“I did,” she says, “because I’m a giver.” She stops and gives Sonny another kiss. “And because you asked. I brought you an assortment of nicer clothes from your closet, and I maybe even bought you a few new things.”

I release a whoop! of joy, which causes Sonny to run around and bark, and extend my hand to help Trish off the floor.

“Not that you will ever have a use for them,” she says, eyeing my current wardrobe. I lift her off the floor.

“Thank you,” I say, hugging her again.

“You’re welcome,” she says.

“For some reason, I packed like I was just going away for a few days,” I say. “I guess I thought I’d be able to run back and forth to Chicago anytime I wanted.” I stop and gesture at myself. “I’ve been a bit overwhelmed, to say the least.”

“Well, at least you can go out in public now,” she says.

“Oh, I’ve been going out in public,” I say. “Like this.”

Trish laughs. “Now, I want to take a look around. But first, coffee. The quad-shot Starbucks just didn’t cut it this morning.”

I usher Trish into the kitchen and pour her a cup of coffee. The kitchen is a wreck: pizza boxes, ladders and tools stacked everywhere, dishes in the sink, dog food scattered along the baseboards, cardboard covering the floor and outlined with workers’ grimy, muddy footprints.

“Place is really comin’ along, Adie Lou,” Trish says with a definitive nod.

I laugh. “It’s a construction zone,” I say.

“It’s also a meat locker,” she says. “It’s colder than a well-digger’s butt.”

I laugh again. “Where did you learn that?” I ask.

“Your father,” she says. “It’s a big Chicago saying.” Trish stops. “Do you have any heat on?”

I duck my head, my hair falling into my face. “It’s set at fifty-five,” I say. “I’m trying to save money.”

“You won’t save any money if you have to go to the ER with pneumonia.” Trish lasers her eyes on me, unblinking, but then softens. “I get it. But at least get a fire going so you can keep the cottage warm. The pipes could freeze, Adie Lou. And the heat will rise, so you can just crank up your electric blanket at night.” She glances at my renderings, still scattered across the kitchen counters. “I want to take a look at all your plans and all the work, but I’d like to stop my body from going into hypothermia first.”

Trish grabs her coffee and heads into the living room. “Hi, Darryl,” she says to the moose. “You haven’t changed. Me either? Why, thank you.” She kneels and looks into the giant fireplace. “Do you have any dry kindling and firewood stacked in the garage?”