Page 58 of A Song for Another Woman

The house is bones now. Framing up. Not home yet, but no longer only a drawing. The reading nook is outlined above the kitchen, catching afternoon light exactly where Emmy said it should. The dogwood stands a few yards away, a quiet witness to all my late work.

Cy waits until Lyle heads down to the truck before he speaks. "You know she'll hear about this."

"I know."

"You know she might hate it."

My hand stills on the rail. "She has the right."

Cy leans against a post. "What happens if she never comes out here? Never looks at it. Never says thank you. Never says anything."

I set the level along the board. The bubble trembles, then centers.

For a second, I see Emmy at nineteen, bending over the sketch with her hair falling forward, trying not to want too loudly. Then I see her in that arena, smiling because the world had trained a camera on her pain.

I pick up the hammer. "Then I finish it anyway," I say.

Cy is quiet.

I drive the nail in, slow and straight this time. "I'm not building it to win her," I say, knowing that it's partly a lie, but it's also true. "I'm building it because I should have years ago."

Chapter Fourteen

EMMY

By Thursday, Harmony Ridge has apparently appointed itself the official historical society of my unfinished dreams.

It starts at Rayburn Hardware, where Mr. Rayburn pauses with my receipt still in his hand. "Lot of lumber going up on Mill Creek."

I blink at him over the furnace filters June asked me to grab. "That so?"

"Fine framing work." He folds the receipt slowly, like suspense is part of the sale. "Porch wraps around two sides."

My stomach tightens. I take the receipt. "Everybody needs a hobby."

He has the decency to look mildly ashamed. Not enough to stop, of course. Harmony Ridge runs on coffee, church bulletins, and people saying things they know they shouldn't say.

"Just thought you might've heard," he says.

"I hear a lot of things."

At the diner, Mabel Tandy mentions she took Mill Creek because of road work on Sycamore and "wouldn't you know, they're building something pretty out there." At the post office, Cal Jenkins says, "That Tyler boy sure does keep a crew busy." Atthe gas station, a woman I went to high school with leans across the cooler case. "Is it true he's building your house?"

"My house?" I ask.

Her face goes pink. "I mean, you know. The one you drew."

June finds me in the back office of the diner twenty minutes later, staring at a stack of invoices I have no right to pretend I understand. "You alphabetized my vendor receipts," she says.

"You're welcome."

"Emmy."

I hate making her worried. Lately, it feels like one more thing my marriage has handed her.

"What?" I ask.

"You've got the face."