“Yep, with the help of my mentor, Richard Haller. This was my third house and my favorite for obvious reasons. I intended to sell the house plans, but after I finished, I knew it was mine. I built it instead.”
“What’s it called?” Will asked, gazing at the slanted ceiling strung with a jumble of hanging silver pendant lights. The ceiling ended at a high white wall that ran between two walls of corrugated metal.
“I’m not sure it has a label. If I had to, I’d call it Modern Refurbished. I took liberties when it came time to focus on aesthetics. The house itself follows the tradition of modernism. I thought a lot about Frank Lloyd Wright when I designed it. I wanted the inner and outer life of the house to flow.” She gestured at the wall of windows that looked out on her backyard, where a mature cottonwood tree stood surrounded by wooden benches. “But I also love re-purposing old materials. This floor is made from palettes.”
“It’s cool,” Will said, dropping his duffel bag behind a chair and leaning over her coffee table stacked with books on unique structures.
“Get comfortable. I’m going to walk Archie, and then I’ll pop some food in the oven.”
“WHY DID YOU BECOME AN ARCHITECT?” Will asked, eating the last egg roll and scooting closer to the fire, where he stuffed a pillow beneath his head and reclined on the floor.
Sarah took a sip of wine and pulled her legs beneath her on the couch.
“My dad spent most of our childhood sketching his dream house. He always said one day he’d find a little lake in the forest and buy a piece of land, and we’d build the house. Unfortunately, he never did. Partially because the design was a nightmare and never could have worked, but also because it was the dream more than anything else that he loved. His passion moved onto me. I drew dream houses too. When it came time to declare a major in college, I’d already known for a decade what I wanted to do.”
“That’s cool,” Will said. “My dad was a technical writer. I almost feel like I should do it too. I don’t even know why.”
“Did he love it?”
“Nah, not really, but I don’t know many adults who love their jobs. Do you?”
The first person who popped into her mind was Sammy. He had loved his job.
“Some of them do, the happiest ones do. I would never have become an architect if I didn’t love it.”
He closed his eyes and yawned.
“Why aren’t you with family, Will? Not to pry. I’m just surprised.”
“My dad was an only child and wasn’t close with his parents. They live in Boston. My mom has a brother that lives downstate.”
“And you didn’t want to live with them?”
“They believe my dad is a murderer.”
Sarah sighed. “That’s terrible.”
“Yeah, and logical too. They’re not exactly open-minded. They never liked my dad to begin with. I’d rather live in a dumpster.”
“Well I’m happy you’ve found better options than that.”
He grinned.
“Yeah, the arcade is a slight upgrade. I’ve had friends offer, but…” He opened his eyes and looked at her. “They all sort of tiptoe around me like I’m fragile. I’m not fragile, my dad wasn’t a murderer, and I prefer to be on my own. I have a job. I’m saving for my own place.”
“What’s your job?”
“The Computer Caper.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a stained business card, handing it over.
“There’s no phone number. Your name’s not even on here.”
“I prefer to work incognito. My business is mostly word-of-mouth. I need that back.” He plucked the card from her hand.
“Do you only have one business card?”
“I had about twenty, but I’ve passed them all out. I’ll order more one of these days, but why bother? I’ve got more work than I have time for.”
CORRIE
I LAID Isis in her crib, her lower lip trembling with breath, and kissed her forehead before returning to the great room where Fletcher sat, legs crossed, hands clasped in his lap.
“She’s beautiful,” Fletcher said.
“Thanks,” I told him, guilt crowding my brain. “Since Sammy died, I‘ve lost touch with being the mommy she deserves. I can‘t tell you the last time I got on the floor and played with her. I feel terrible.”
“It’s not your fault, Corrie.”
I walked to the window, where mist swept off the lake and crawled over the shoreline. A mass of dark sky prowled the horizon; soon rain would drench the house and lawn.
“It is, though. Parents don’t get to stop. No catastrophe justifies abandoning our children. My mother was a drinker, an alcoholic. She abandoned us, and I hated her for it. Now…” I trailed off, unable to say the words, hating myself for the comparison.
Fletcher looked uncertain, but then seemed to find the words he wanted.
“When Lauren died…” He paused. “Lauren was her real name, not Ann. When she died, I ceased. I mean it, every single routine in my life stopped. I switched from drinking soda to black coffee. I stopped sleeping. I chucked my TV out the window.” He chuckled. “I couldn’t tolerate any aspect of my life that reminded me of Lauren. Eventually, the new habits replaced the old, the new me was born, and that’s how I survived. It may be a long time before you’re on the floor again with Isis, Corrie. My advice? Let go of the mother you used to be and let a new one be born. For both of you.”
I smiled, forced my feet across the room and perched on the edge of a maroon chair, planting my hands on the carved mahogany arms to stop their restlessness. “Tell me about Lauren.”
He gazed at me a moment longer, and then nodded.
“I met Lauren in college. She was studying to be a teacher. I was a wayward soul, taking philosophy and psychology courses, but had a no-preference major.”
He shifted in his chair and glanced around the house again.
“I must admit, Corrie, this house seems like a strange place to recover.”
I stiffened, a little flare of defensiveness lighting in my head.
“It’s big,” I said.
He laughed.
“Big’s not even the half of it. It’s…” he paused and looked toward the fireplace. The black mouth yawned empty beneath the grinning pagan face. “Unsettling.”
“It grows on you,” I murmured.
“I’m sure it does, though I sense an invasion more than a growing.”
I frowned but didn’t argue. I needed this man, and I didn’t want a petty squabble over the strange house to send him on his way.
“Tell me about Lauren,” I prodded.
He returned his eyes to mine.
“We were oil and water in the early days. I liked to sit around chain-smoking Virginia Slims and discussing Tolstoy. She headed a bunch of activity groups - sand volleyball, ski-club, softball. She was in a sorority when I met her. I poked fun at her. She could have blown me off, should have. She smiled and said, ‘Join us.’ I didn’t. I would not reduce myself to the sun-tanned, always smiling Phi Beta Whatta’s, but then I saw her one day in this little park at the edge of campus. She was sitting alone, reading a book. Something happened. That strange magic that has people using words like ‘the one’ and ‘love at first sight.’ The words don’t do the experience justice, and the hard thing is the moment is fleeting and you might only get it once in your life.”
I nodded, balling my hands into fists in my lap and struggling to breathe. I knew the feeling. I’d experienced the magic.
He hesitated and looked at his feet.
“I’m sorry, Corrie. I shouldn’t have gone there. This is fresh for you, and I remember those encounters of my own after she died. It was like a knife grinding in my chest every time a couple kissed or laughed or held hands. Happiness had become like poison to me.”