It was totally unexpected. Portia had taken over Karen's bedroom next to his, closing and locking the intervening door as if forever. He had gone to sleep in his room, with her still distant and uncommunicative in hers.
He awakened to the smell of coffee and a cooking breakfast. He sat up quickly, wondering if Karen's death and the events that followed it had been a bad dream, and when he assured himself they had not, wondering if he had at last lost his mind.
Clifton quickly dressed and entered the kitchen.
Portia was there.
She smiled at him.
She said, "Good morning, Clifton." Just like Karen.
He stood speechless, staring.
"Breakfast is about ready."
"Wh—what's come over you?" he said numbly, both pleased and dumbfounded, his eyes relishing the lovely figure in one of Karen's sheerest nightgowns.
"You were right," she said, tossing her head to bring the blonde hair away from her face and smiling. Her teeth were every bit as even and white as Karen's. "I just realized it. As you said, there are nine years ahead of us. I might as well make the best of it."