“I’m sorry, Doll. I hated living in Battle Point after the war. Everybody thinking they knew me, when they didn’t. Working for my jerk of a stepfather, when next to his own son I couldn’t do a damn thing right. Having to share you with your family and everything. I guess when this opportunity came up with Roy, I just thought how good it would be for me.” He smiled a little. “Naturally, I figured it would be just as good for you.”

She said nothing.

“I didn’t want you to be unhappy, Doll. I mean, I wanted you to be happy. I thought we would be. It was my best shot, I guess, and I took it. I was really hoping you’d like the bungalow. I like it. It’s our own, Doll, isn’t that what matters? And I’ll paint the bathroom this weekend. I bought the paint. I want things to be what you want them to be.”

“What do you mean?” she said. “I thought—”

He smiled a little, and looked back over his shoulder and met her eyes. “Didn’t you read the fine print on the marriage license? ‘In case one party acts like a complete idiot, the other party gets one free pass to act like an idiot, too.’”

She looked up at the high ceiling. Cobwebs dripped from the chandelier. She could almost hear the house, urging her on: It won’t be perfect, but all life has heartache—that much I know.

This was a wonderful house! And the Mickelsons had dared to blame it for their troubles! They had left it alone to suffer the consequences of their misdeeds and their selfishness. The “curse,” she decided, had merely been an excuse for their bad behavior—including JJ’s. Dolly, too, had gotten caught up in the house’s mystique, and had let it entice her into imagining things that would never be. But blaming the house for that was like blaming Elizabeth Taylor for the fact that, after you’d seen her in National Velvet, you’d suddenly yearned for a horse.

She reached out and touched Byron’s arm. He boosted himself up so he was on the same stair as she was, cupped her face in his hand, and kissed her. He was so familiar that she felt restored, and she was thrilled that maybe it wasn’t too late for them, after all. At least not if a few changes were made.

“You forgive me?” he said.

“You have to start treating me like a human being. Treating me as well as you’d treat Roy, or any of your other friends. You have to listen to what I think about things. Do you know what I mean?”

“I promise, Doll.”