I didn't see Erik for the next three weeks, and whether it was his decision to stay away or he was out of town, I didn't care. From here on, I wanted to keep everything strictly business between us, even choosing not to respond to the notes Erik continued to leave for me every Saturday morning. Maybe it was pride. Or maybe it was shame that he'd seen the bruise on my face, and that he called it right there and then.

He hits you.

So I kept the door leading to the house locked. I even withdrew money from the investment account that Eunice had left me, so I could pay Erik for allowing me use of the studio. I had a money order made out for the amount that I thought was more than fair, an amount that was more than I could actually afford. But I was being stubborn and even I knew it. But shame can do things to people's minds. It warps them from the truth, allowing them only to see what they want to see.

I still remember how pride and shame filled me when I left the envelope on his kitchen counter the weekend after I ran out of his house, praying Erik wouldn't be home, before rushing back into the studio and locking the door behind me. Then I packed my things for the day and headed for home, too afraid to find out what Erik would say when he'd see the money order. How I hated feeling like this, so scattered, so scared. So ashamed.

Erik could do whatever he wanted with the money, I thought, but at least I paid him. I still planned to use the studio for the rest of the month and after that, I'd have to continue painting in my garage or wait till the new semester began at the junior college so I could audit a fine art course.

So I set a goal for myself to come up with three paintings before I had to leave. The Manhattan Beach pier, Erik's house as seen from the beach, and the lifeguard tower. As part of the contracted payment we had both agreed to, Erik could pick whatever he wanted of all the paintings I had finished.

To complete a painting a week, I put Michael in daycare three days a week, and during the weekends, I slept on the futon, fueled by coffee, energy bars and ramen noodles. But still, even during the week, there was hardly any sign of Erik, even though I dreaded seeing him, not after the money order I had left for him.

I hated to admit it, but I missed him. I missed the way his smiles reached his eyes. Erik had a way of looking at me like I was the only person in the room, like I really mattered, even if it was just at that moment. But knowing how our last conversation had ended, and the sight of his perfect Serena entering his house like she lived there pushed the memories of his smile from my mind. That's when I told myself - like it were some mantra I'd repeat again and again - that I didn't need Erik's pity.

And I added another mantra to my inner list of things to do as well. I had to start fighting back against David - if not for myself, but for Michael. I did not want Michael to witness what he'd seen that Saturday night. Not ever.

So the Monday after David hit me, I began going down my long-overdue To Do list. First, I talked to my attorney, who wasn't pleased to hear about David's sudden changes in visitation schedules, especially the suspicion that he may have driven drunk with Michael in the car. Of course, David denied it, and afraid that he'd get back at me for informing the attorney, I made sure that my neighbor, George, was at my house whenever David came by.

Second, I requested a hearing to have the visitation arrangements revised. That would take time, the attorney said, who then advised me to keep a written record of every interaction I had with David.

I did not get to see Olivia that much either, and sometimes I wondered if Erik ever confided in her, if she knew of what had happened that night when Erik met David, and the morning after, when he saw my bruise. I even wondered if Olivia noticed it though even if she had, she had had no chance of telling me. With her house overflowing with guests, Zia Francesca and the other aunts and uncles who had flown in from Capri, she was swamped.

With Bella turning a year old that month, the relatives weren't about to let the chance to be with her on her birthday pass them by - especially when the airfares were too good to pass up. They were a fun and outspoken bunch, and they made my lonely weekends at the studio fun, even if it was just hearing their laughter and their conversations from the garden where they loved to play bocce ball. They also often ended up in Erik's house by late afternoon, enjoying the view of the ocean from the deck, though sometimes they'd sneak into my studio, curious about latest paintings.

Though I was glad for their presence and didn't mind their visits, I was on a mission to finish what I had come here to do, and nothing was going to stop me.

By the third Saturday, I decided I was done. There were maybe one or two more days of working, mainly just touch-ups on the finished paintings, before I'd be able to leave the studio for good. My plan so far was simple. I was going to curl up with a book and celebrate this brave - though cowardly - move of running away from the only studio I'd ever have as beautiful as this with a slice of cake from the grocery store. There were also a few repairs that I needed to do before Michael would come home the next evening.

