She shrugged. “Always, I guess. When I was half grown, I remember watching my grannie do it with half the stores in town. I work at the bar for any money I need. Plus, I mentioned my Eva left me what she called ‘nest money’ at the bank, already under my name. I used some for tuition, but college wasn’t for me.”

He talked about how he’d saved money all the years he was in the army. “I thought I’d buy Crystal and me a house after we finished school.”

She patted his arm and he thought about how tiny her hand was next to his.

As he downed the last of his iced tea, she whispered, “I’ve got something to show you.”

She led him through the rooms of the house. Each window was angled toward a view.

“Whoever built this was a genius.”

“You’ve said that before. My great-uncle built it. My great-grandfather was too old and crippled up to be much help.

“Tony, her husband’s younger brother, built the upstairs just for Eva.”

Ketch could see the brother’s vision. Everything downstairs had wide doors and railings to hold on to. Wide, low windows. Built-in seating, so a frail man could find somewhere to sit within a few feet anywhere downstairs. But as they climbed the stairs, the rooms were smaller. Everything had been made for a woman’s touch. A little daybed to nap on in front of a bay window. Tiny drawers built into the wall beside mirrors so no dresser took up space in her little rooms.

The second floor reminded him of a dollhouse created with fine details. For Eva. “Let me guess, your Grannie was small like you.”

“I was as tall as her by the time I was twelve. I thought I was grown up then. In our last few years together I grew taller and she seemed to shrink.”

As they explored the rooms, he said his thoughts. “Tony, old Frank’s brother, must have loved Eva. Even the pulls on the shutters up here are hand carved.”

“I think maybe he did,” Tuesday whispered. “My mother told me once that Eva and Tony might have been lovers. They never married, not even after Frank died, but Tony never stopped coming to visit and worked on the house until he died in his sixties. Then she lived almost thirty years in the house he built her on Primrose Hill.”

Ketch noticed a closed door at the end of the hall. “What’s there?”

“Eva’s studio. I wasn’t allowed in there, but when she passed I went there to cry. It’s just a long office that runs the length of the back of the house. There are lots of file cabinets and ink drawings of flowers, all black on white paper. There’s even room for easels by each window. All face the clear east light.”