathleen McCleary

I dont let men leave their pants here unless theyre staying for
good, she called back.
She could hear him rummage through the cupboard above the
sink. Does the Coffee@home queen actually have coffee at home?
Man, do I need coffee.
Ellen emerged from her bedroom carrying a pair of paintsplattered jeans. They had been Sams originally, and then shed
adopted them for painting and gardening because she could slip
them on over her own pants.
Here, she said. These are yours. They should t.
Great. He took the pants and pulled them on under his towel,
then tossed the towel over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.
And the coffee?
Ellen winced. I hate to tell you this, but I dont have any. Im
sorry.
Well then, Im outta here, he said. Ive got to go to Starbucks
and get coffee.
Very funny, Ellen said. Ill run to the shop and get some
beans. I need to talk to Cloud anyway.
I hope its a short conversation, Sam said. Bring me a latte,
too, will you? Where are the girls?
In the den, watching a video.
Good. They seem okay?
Ellen picked up her keys from the counter. Yes. I told them
they could stay home from school today. She paused. Theyre
going to want to stick close to us for a while, she said. Like little
barnacles.
Thats how I feel about them, he said. His eyes moved to the
photo on the counter. He looked at it for a moment, then at Ellen.
It was a good house, he said.
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House and Home

It was a good house, she said, leaning in to look at it again. I

thought I loved it more than anything.
I know what you thought, he said, looking at her intently.
Sam
Coffee rst, he said. Go get the coffee.
He waited a beat. Then when you get back, I need to run out
for a minute.
For what?
Pants, he said with a smile. I need to stop by my place and
pick up some clean pants. That is, if youre ready to let me leave
some pants here.
Ellen smiled back. Bring em on, she said and reached up to
kiss him.
She drove in a daze. She had a strange sense of unreality, as
though she were sleepwalking. Maybe Im in shock, she thought,
standing for a moment outside the store. Everything was the same;
the black and white Coffee@home logo sign hung in the window,
just above the back of the blue couch, and the yellow umbrella
stand with the bright red and blue parrots on it, just visible through
the window. And everything was different; she would never walk
through the world as carelessly again, knowing how much could
have changed in an instant.
She pushed open the glass door, relishing the warmth and the
heady, comforting smell of coffee and warm milk.
Hey, Cloud greeted her with a smile. Its after noon. You really must have slept in.
You wouldnt believe the night I had, Ellen responded, reaching for a bag of coffee beans from the bookshelf on the far wall.
She had stepped behind the counter and picked up a cup to make
a latte for Sam when her cell phone rang.
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Kathleen McCleary

Ellen? Oh, my God, its Alexa. I just heard. I cant believe the
house is really gone. Are you all right? Are Sam and the kids okay?
Ellen took a deep breath in and exhaled through pursed lips. It
hurt; it just hurt to think of the house reduced to ash and cinder
block and a few blackened bricks.
Were all ne, she said, cradling the phone against her chin
while she poured milk into the metal pitcher for steaming.
I just got off the phone with Jordan Boyce, Alexa continued.
Shes going to sell the lot; just wants nothing to do with it anymore. Actually, that was one reason I was calling, to see if youd be
interested.
Ellens mind reeled. Buy back the lot? The little plot of earth
with her beloved childrens goldsh buried in the backyard and
the wind singing in the rs at night . . . They could build a new
house. Not an exact replica of the yellow house, but with all its
most-beloved characteristics. Theyd still be next door to Jo.
I dont know, Alexa, she said nally. I havent really slept; I
cant think straight yet.
Of course, Alexa said. I dont need an answer now. Just
wanted to let you know.
Whats Jordan going to do? Ellen needed to know. She truly
wanted Jordan to be happy. She wanted Jeffrey to be happy, whatever that might mean for both of them.
Im not sure. Shell get insurance money from the re. What a
freak thing! She said they had paint stored under the stairs, and it
just exploded. She mentioned that she and her husband were
thinking about buying a winery in Dundee, but she wasnt sure.
The winery! Maybe now Jordan, too, saw how tissue-thin the
strands were that connected everything. Maybe the yearning for
something different that Jeffrey and Ellen had shared seemed truly
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House and Home

minor now compared with the enormity of all that they could
have lost.
Ill talk to Sam and call you about the lot, Alexa, Ellen said.
If you talk to Jordan or Jeffrey again, please tell them I said
Thank you. For everything.
Ellen clicked off the phone and nished making an enormous
triple-shot latte for Sam. She told Cloud shed call him later; she
needed to be at home all day.
Back at the house, she washed all their clothes again and again,
to get the smoke and soot out. They watched videos, the four of
them tucked together under the couch quilt. She made comfort
food, thick smoothies with fruit and yogurt, mashed potatoes,
roast chicken and gravy. Finally, after dinner, she felt herself begin
to relax, felt her shoulders drop a little, her breath come more
slowly and evenly.
She and Sam agreed, in little more than a look exchanged over
the childrens heads, that the girls would sleep in their room again.
Ellen, nally ready to sleep, made up beds for them on the oor,
with thick comforters and quilts piled in a stack underneath sleeping bags. Like the princess and the pea, she told them. You
have twenty layers here.
Ellen tucked them in and kissed them both, then lifted the quilt
and climbed into bed beside Sam. She slid over next to him and
laid her head on his chest. He slipped his arm around her and ran
his ngers lightly up and down over her forearm.
Hey, so we havent talked about the hot dog diaper, he said
softly.
Oh, Sam, please. The hot dog diaper is what got us into trouble in the rst place. Can we leave it alone?
I really worked a long time on that fabric, you know? he said.
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Kathleen McCleary

