“How was your week?” Maren asked, looking at me over her glass of water.

“Busy,” I said. “But the papers are signed. The divorce is final.”

A quiet fell over the table, save for the sound of Lila’s fork scraping her plate.

Maren nodded slowly, a small tension leaving her jaw.

“Is that a good thing?” Lila asked, looking between us.

“It is,” I said. “It means we can all start moving forward.”

After dinner, I helped Maren wash the dishes, standing elbow-to-elbow in the narrow kitchen.

My hands were in the soapy water, scrubbing a casserole dish, while she dried.

“I talked to a real estate agent today,” I said, not looking at her.

She paused, her dish towel hovering over a plate.

“Oh?” she said.

“There’s a house for sale about three miles down the road,” I said. “Near the lighthouse.”

“That’s the old Henderson place,” she said. “It needs a lot of work.”

“I have the time,” I said, rinsing the dish and setting it in the rack. “And I want to be close.”