The Brother. Rein Raud

always make these kinds of decisions jointly.”

      “Just as I thought. And I presume he’s the Villa’s actual owner, is that correct?”

      “No . . . in truth, the house and assets are in my name. My husband is an entrepreneur, and he thought it would be better that way; I don’t really understand that much about it.”

      “Whatever is more convenient for you both,” the man said, and smiled. “If I may, then I’ll stop by tomorrow at the same time, we’ll fill in the blanks, and I’ll get to work.”

      “I’ll expect you then.”

       The days when I also have some piece of unexpected news to tell my husband are so pleasantly uncommon.

      She remembered it later that evening, when her husband returned home.

      “You know, Mikk, an odd man came here offering to be our gardener.”

      “Great,” Mikk said without lifting his eyes from the newspaper.

      “So, today’s that day again,” Laila said and smiled when she entered the antique shop.

      “That it is,” the antiquarian replied, beaming. He had gone to the barber to have his goatee neatly trimmed; was wearing his best blue suit, a white shirt with a starched collar, and a black tie with a gold pin; and had even rummaged around to find his walking cane with a carved bone lion’s head.

      “I’d like to see the car that doesn’t stop when I raise it to cross the street,” he said, chuckling.