been a Disney movie, that table would have come to life as a draft horse. The fireplace had a very nice carved-wood mantel, though, original to the house, which meant 1870. That could stay.
I said, “Come see the kitchen and dining room, get the full experience.”
“Oh, my,” she said faintly, when she was standing in the kitchen. “It’s not worse than mine, because nothing could be worse than mine. It’s just …”
“Ugly,” I suggested.
“There you go. That’s the word I was looking for.”
It was a big room, with the appliances arranged around the walls for maximum inefficiency. Refrigerator on one wall, sink at the far end, stove on the other wall, but not opposite the refrigerator.
“Not so much a work triangle,” I said, “as a work marathon. Room’s too narrow for an island, too wide to be convenient. The perfect storm.”
“I thought the storm was the color scheme,” she said.
“What? That the cabinets are green and the walls are orange? And the benchtops are almost that same orange, but actually red instead, so you want to run away screaming? Also note the orange color scheme in the dining room. You see? We match. Green to green-and-orange to orange. A whole progression of color-blindness testing. You see why the place was cheap.”
“Nice big wood-burner in here, though,” she said. “And a slate hearth that’s much too tasteful to match anything.”
“Stop trying to be encouraging,” I said. “It doesn’t suit you. Yeh, you’re right, I did the wood-burner. And you haven’t even seen the bedrooms. I have a pink-and-blue one. That is, I don’t, because I don’t sleep in there. Nightmares, eh. Also one bath. Lime green.”
“Oh, dear.” She was still laughing, and had dropped to her knees on the carpet in the orange dining room—the carpet was green, and shaggy—to pat the dog, who rolled obligingly onto her back to allow Daisy access to her belly. “It’s not a terrible house, though. It’s a lovely house. Or it could be.”
I eyed her skeptically. “You’ve never been tactful before. Don’t start now.”
“You did the yurt, though,” she said. “Didn’t you?” She wasn’t laughing anymore. She was sitting with her hands in the dog’s fur, looking up at me.
I crouched down opposite her and did some of my own dog-patting, because I couldn’t exactly stand there and loom over her. “Yeh,” I said. “That’s how I started, in fact. I worked for a builder when I was young, so I knew how to do some things already, and I didn’t want to live in a caravan while I worked on the house. Too small, for one thing, for a fella like me, and anyway, I don’t like them. They don’t feel right. I bought the yurt instead, twelve or thirteen years ago, while I was still living in my apartment, and taught myself how to do most things to put it up and outfit it. YouTube, eh. I got mates to help me. It was fun.”
It had been more than that. It had been meditative, and exciting, and so satisfying when I’d got it right.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “It’s more than beautiful. It’s … it’s thoughtful. I can stand in it and feel what you wanted, what spoke to you. The sky, the wood. The roof. The same peace I felt in your house in Wanaka, even though it’s totally different. The connection to the outdoors, and the simplicity. My favorite is the loft, though. I love the loft.”
“Japan,” I said. Stupidly, because she’d know that. “Shoji screens. Tatami.”
“The Wanaka house,” she said. “You built that, too.”
“Once I knew what I was doing. I did some yurts for other people first. More as a hobby than anything, in the offseason, the summer, and then I did the Wanaka house once I knew more, and could put together a crew. Once I knew what I wanted, and how to make it happen.”
“And I made you feel like it didn’t matter,” she said. “Like I was criticizing it. Like I didn’t care. It’s just … I can tend to … try to … to stay above it. Apart from it.” She looked down at the dog. “I don’t know how to explain. And I want to make a joke here, but I can’t think of one.”
“It’s hard,” I said gently, because she needed gentleness, and because this had been tough for her to say, tough to do. To come over, and to apologize. “When you need to stay strong, not to have anyone think you