The repairs needed on the house were bad, so Ben had refinanced the house before they’d gotten married and had fixed it up with money he’d been saving for years. They’d only dated about four months before he’d asked her to marry him, but Ben could feel the time on her running out for a place like Kerrigan Falls, so he’d made grand gestures like proposing and taking on the financial responsibility for the house, just so she’d remain there. He recalled walking into the house for the first time and thinking it was like a collection of old-fashioned mourning rooms with the curtains drawn.

And now it was like something out of a Southern Living spread. On the light-lavender walls in the dining room were examples of her work, black-and-white photographs with intricate compositions and striking uses of light. They were thoughtfully grouped, with smaller photos on the outside and one large photograph of an old roller coaster as its centerpiece. She’d been known for taking photos of abandoned places—malls, theme parks, airports. The entire collection was framed with dramatic white mats and thin platinum frames. The white woodwork and matching fireplace mantel were lightly glossed. It was a tranquil room that she’d agonized over.

In the ten years they’d been married, the house had become one of the most well-known houses in the Falls. They’d become a bit of a power couple, yet Ben masked the fact that Marla’s business had never done particularly well, and the historical society salary was more honorary than lucrative. He felt guilty making her stay here when she could have gone back—should have gone back—to Los Angeles and taken pictures of movie stars for magazines, like she’d dreamed of doing, so he hadn’t pushed her to sell at first.

“Maybe you could turn it into a bed-and-breakfast.”

“I’ve had enough of people,” she snorted.

“How so?”

“I took a group of twelve-year-olds white-water rafting.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

“Someone had to.” She just shrugged and poured herself a cup of coffee and didn’t offer him one. Instead, she leaned against the counter holding the oversize mug with both hands. Ben wasn’t even through the front door and already they were rubbing each other raw, like a rug burn. This is what they did.

“Look, I appreciate what you did for me with this house.” She took a deep sip of coffee. “You know that.”

“You’re welcome. Now I’d like to be free of it.”

“It? Or me?”

There was no way that Ben was stepping into this. She was twisting the business into something personal between them. It wasn’t. “You were the one who left me.”

“I threw you out.” She shrugged in reluctant agreement, like it was no big deal.

“I went of my own accord, Marla,” said Ben.