I was disappointed that I hadn't seen nor heard from Erik those last three weeks, that he hadn't even left me a single note to say hello. But then, why was I complaining? I hadn't even bothered to write him a note of my own. Just that rent check left on his kitchen counter. If there ever was a pathetic drama queen award in the South Bay, I was sure to win it.

I had just finished putting away the brushes when Erik walked through the door, holding a take-out bag in one hand and some plates and chopsticks in another. It took me a moment to register that he was back, but after three weeks of not seeing him, I simply stared at him.

"Oh good, you're still here," he said as he placed the bag on the counter. "But before anything else, I wanted to give you this."

He handed me an envelope but I didn't take it.

"Just take it, Sam, please," he said, sighing. "You can do whatever you want with it, but the last thing I want to do is break the contract that we signed."

"Contracts are broken every day," I said, opening the envelope and pulling out the money order I had given him. "Did I insult you with the amount?"

Erik shook his head. "No, you insulted me by not trusting me."

I took a deep breath and exhaled, not knowing what to do next. Then, too afraid to face him, I grabbed my bag and headed towards the side door.

"Look, Sam, can we have a truce?" Erik said, walking ahead of me and blocking the door. "At least for tonight?"

"I wasn't aware we were at war," I said wryly.

"We're not. We're just going through a little misunderstanding right now. I know I overstepped my boundaries three weeks ago, but I've never been one to sit back and watch someone get hurt. But if trying to help you my way means you end up running away from me, then I'm willing to step back - not completely, mind you - and let things go according to a speed you're more comfortable with," he said.

I let him take the bag from my hands and lead me back to the middle of the room. "Anyway, I haven't eaten much today and I'm starving," he continued. "Have you eaten?"

As if on cue, my stomach growled and we laughed, the ice broken.

"Well, I guess that answers my question," Erik grinned. "Unless you have other plans, or you absolutely want nothing to do with me tonight, can we just start over - press rewind, and just enjoy a nice quiet dinner out on the deck or something?"

"You've done more for me than you can ever know, Erik," I said. "I'm sorry for what happened-"

"Don't apologize for that, Sam. Truce, remember?"

I nodded.

"Good," he smiled. "So, do you have other plans for the evening?"

"No," I replied. "Other than a good do-it-yourself book to keep me company tonight before I search my garage for the right tools in the morning, I believe I have time for dinner."

"Great," Erik said, opening the sliding glass door leading to the deck. "I hope it's not too chilly to eat out. Have you got a sweater?"

I nodded and pulled a ratty sweatshirt from one of the cupboards and slipped it on. Erik set up the plates and silverware on the table while I pulled some bottles of water from the mini fridge.

"What tools are you looking for?" He asked as I joined him outside, the ocean breeze whipping my hair about till I tied it up in a ponytail.

"Hammer, nails. My Makita drill. That sort of thing," I said, as Erik lined up the take-out boxes on the table. "So, what's for dinner?"

Erik began to name the dishes as he opened each one. Pad Thai noodles with chicken. Pad Seeyu with beef. Chicken satay. Pa Nang Curry. Steamed Rice. There was even mango with sticky rice for dessert.

"You must really be hungry," I laughed. "There's enough food here for four people."

"I told you. I am starving," he said, placing some pad Thai noodles on my plate and two skewers of the chicken satay till I told him it was enough for now. "So what are you building?"

"Nothing. I just need to fix a few things inside the house," I replied. "A few shelves in the bathroom and a loose cupboard in the kitchen. I already emptied them and I need to finish it before Michael returns home tomorrow."

"Do you need any help?"

I shook my head. "No, thanks. It's quite easy to do."

"Do you do a lot of repairs yourself?" Erik asked. He offered me some of the curry but I was still working on the pad thai noodles and the chicken satay.

