Mark Beaman’s footsteps creaked overhead as he tore out the splintered boards and hammered others into place. Country music blared from a radio somewhere on the second floor while a power saw whined outside the kitchen window. Kate tapped her foot and pressed her lips together. It was noon, and she still hadn’t been able to practice. Carpenters and roofers asked her lots of questions. They required cold sodas, deli hot dogs, bathroom privileges, and unrestricted use of the phone to order supplies they had thought they didn’t need. Concentrate, she ordered herself. She was a professional. She should be able to work under trying circumstances, right? Right. She narrowed her eyes and began again.

Mark rumbled into the kitchen. “Howdy.”

Kate pressed her lips together and lowered the bow. “Howdy.”

“Just passing through. Don’t let me disturb you.” He went out the back door.

Kate took a deep breath and adjusted her music. Mark reappeared with a sheet of plywood, edged past her, and smiled pleasantly.

“You don’t play much, do you? I’ve been waitin’ to hear something come out of that thing, but it seems mostly you just sit there, gritting your teeth. You shouldn’t do that, you know. It’s bad for your head muscles. You’re gonna end up with a migraine.”

Kate thunked her head down on the music stand. This wasn’t going to work. She moved to the living room and set up in front of a window. Shania Twain still wailed down at her, but at least she wasn’t in the traffic pattern.

It was pleasant in the front room. The old-fashioned windows stretched almost from the floor to the ceiling, throwing the bright midday light over the glossy, dark wood floor. Across the street Emily Pearson was polishing her brass door knocker. A cluster of Indian corn tied with a pumpkin-colored bow had been hung to the side of the knocker, and a pot of orange mums sat in a redwood container on the front stoop. Despite her resolve to concentrate, Kate found herself staring at Emily Pearson.

This was the reason she practiced in the kitchen, she thought. There were too many distractions in the front room. It was almost impossible not to spy on the outside world through the big windows.