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Bernard so obligingly put up here.”
    The wall Weezy had been working on was a pale creamy color with a suggestion of gold overtones in it. Awash in the afternoon sun, that part of the room glowed like a ripe juicy peach.
    “Nice, isn’t it? Of course it is. It’s perfect for your dream child. Now go away and lie down or whatever you feel like doing. And keep Bernard away from here, I’m still not talking to him.”
    After a few days, having finished the walls, Weezy relented enough towards Bernard to order him to strip the linoleum off the floor.
    “I don’t do that kind of work,” she announced.
    “I’m happy to do it.”
    “I don’t see why. It’s boring and difficult.”
    “Why should it be different from the rest of my life?”
    Weezy gazed at him in astonishment. “How can you say that? With your firstborn on the way?”
    “Maya says it doesn’t seem real.”
    “That’s because she’s not showing yet. She’s always been sticks and bones, that girl, ever since she was little. Wait till she gets nice and round, and the baby starts to move. Then she’ll believe it.”
    Bernard perked up at this, and went away to change into his work clothes.
    For the next two days they worked happily side by side, Weezy in the hallway cutting fabric and sewing on the old Singer machine that had been stored away in the attic, and Bernard on his hands and knees ripping up the floor. When the tiles were gone, he laboriously sanded, stained and finally oiled and waxed the oak planks that were revealed underneath. When he was finished, the floor glowed a honey-gold that complemented the walls perfectly.
    Weezy was approving. “Very nice. Excellent work, sweetie. Now take a breather, and we’ll hang up the curtains. Look at these beautiful golden rods I picked up for a song atthe thrift store. Take down those old curtains and rods, I can’t bear to look at them one more second.”
    They hung the stiff white curtains which Weezy had made, and Bernard swept up the room. Afterwards they stood together in the doorway for a long time.
    Bernard put his arm around Weezy and kissed the top of her head, an unaccustomed display of affection for him. “It’s beautiful.”
    “Of course it is.” Weezy’s eyes were aglow. “It’s divine. Almost good enough for your and Maya’s baby.”
    “Let’s go get her.”
    “Let’s.”
    Maya and Snooky were dumbstruck when shown the results of their work. Maya became quite weepy over it.
    “It’s … it’s so beautiful!”
    “Hormones,” said Snooky, patting her shoulder. “Calm yourself.”
    “It’s just the way I dreamed it would be,” said Maya, sniveling into a tissue.
    “Remain calm. It’s a room, Missy. It’s not the Sistine Chapel.”
    “It’s not a room. It’s … it’s my baby’s nursery!”
    Eventually she had to be led away protectively by Bernard.
    “Perhaps you did too good a job,” said Snooky, lounging in the doorway.
    “She’s pregnant. She’s allowed to cry as much as she wants.”
    Snooky looked around in appreciation. “It
is
perfect.”
    “I know.”
    The muslin curtains swayed in a breeze which carried in the sweet smell of the pines. Snooky took Weezy’s hand.
    “Perfect,” he said, kissing it.

    Downstairs in the kitchen Snooky made a cup of brown rice tea and handed it to Weezy on a saucer with a shortbread cookie. Weezy gazed into the murky depths doubtfully.
    “What is this shit?”
    “Genmai-cha. Brown rice tea. Japanese. I thought artists liked that kind of stuff.”
    “Don’t you have any real coffee?”
    While he made a pot of coffee, Weezy sat back in her chair and looked around the kitchen with satisfaction on her face. “Beautiful room. Look at the dimensions. It looks like the golden proportion, honestly.”
    “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
    “The golden proportion, sweetie. The dimensions that look best to the eye. Didn’t Maya send you to college?”
    “Nobody seems to be sure. She asked me