And then Poppy was gone. Really gone—later, he’d learn from Carol that Poppy took off for Portugal the next day. She was an ocean away. He couldn’t stand to think of Poppy feeling badly about him. He wished he’d just hung up on stupid Mrs. Gold that afternoon. She’d ended up having the whole damn patio torn up and replaced with brick.

He never saw Ann, but she made sure he knew she’d been there. He found evidence of her stay every time he returned, which was at five o’clock on the dot every other Sunday, when the court-ordered changeover took place.

Michael made his presence known, too. He took it upon himself to sand, paint, and rehang the battered shutters against the windows. He pruned the trees, treated the pitch pines for bark beetles, cleared the brush, and cut down the leggy yews that had grown too close to the foundation.

Even in their silence, they’d somehow found a way to divide and conquer, with Michael and Ann addressing separate but balanced kinds of work. While he tended to the nuts and bolts of the house, Ann purged the junk drawers of crumbs, expired coupons, brittle rubber bands, and acid-burned batteries. The plastic Tupperware containers and rusted baking sheets were quietly decommissioned. New hand towels hung from the hooks in the bathroom.

Michael filled the cracks in the walls with Spackle, while Ann transformed the space with paint. He had to admit that he liked the bold colors Ann picked out, especially in contrast to the fresh coat of white he’d painted on the trim and windows. Avery thought the colors were fantastic. She gasped with delight when she saw the eggplant purple in the birthing room, and she was taken with the vibrant periwinkle in Connie and Ed’s old room, where Michael now slept—he wasn’t about to go back to the attic. This was where Ann slept, too.

Ann also rearranged the furniture and bought bright rugs and throw pillows to brighten up the space. The décor was tasteful, not showy, and complemented the rustic antiques, adding visual interest and warmth to every room. She’d somehow managed to skirt the line between classic and contemporary, lived-in and new, beach house and family home. The Gordons were never into decorating. He wondered how Ann had developed such a refined design aesthetic.

Like Michael, Ann was a neatnik. If he had to share a home in a less than ideal arrangement, it might as well be with someone who labeled her storage bins, returned things to their rightful places, and left every corner free of dust bunnies. Upon arrival, he found the dishwasher empty, the bed stripped, the counters gleaming.