Surprise!

His first two weeks on his own had gone well. He hadn't gone off his rocker from thinking about any one thing too much. Hadn't felt any urges to swallow too many of his pills. And the real fucking miracle was that he had learned to heat up soup and other stuff without setting the house on fire.

All in all a pretty good beginning, Nick Russell thought to himself. Not that he'd really, actually been alone. For the first week, Pete Valentine had called every day like clockwork. Pete was the only one who had the number to Nick's new cell phone, so it wasn't too difficult to guess who it was when the phone rang.

The second week, he'd cut down to every other day. Probably started breathing a little easier when I didn't off myself the first week, Nick thought. Then, there'd been Nick's twice weekly calls to Dr, Shapiro, his psychiatrist. They'd worked out that schedule before he had come here and he'd stuck to it--an hour twice a week.

In between talking to Pete and Shapiro, he'd watched some television, amazed at how little TV he'd actually seen for most of his adult life. He'd taken walks around his new property, even done a little housecleaning every day, which was something he'd done less of than watch TV!

The best thing he'd done was make music. Real music. Music that he felt. Not music that he was trying to turn into hit songs, or music that was influenced by the kind and amount of drugs in his system.

When Pete had set this place up for him, he hadn't told him that he'd turned one of the bedrooms into a music room. Nick hadn't found that out until after Pete had left. The morning after Pete had left, which was when he'd finally found the guts to pick himself up off his new front porch and actually go into the house and face things. The fact that he'd been dying of thirst and needing to use the john hadn't hurt.

The music room wasn't fancy. No recording equipment, no fancy setups. Just the old upright piano that used to be in his parents living room when he was a kid. He'd written his first songs on that thing. Pete had made sure it was restored and tuned. There were nicks and scratches all over it, but the music that came from it was as sweet and pure as ever.

Then, there was the guitar. The first simple acoustic guitar he'd ever owned. His grandfather had given it to him for his birthday when he was ten. Little Nick had been so excited he'd nearly peed his pants. He'd taught himself to play it and practiced on the thing for hours. Just holding it again, he thought he could feel a little of that old magic coming back to him.

Pete had known he couldn't live without music. Had made sure he didn't have to. He'd never be able to repay Pete for all he'd done. Mere cash didn't begin to cover a debt like this.

Right now, it was Saturday morning, and Nick was out for one of his daily walks. He'd covered the path through the woods and was approaching his house, noticing that there were a few flakes of paint started to come off up near the roof. Before, he'd have had someone call a contractor (if he'd even noticed the paint himself, which would have been unlikely), but now he could actually take care of it himself. If he could remember how.

From across his yard, he noticed a car pull into his driveway. A blue Volkswagen Beetle. Oh, hell! He hadn't had any problems with any neighbors from the Glen bothering him yet. Hopefully, this was just someone who'd seen him out in the yard and wanted to ask directions. Putting on his sunglasses and what he hoped was a friendly smile, he approached the driveway as the car came to a stop.

Nick stopped abruptly, in shock at the sight of the young woman who got out of it. Wearing jeans, tennis shoes, and a white t-shirt with a long shirt over it, she had a nervous, hesitant smile on her face. Longer hair, a slightly fuller figure, a somewhat more mature face than she'd had last time he'd seen her, but he recognized her immediately.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He was unable to stop the surprised question from leaving his mouth, but immediately wished that he could take the harshness in his voice back, could have phrased it a little more pleasantly. But it was too late.

Her smile faltered a little, but she didn't back down. "It's nice to see you too, Nick. And why shouldn't I come to see you? I am your wife."