"My house is a fixer-upper, Erik. So I do what I can to fix it up. One day it's all going to fall apart around me and then I'll sell it to the developer so he can build a condo in its place."

"You have a really nice house, Sam," he said. "I'm sure it means a lot to you."

"Thanks. It does, so I do what I can," I replied, not exactly too thrilled with having to talk about my little house which was about a third the size of Erik's nice beach front home. I didn't even want to hazard a guess how much it would fetch on the market. "So, how are you? Three weeks is a long time to be away from home, and Olivia and Bella really missed you."

"Just Olivia and Bella? Somehow I'm missing one other girl," he grinned, as my face turned hot. Did I really need to say that I missed him, too? "I'm just teasing, Sam. I know you're not exactly happy with me right now," he said.

"I just don't like to be put on the spot," I mumbled and shoved noodles into my mouth.

For the next few minutes, we just ate, the conversation focused on the dishes between us. Erik told me about his trip to Thailand before he entered medical school and falling in love with street foods such as som tum, a spicy green papaya salad and pak boong, a morning glory salad with garlic and birds eye chilies. It was difficult to find pak boong in many local Thai restaurants, he said, but a few in Thai town did serve it if you knew what to ask.

"Is this street team thing over now?" I asked. "Olivia said you had to fill in for some doctor who couldn't do it."

He nodded. "It's over - at least my share of it."

"How often do you do this thing?"

"I used to do it more often before I opened the clinic. But with the clinic getting busier, and it's expansion taking most of my time, I really should have just said no. Besides, it didn't help that I've lost whatever patience I had left for a member of the team."

Erik didn't elaborate and I didn't ask. Yet despite that little problem, he was happy to talk about certain cases that stumped him or interested him. He talked about the new doctor that Serena brought in. The man had given him so much trouble, questioning Erik's diagnoses at every turn that he almost quit the mission half-way, too frustrated to bother with it all. But when he returned home, Olivia talked him out of it.

Men and their egos, she told him then. Someone had to be the big kahuna, and apparently this Robert thought he was it. So what if someone wanted to appear the bigger man just because he was some big shot surgeon in need of a humanitarian blurb on his CV? Erik didn't need that on his CV. He lived it.

You don't need no stinking blurb, were Olivia's words.

"I'm glad you didn't give up, Erik. And I'm glad that you spoke to Olivia before you almost did give up," I said, reaching for his hand between us. He hooked his pointer finger with mine, and tugged at it playfully, grinning.

"I'm glad, too," he said as I unhooked my pinkie finger and resumed eating. "So, how is Michael?"

I shrugged. "He's fine, thanks. He seems to be progressing normally, according to my Everything You Need To Know About Your Toddler book. He's not exactly talking the number of words the book says he should, but in all other things, he's your normal toddler."

"That's good," he said. We ate in silence for the rest of the meal, speaking only about the weather and how the sound of the waves outside was such a nice break from all the sounds of the city. When we finished, we put away the left-overs in, rinsed and loaded the dishes in the dishwasher, and returned to the studio so I could retrieve my waist pack.

"Thank you for dinner," I said. "It was delicious. Thai food is actually my favorite."

"That's good to know," he said. "I'm glad I caught you before you jogged home. Four miles is a long way."

I shrugged. "Not too long. It's really just two if you take the Strand and cut through one of the streets, and I walk most of the way anyway."

We got into his car and as I buckled myself in, Erik handed me a small black box.

"I want you to have this," he said, as he placed a black remote control in my hand. "It's the remote control for the garage door. That way, instead of parking outside in the alley, you can just drive in. It is a two-car garage."

I would have objected, but the look on his face told me it was better I didn't. I'd gotten so used to refusing offers of help, considering them as acts of pity, that I knew better than to think the same with Erik. We had an arrangement in regards to the studio he'd given me access to, and so far, I was holding up my end pretty well, just as he was with his.

I thanked him and pressed the button, just to be sure. The garage door next to his spot slid open. I pressed it again and it rolled back down. "Cool," I whispered, suppressing a grin as I looked out the window. As he backed up the car, I noticed that it was only nine thirty. Still early enough for him to drop me off and have the rest of the evening to himself.

