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paint them both a pale putty color that blended with the taupe in the kitchen.  The front door was on her list, too; it was old, stained wood, dull and faded from the eastern exposure, soon to be enameled a dark blue-green. 
    But, tonight Brittany occupied herself by sorting through various shades of green for the bedroom, trying to decide which one would be given the task of erasing another reminder of Craig while trying, with no success, to distract Shadow from thinking they were for him to play with. 
    Even she could tell that any greens mixed with yellow wouldn’t work.  She sorted those samples out, tossing the discarded paint chips to the foot of the bed in hopes her hyperactive kitten would relocate. She flipped over on her back to be immediately attacked by Shadow, quickly bored with the inanimate paint chips, preferring a real live playmate.  She gave up on the chips deciding play time sounded good to her, too.  Adopting him had been a good decision, at least now she could voice out loud some of what was rolling through her brain and not feel totally crazy.  Plus, he made her laugh.
     
               Putting her mark on the kitchen was a rather simple fix, despite the laborious taping. But, after experiencing how laborious the process was, she didn’t want the other rooms to become long and drawn out projects, nor did she want to assume the pressure, on top of everything else she was dealing with. So, the following morning she began combing the internet to find someone with good referrals that she could afford.
    Jeanne suggested she look on Angie’s List, where Brittany quickly found someone who was both affordable and was available to begin immediately. They agreed he should come over the following weekend to bid the job. 
    Now, to her amusement, Shadow was again pouncing relentlessly on the color swatches, tossing them in the air and attacking them like they were rodents needing to be shown who was boss.  His playfulness was catching and she began tossing them into the air with him—soon the room was strewn with the discarded chips, but better still, it rang with Brittany’s laughter.
     
    ***
     
    Over four weeks passed and Brittany did not hear one peep from Craig, other than through his attorney’s office. She, per his request, resisted recurring urges to contact him.  She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d given any thought about the possible toll terminating seven years of their combined lives had taken on her.  A week earlier his attorney’s office called, asking for her to stop by to sign some additional paperwork. With some amusement she could tell Allan Chandler didn’t recognize her in street clothes, after watching his facial expression change when he connected the dots. 
    “ Well I’ll never forget the robe and slippers, but wasn’t your hair different, too?” he asked, reminding her that some impressions are lasting.  They both laughed, although his comment bugged her.  Rather than let her irritation show, she told him if he liked long hair she had a baggie full of it that she would be happy to give him.  He refrained from asking her why she retained her hair in a baggie, and for the second time he entertained the fleeting thought that he hoped she was getting some counseling. 
    Brittany had taken no notice of him their first encounter, but now had to admit to herself how attractive he was—she doubted she would have recognized him at all after their first meeting.  And he had the nerve to remind her what she was wearing that day!
     
    ***
     
    Her emotions leveled off after the first several days of completely breaking down after Craig left.  She credited some of her now neutral emotional state to having been left financially sound, something she knew was unusual and she did not take for granted.  In an attempt to analyze her reactions, or lack of them, she pulled out her old counseling notes along with her journal, to see if there was anything there that might