13

“I love this colour,” I murmur as I dip my paintbrush into a pot of deep green and begin the intricate task of painting a tiny Christmas tree on the bauble in my hand.”

“I can tell,” Chris smirks. “The living room wall is much the same tone now, isn’t it?”

“Almost,” I smile. “I’ve wanted a dark green wall and bookshelves on either side of the fireplace for a long time. But you can see the contrast between the two colours when you look at the needles on the tree you bought and the bookshelf wall — can’t you?”

“I wish I could say yes,” he sighs, “but this painting and decorating is not something that comes naturally to me, Merri, and I’d be lying if I said I enjoyed it or could see myself becoming good at it. I mean, just look at this!”

He holds up the bauble he’d been working on, and I can’t help but laugh. It looks like a three-year-old has finger-painted it.

“It’s great,” I say around giggles. “You’re doing well, Chris.”

“Bullshit,” he laughs. “I need something to build. Give me something to build. I don’t think I’m here to learn ceramics.”

Placing my bauble down, I spin my chair around to look at him. He’s right. For more than a week now I’d intermingled our house decorating with teaching him my craft. But he was even less incapable of painting a ceramic piece than he was of hammering home a nail, if that was even possible. Of course, it wasn’t lost on me that an angel who enjoyed building had tumbled into my life when I’d just found myself on the back end of a marriage to a qualified builder. It was like some kind of cosmic, karmic joke.

“You’re right,” I reach over to take his hands and give them a reassuring squeeze, “art isn’t for everyone, and you should do what makes you happy. It’s just a pity you’re trying to learn to build from someone who doesn’t have a clue.”

“What makes me happy is being with you,” he says quietly, turning his hands so they encompass mine, “and you do have a clue. Together we’ve mended a roof, put in a new ceiling, knocked down walls, painted and decorated…

“We’ve half-ass done all those things,” I agree. “But you do seem to be getting better at smashing things and building things. And fortunately for you, I have a tall list of things I want smashed down, and an equally long list of things you can fail badly at building.”

He gives me a mock-hurt expression.

“You’re a cruel woman, Merri.”

“I don’t think you’d have it any other way,” I snort. “Now, c’mon, since you dragged that monstrosity of a tree into our living room two days ago, I think we might need to decorate it.”

“It would seem strange otherwise,” he nods.

“Very.”

“Don’t tell me you’re getting into the Christmas spirit,” he grins.

“Not really,” I sigh. “Not when I know my husband is trying to take everything from me — as if he hasn’t already done that.”

“He’ll never take everything, Merri. You worry too much.”

I shake my head and lead the way out of my studio and back towards the house, stopping on the way to retrieve a box of Christmas decorations from the garage and handing them over.

“You go straight in, Chris, and take these. I’ll duck around and check the mail and meet you in the living room.”

He takes the box in one hand and I shake my head and smile at his excited expression as he delves in and discovers all the beautiful trinkets within.

But I’m not smiling when I collect the mail and find a package with a formal letterhead from a big-name city law firm.