We drove in silence, the four miles feeling much farther than it was. I told him to just drop me off at the curb but he parked the car in the driveway anyway. One thing about Erik. He was stubborn.

"Would you mind if I take a look at this cupboard that needs some fixing?" He asked as he switched off the engine. "Then I can leave you alone if you want."

Seeing Erik's puppy dog eyes at work, I nodded and we entered the house. In the kitchen, cans of food and plastic storage containers filled the counter beneath a bare three-shelf cupboard that was leaning precariously forward.

"You can barely reach the first shelf, Sam," he chuckled as he walked around the shelf, checking all angles of the cupboard. "Everything in here's designed for a tall person."

"Eunice was a tall woman, but I use a step stool," I said. "I'm used to being vertically challenged - even in my own home."

Standing on a chair, Erik popped off the second and third shelves, setting them aside by the dining room table. "It's an easy job and I can do it for you, if you want," he said. "It'll take me a few minutes. I'll just need the drill."

"You don't have to do this, Erik," I said. "You could be out there having more fun than doing this."

"I am having fun. Besides, it's about to fall off. Probably one or two screws loose at the top, which makes it quite dangerous." He got up on the counter and crouching, he inspected the back of the cupboard a bit more thoroughly. "I can do this right now if you get me your drill. You do have one, right?"

"Of course, I do!" I retorted and hurried into the garage to get it. When I returned, Erik raised an eyebrow at the sight of the pink Makita but shrugged. He then proceeded to fix the cupboard the best he could. I did my best to hold the bottom of the cupboard steady - even if it didn't need it. But I needed to feel useful. I was also afraid it would come off the wall and crush us both - so I figured I might as well be ready.

He finished the job in five minutes, and as he checked and double-checked, there was no denying that the cupboard was firmly settled back against the wall. He popped the shelves back into the cabinet before helping me put all the cans and plastic containers back. We finished in twenty minutes and though he asked me what else had to be done, I told him he'd done enough. Still, Erik prodded, and for the next half hour, we walked through the house. He proceeded to tighten screws and hammer in nails, and even re-attach curtain rods that Michael had taken down while pulling on the curtains the previous week.

"Well, Doctor handyman, I guess you've done all the fixing that's required for one night," I said. "It's quite late and I bet you need your beauty sleep."

Erik grinned, hands on his hips, looking quite proud of himself. "Guess your house is all fixed up again. No longer a fixer-upper."

"Thanks to you. Would you like to sit down and have something to drink?" I turned on the TV to some action movie channel and rummaged through the refrigerator looking for something other than water and milk.

"Water's fine with me, Sam," he called out from the living room. He was standing in front of the wall filled with photographs of Michael. There were also framed photographs of Rosie and Chuck.

"Are you sure you just want water? Because I have some wine and even some beer, though they're left over from a barbecue back when Rosie was still...well, you know." I really should just toss them, I thought, but it was one of the last bottles of wine Rosie and I had shared together.

"Water's fine, Sam."

I handed him a glass of iced water and we both sat down on the couch. It felt good to have accomplished everything in my home repair list, even if all I had to do was hand him the screws or help out. David often volunteered to do them, but he never failed to remind me how I'd be lost without him. Having some things fixed at the expense of feeling like crap didn't sit well with me. Not anymore.

"Is there anything you can't do?" I asked. "I know we talked about this before, but you're not only a doctor, but you're good with babies, and you're also quite good with a drill. And you make a pretty mean rice crispy treat. "

He shrugged. "That's about it, I'm afraid. I can't draw a stick figure to save my life, nor write in cursive as you once reminded me. I'm quite imperfect - which I hear is normal for about 99 percent of the world population."

We sat next to each other on the couch, our thighs touching, and for the first time since I'd met him, it didn't feel strange or uncomfortable. I was tired from the day but pleased that I'd been able to fix quite a few things, some of them with Erik's help.