Renovation

By Alyce Wilson

Maris stood on the sidewalk, admiring her work. Her house was finally presentable: covered in fresh stucco, all the wood painted white. Geraniums flashed in neat window boxes. So many hours of labor, all done or directed by her.

When Stan died, she grieved for months, forlorn. Then, one day, she'd felt the urge to clean. It started with innocent dust and clutter, and then she'd sorted through his things, boxed the precious items and given away the rest. Then, she needed a new carpet, a repair here and there, new cabinets. And now it was done: nothing left to do but maintain.

She turned her gaze to the house next door, faded and shabby next to her own, the siding coming loose in spots. Louise was recently widowed after long years of caring for a husband suffering from Alzheimer's. Maybe Maris would stop by later, bring her some casserole, and share her book of paint samples.