It was the same tone he used when he was explaining some complicated football play on TV that he wanted her to understand.
He knew she really wasnt that interested, but it was so compelling
to him that he just had to share it. I wanted it to absorb the drips,
but I didnt want it to suck all the juices and mustard and ketchup
out of the hot dog. So I tried to make something that was absorbent but would still keep moisture in.
Mmm-hmm. Ellen closed her eyes. She nally felt as if she
could sleep, after all the hours and all that had happened.
So I found this chemical, its made from shrimp shells. I used it
in the lining. Works really well. Its just, I dont know. Maybe a hot
dog diaper wasnt the best use for it. I nally gured that out.
Ellen was almost asleep now, her cheek pressed against his chest,
feeling the warm hum of his voice.
Anyway, Sam said. So I sold it.
Okay, Ellen murmured. You sold the hot dog diaper. To a
ballpark?
No, Ellie. To the U.S. Army. Theyre using it for bandages.
Seems when you put a hot dog diaper on a wound, it helps stop
the bleeding. The substance in the lining actually helps blood clot.
They paid me a shitload of money for it.
Ellen opened her eyes and sat up. Really?
He grinned, gazing up at her. Really.
When? Why didnt you tell me?
I just got word about a week ago. He put both hands behind
his head and leaned back, looking up at her, enjoying her surprise.
And then, I dont know. I wanted to be sure you didnt love me
just for my money.
She was speechless.
I mean, its not enough to retire on, but its certainly enough to
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House and Home

let me tinker around with inventing for a long time. Or we could

put some into expanding Coffee@home. Or a new house.
She didnt know what to say. Ellen slid back down in the bed
and lay next to him, her head nestled against his side. She was too
tired to gure this out now.
I just wanted you to know, he said. He stroked her hair.
A new house? A rebuilt version of the yellow house? No, Ellen
thought. I dont need it. I dont even want it anymore. In the half-light, she
could just make out the familiar shape of the pine armoire against
the far wall, the outline of the painting of the Columbia River
Gorge on the other wall, next to where the girls slept on the oor.
She snuggled closer to Sam, under the warmth of the blue and
white quilt. She could hear Louisas deep, steady breathing across
the room, and Saras gentle snore.
And the thought came, and ran through her head again and
again, a prayer and a prayer answered, a blessing, a fulllment:
I am home, I am home, I am home.

259

C K N O W L E D G M E N T S

irst and foremost I have to thank my daughters, Grace

and Emma Benninghoff, for their inspiration and support.
Gracie allowed me to borrow liberally from her own colorful
childhood in certain episodes in the book, and was a supportive
rst reader of the completed manuscript. Emma never wavered in
her enthusiasm and absolute belief that I would not only nish,
but get it published; her cards, smiles, and hugs saw me through
some of my bleakest moments. I love them both with all my heart.
Thank you to the brilliant women at Voice. Ellen Archer,
Pamela Dorman, Beth Gebhard, and Kathleen Carr: your warm
response to my manuscript was literally beyond my wildest
dreams. Ellen has been an amazing cheerleader for the book. Im
particularly grateful for the graceful direction and meticulous
editing of Pamela Dorman and the sharp eye of Kathleen Carr,
as well as the excellent copyediting of Susan M. S. Brown. The
book is denitely richer and better for your input.
I thank Ann Rittenberg, my agent, who made me feel like I had
her at hello, and has provided wonderful guidance and friendship
ever since.
I would never have gotten beyond the rst few chapters without

260

Acknowledgments

Nicole Bokat, Hildy Silverman, Rick Clay, and Bart, my rst

readers, at mediabistros online novel writing course. Beyond that,
Nicole and Margot Magowan were instrumental in giving me
feedback and encouragement on virtually every chapter. I am very
lucky to have had two such talented writers involved.
Thanks, too, to the wonderful friends whose love sees me through
everything: Deborah Alfano, Wally Konrad, Fataneh Dutta, Holly
Hess, Karly Condon, and Kara Ilg. I give special thanks to Laura
Merrill and Lori Kositch, my rst Oregon readers.
Thanks to Steve Selby, who insisted on the champagne even
though I had the worst head cold of my life. Youre right: You
have to have at least one glass of champagne on the day you sell
your rst novel. Thank you to Stacy Hennessey, who gave me a
job when I was desperate, not for money, but for human connection. Stacys Coffee Parlor, in Falls Church, Virginia, was a great
inspiration, for obvious reasons.
I also need to thank my aunt, Dorothy McCleary, whose love of
books inspired me, and who always believed I had a novel in me
somewhere. And my brother, Tom McCleary, whose quiet support
I can always count on.
When I was in elementary school, I used to go to the library
and imagine what it must be like to write one of the books on
those shelves. I owe my lifelong love of reading and my appreciation for the incredible gift of a good education to my parents, Ann
and Tom McCleary, whose values govern my life. Thank you.
Finally, thanks to Paul Benninghoff, my husband. He told me
again and again not to worry about getting published, but just to
nish writing. I did! What a long, strange trip its been, and yet
somehow we still always end up at home.

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About the Author

Kathleen McCleary is a reporter and writer whose work has appeared
in The New York Times, Good Housekeeping, More, and Health. A
column she wrote on marriage for USA Weekend magazine generated
more mail than any other first-person column the magazine had ever
run. She is also a regular columnist for HGTV.com; one of her pieces
sparked such huge reader response that it launched a TV series on the
HGTV network, Bad Bad Bath.

Credits
Book design by JAM design

Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and
dialogue are drawn from the authors imagination and are not to be
construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
HOUSE AND HOME.

Copyright 2008 Kathleen McCleary. All rights

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