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owner had left behind and had sanded everything down. I touched the tape on the window, the last bit of tape he had applied—for me—on the last night of his life. As always when I was in this room, I tried to avoid looking at the spot where Jenna and I had found him.
    There, underneath the ceiling fixture.
    Suddenly my heart was pounding in my throat. What was I doing here? Were Marcus and Jenna right? Would I really be able to live here, given that I couldn’t even look at the spot where h e . . .
    I felt nauseated and broke out in a cold sweat.
    “Be right back!” I called and hurried up the stairs and into the bathroom. With my arms and legs trembling, I slumped down in front of the toilet bowl and watched helplessly as the morning’s breakfast took its leave.
    I was kidding myself if I thought that I was ready to face the hard facts of life again.
    “Daniel Basset, this is all your fault!” I whispered, wiping my mouth.
    I wanted to be back on my sofa under the covers—blocking out this god-awful reality. Maybe I could stay hidden under those covers for a few more months, keep the curtains drawn, wait until the hurt went away. And who would blame me for it?
    As if in answer, a well-aimed blow to my bladder made me cry out in pain. I looked down at my belly. “Oh, shut up. What do you know?” I muttered, slowly scrambling to my feet. I smoothed back my hair and rinsed out my mouth with freezing cold water.
    The heating and plumbing contractor was certainly long overdue.
    Once I felt back in control, I climbed down the stairs and saw that Jenna had turned on the radio and was in the process of stirring the paint.
    “Hey, what wall are we doing?” she asked, bent over the paint can.
    A little bit of paint had splattered on the floor next to her.
    It was gleaming crimson red, right where Danie l . . .
    I pressed my hand over my mouth and ran back upstairs.

    One week later I pushed the sweat-soaked comforter off my body. The darkness in Daniel’s apartment perfectly matched my dark mood. I had survived Catherine’s occasional visits to bring me food only by pretending to be asleep. Ever since the red paint disaster, I had not answered my phone and I had not left the apartment either. I just wasn’t ready, all right? Dammit, I would probably never be ready!
    Still, I needed to get up because the baby both of us had been looking forward to so much was pushing against my bladder.
    I was wearing one of Daniel’s shirts and a pair of his boxers, because my own pants had become too tight for my pregnant belly.
    What I really needed were maternity clothes, but in order to buy some I would have to leave the apartment. It was so much easier just to put on Daniel’s clothes. I had even thought about simply giving birth right here on the couch, which would mean I would never have to leave the apartment ever again. Except Catherine would probably want to help out during a home birth, and that thought made me more than reluctant about the whole thing. She would probably explain that I shouldn’t make a big fuss! She definitely would! Thanks, but no thanks! I preferred to face my demons instead.
    “All right, Piper! Easy does it!” I gave myself a kick in the pants and trudged into the bathroom.
    Oh God, that pathetic creature staring out at me from the mirror, was that really me? How could that be me?
    I grimaced and shook my head in disbelief, but denying it did no good. Jesus, I looked worse than New Orleans after Katrina! Groaning, I ran my hands through my tangled hair and reached a decision: I had to start rebuilding my life.
    Then I looked down at myself.
    “Shit!”
    Quickly I squeezed my eyes shut to spare myself from further embarrassment. My legs were hairier than Bigfoot’s, and I was apparently trying to grow a jungle in my armpit.
    I turned on the shower and waited for the steam to heat the room a little. I really needed an industrial pressure washer to wash away the neglect I had inflicted upon