Spring Morning

Chapter 3: The Spring Calendar

By the second week of March, I had trained myself not to look for Daniel when I entered a room.

That was harder than it sounded. For nine years, my attention had followed him without my permission. I had learned the pitch of his voice when a client was about to ask for a discount. I knew how he stood when his back hurt and how he rubbed his thumb over the scar on his chin when he was tired. Even after I moved into the apartment, some part of me kept tracking him through Aster House.

I worked on that part as carefully as I worked on the roof.

The spring calendar had twenty-seven booked events. Twelve were weddings. Five were community fundraisers. The rest included a graduation dinner, an art auction, and three Sunday brunches for the local garden society. We had built the schedule around a new ceremony area in the lower garden. The grant from the Bellwether Preservation Trust would pay for a stone path, accessible washrooms, and repairs to the original potting shed.

Without the grant, we could still operate. We could not finish the expansion before the next loan review.

I needed a revised letter from the bank confirming our cash contribution. Daniel needed to sign it as co-owner. I sent the document through the company portal and waited.

He appeared in the office later that afternoon, holding a printed copy.

"Why didn't you just ask me?" he said.

"I sent it for your signature."

"I mean, why didn't you say anything?"

"There's nothing to discuss. It needs a signature by Friday."

He set the paper on my desk. "We're married."

"Not for much longer, according to the paperwork."

He flinched. I noticed it. I did not apologize.

"I didn't think you'd cut me off so completely," he said.

"I haven't cut you off from the business."

"You don't answer me."

"I answer anything that affects the work."

"And nothing else?"

I looked at the document. "Nothing else."

He placed one finger on the signature line. "You could at least tell me how you're doing."

"That's not something the business needs to know."

He signed the letter and pushed it back across the desk. His signature was neat, as it always had been. Mine sat above it.

"Here," he said.

"Thank you."

He remained beside the desk. "I was wrong to accept the job before talking to you."

I put the signed letter into the grant folder. "Okay."

"That's all you have to say?"

"What would you like me to say?"

"That you heard me."

"I heard you."

He waited. I turned to the laptop.

"Claire."

"I have to call the bank."

He left.

The next day, the local garden society held its annual planning meeting in the conservatory. I stood at the end of the long table with the presentation board behind me and explained how we'd reroute the garden path. I included the slope measurements, the drainage plan, and the projected cost. The society's chair, Evelyn Marks, asked if the lower garden would remain open during construction.

"Yes," I said. "We'll close one section at a time."

Daniel sat at the other end of the table, arms folded. He didn't interrupt. He knew the project well enough to answer questions about the stonework, but he let me lead.

After the meeting, Evelyn stopped me near the glass doors. "I'm glad you're moving ahead. You've been carrying this plan for a long time."

"I've had good help."

"I didn't say you hadn't."

Her eyes flicked to Daniel, who was speaking with one of the committee members. I followed her gaze but didn't look at him long.

"Are you two all right?" she asked.

"It's a private matter."

"I'm sorry," she said. "You don't have to explain."

"I know."

That evening, the roof contractor emailed to say the replacement panels had been delayed. I updated the schedule and sent a notice to the affected clients. Daniel was on the client list because he handled the building work, but I didn't send him a separate message.

At 9:40, he knocked on the apartment door.

I opened it but kept the chain in place.

"I got the contractor's email," he said.

"It's on the project board."

"I can get the panels from a supplier in Greyhaven."

"Do you have a quote?"

"I can have one by tomorrow."

"Send it through the portal."

He looked past me at the small apartment. The foldout couch was open. My laptop sat on the table beside a mug and a stack of grant documents.

"How long are you staying up here?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"This isn't a home."

"It's where I'm staying."

"I could move out of the house."

"Your attorney can contact mine if you want to change the living arrangement."

"I don't want to negotiate everything through lawyers."

"You asked for a divorce."

"I said maybe."

"You said it when I asked you why you'd made a decision that affected both of us without asking me."

"That's not exactly how it happened."

"It's how I heard it."

He stared at the chain. "I thought you'd fight for us."

The words landed with an almost physical force. I held the door steady.

"I was fighting for us," I said. "I didn't know you were waiting for me to do it alone."

For a few seconds, he didn't speak.

I closed the door gently. I didn't slam it. I didn't need the sound.