were uncovered, allowing bright, southwestern sun to stream in and throw two large rectangles on the hardwood floor.
“Is this where the magic happens?” Erik said, running his hand along the barre.
A corner of Daisy’s mouth went up, then she pointed across the hall to her bedroom. “All magic happens in there, babe.”
Smiling, he pointed at a set of double doors in one wall. “What’s behind those?”
“Ah. A tiny bit of magic,” she said, crossing the room and opening the doors. They revealed a galley room, no more than four feet wide. Ostensibly a closet, but Erik saw no clothing rods or shelves. Just the long narrow space with a porthole window at its end, sectioned like a compass rose, looking out through the branches of a tree to the lake.
“You don’t store anything in here?” Erik asked.
She was looking out the window. “No. The attic has tons of space with a cedar closet. I was thinking it would make a sweet place for one of Lucky and Will’s kids. A little hideaway. You could put a tiny desk in it. Or even build some kind of bed under the eaves.”
“Absolutely,” Erik said, tapping on the plaster walls. The studs were right where they should be. It wouldn’t be hard.
She squeezed by him and took his hand. “Come on, I’ll show you something else.”
Outside the kitchen door, a concrete foundation was along the back of the house, facing the lake. But nothing was yet built. Erik noticed it yesterday during his walkabout but forgot to ask her about it. Sex made him stupid that way.
“Was this supposed to be something?”
“A screened-in porch,” Daisy said. “It was their last planned project, but it never got past the foundation. They left me the plans they had drawn up. It was going to be pretty spectacular.” She gestured to one side of the kitchen door. “All this side would be a table and chairs area so you could eat out here in summer without being bitten up. Then over on that side, wicker furniture. Three ceiling fans along the length of it.”
“Strings of lights around all the windows,” he said, seeing it manifest before his eyes.
“A door out to the yard here,” she said, pretending to open and close one. “A path down to the water. And then on either side, all below, flowers.” Hugging her sides, she paced the length of the concrete slab, tracing imaginary curved beds. “Drifts of color.”
“Daisies,” he said.
She grinned up at him. “Of course.”
He looked out at the icy lake, squinting into the past. “Being on the water like this, it reminds me of where I grew up.”
“That’s right, you were on the river.”
He nodded. She waited to hear more, but his train of thought sat idling in the station and he shook his head. “I don’t know where I was going with that.”
Shivering, Daisy came back inside and shut the kitchen door.
He folded his arms around her. “What should we do?”
“I need a Christmas tree,” she said.
A window shade snapped up in his heart, flooding him with joy. “Yes, you do.”
They took a ride. Sunglasses on, music blasting, they drove up Route 101 toward Fredericton, singing their faces off. At Heighleau Farms, Daisy picked a tall Douglas fir and Erik cut it down. As it was wrapped in netting and trussed with twine, Daisy bought an apple pie, chatting in French with the proprietor as she paid.
Erik had been hearing a lot more French out here in the rural areas of New Brunswick. But even when they drove closer to Fredericton to get some lunch, his ears continued to pick up the language. In parking lots, on the streets, on overheard cell phone conversations. Hostesses, waitresses and bartenders trilling a double greeting, “Bonjour. Hello.” Always the bonjour first.
“This must be a treat for you,” he said, as they sat in a booth at a café. “Speaking French all the time.”
“It’s not the French I grew up with,” she said, laughing. “I call home and my mother is appalled at my accent.”
He spun his spoon on the tabletop. “What did your parents say when you told them I called?” He looked up at her. “I mean, I assume you told them.”
She set her chin on the heel of her hand. “Are you worried when you see him Pop will sic the proverbial dogs on you?”
“Yes.” He smiled. “But I like ‘when’.”
Her other hand slid across to twine with his. “They’re happy for me,” she said. “For us.” But