Karen clutched the phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. Two weeks had passed since they’d photographed the miniature and sent out pictures of the couch. At last someone had responded! “Cream-colored satin . . . that’s right . . . as close as you can come to the material in the photograph. Yes, I realize it’ll be expensive . . . eighteen hundred? Oh, dear!” She bit her lower lip sharply as the furniture maker explained the painstaking skill that was necessary to duplicate the intricate carving on the arms and legs. She didn’t have time to shop around for a lower estimate. It was the second week in August and she had promised Mike the parlor would be done by September first. “All right.” Karen sighed in resignation. No one else could do it and she had to pay the price. “And you can deliver by September first? Fine, then. I’ll mail the check today so you can start immediately.” “What was that?” Mike appeared in the doorway, unshaven and rumpled. He’d been up in his darkroom all night again and he rubbed his red-rimmed eyes.
