“WELL, I’LL BE DAMNED. You actually finished a project on time. Guess that happens, when you’re not being superstitious as hell.” I poke at the foreman, whose lopsided grin tells me he knows what I’m saying’s a joke. We’re on the front lawn to admire our handiwork, discuss final plans, and his last week of work.

“That can change real fast. Work stops when the bad omens come calling. Those birds that day gave us the damn willies.” He puts his hands on his hips, looking up at the newly-painted house and glossy shutters. “She’s really shaping up beautiful.”

“It’s been an adventure,” I say, thinking of Marie. For the thousandth time.

I’d held her until she faded away. Then I lay there a long time, hollowed out, watching the sunrise. When I finally dressed, my cheeks were wet. That surprised me more than anything, I think. It was like Marie unlocked some part of me. It was a long march back to the house that wasn’t quite the same without her haunting it. I still look for her, the hint of her, at the windows, around the corners, and I haven’t been back to the love-stained cottage. My promise holds me hostage; it’s been a buoy even when I felt like packing up my camper and leaving. So, I stay to finish the task I have.

Somehow, I think she knew I needed that. I’m broken by the loss of her. And yet ...

“Where’d you go, man?” The foreman interrupts my reflection.

“Got lost in some memories. “I give him a wry grin.

“Happy ones?”

“You could say that.”

“You’re different than when you started this mess.” He makes a gesture that encompasses the house.

“Renovations will do that to a guy.” I push a hand through my hair. “Now tell me how you’re going to bleed my bank account a little more.”

His boisterous laughter echoes off the house. “Not to worry, Mr. Kilbourn. We’re almost done there.”

Wheels on gravel interrupt us. I’m not expecting anyone.

I spin. Old habits die hard. Once a soldier... always. I will my heartbeat to slow. “Do you know them?” I jerk my chin toward the compact car.

The foreman crosses his arms. “I took the liberty. She’s an interior designer. And a damn good one.” He claps my shoulder. “You need help man.”

“I don’t think I can afford her.”

“The consultation’s free. See what she says.” With that, the foreman strolls away.

The dark green car stops beside me. I’ll have to send her away. An empty bank account is no joke. I glance over my shoulder. The windows are still as empty as my bed has been since she passed on. I still might sell the place and let the next owners fix it up the way they want. I’m not sure I can stay here, surrounded by the reminders.

Another new start. It worked out okay for me last time I tried it.

The engine cuts out. The windows are too tinted for me to tell much, but I can see the shape of a person fiddling with things and moving around.

A few seconds later, a woman steps out. Long auburn hair flashes in the sunlight, shades of russet and gold. The length obscures her face as she drops her keys into her pocket and then she pushes her hair back.

I have to do a double take, my heart racing.

The designer smiles at me, and it’s like sunshine and stars and moonlight. “Hi, Spencer,” she says and puts out her hand. “My name is ...”

“Marie.”

We say it together.