“Do you have the first clue about what you’re doing?” came a man’s voice from behind him.
Larry turned to see his nearest neighbor Nash Walkins standing in work boots, blue jeans and a faded T-shirt. Nash wore his usual orange baseball cap, and his burly arms were folded across his chest.
He owned a fishing store and boat rental business now, but Larry had learned he was once an architect in New York City.
“Not even the slightest,” Larry admitted. He’d hoped that by revealing the guts of the sagging wall, it would become obvious how to fix it. He had a number of reference books and some faded building plans for a similar house.
He’d decided to start with the dining room, since it seemed to be in the worst shape, followed by the upstairs bathroom, the kitchen and, well, pretty much everything else except the master bedroom, which had been redecorated by the previous owner.
Nash took a step forward. “You’re gonna want a jack to support that while you cut out the dry rot.”
A jack. Good idea. “Can I get one around here?”
“You’ll have to head up to Asheboro. Drucker’s will have them in stock.”
Larry nodded. Not today, then. “I have to get back to Charlotte by six.”
“Giving a lecture?”
Larry hesitated for only a moment. “I’ve got a date.” He liked the sound of that. He really liked the sound of that.
Nash grinned his admiration. “I don’t suppose she has a sister.”
“Her sister’s reconciling with her ex.”
“Now, that’s a damn shame.”
“Are you going through a dry spell?” Larry had been up to Myrtle Pond at least once a week for the past two months. From what he could see, there was a fairly steady parade of attractive women on Nash’s deck next door.
“Always on the lookout.”
“For the right woman or the next woman?”
Nash measured the height of the dining room wall. “For the next right woman, of course.”
“Then it’s not going to be Crystal’s sister,” Larry warned. “Or anyone else she knows, for that matter.”
Nash selected a couple of two-by-fours from the pile at one end of the room. “Don’t worry. I won’t mess things up with your girlfriend.”
“Not girlfriend,” Larry corrected.
Nash turned a dial on the table saw. “First date?”
“Second. Well, second if you count Pizza Heaven.”
Nash paused and looked back at Larry. “You took a woman to Pizza Heaven? How long did you say you were married?”
“Thirty years.”
“Man, are you out of practice.”
“Her niece and nephew came along,” Larry defended.
“You got any metal strapping?”
“Sure.” Larry exited to the living room, hunting his way through a line of cardboard boxes.
He’d pretty much given the guy at the hardware store free rein to load him up with tools and supplies. He’d also ordered a series of home renovation books. He was becoming familiar with the terminology and tool usage, but he was stifling the urge to read his way through the series before he got started. The whole point of this hobby was to get his nose out of books and to move his mind from the theoretical to the practical.
The table saw was whining when he reentered the dining room.
“You might want to think about steel-toed boots,” said Nash, glancing pointedly at Larry’s tan suede sneakers.
“Guess I haven’t made it to that chapter yet.”
Nash gave a barrel laugh. “Grab a set of cutters. We’re going to strap three two-by-fours together and brace the frame.” He pointed. “Then you can start cutting out the dry rot.”
“Got it,” said Larry, happy to have the advice.
“Don’t you want to know how long?” asked Nash.
“How long what?”
“How long to make the straps?”
Larry gave Nash a look of disbelief. “It’s three two-by-fours. Are you seriously asking if I’ll have trouble with the math?”
“My mistake,” said Nash.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Larry. “I’m still getting over the fact that Fibonacci seemed to have no role in the development of standard building materials.”
“Maybe not. But the golden ratio is everywhere in architecture.”
“Not in this house,” said Larry. Damn shame, that. From the Parthenon to Notre Dame to the United Nations Building, the ratio of 1.618 had been used to provide beauty and balance.
Then, Larry had an idea. A fabulous, exciting idea. “At least, not yet,” he added.
Nash glanced around. “We’re going to rebuild your house using Fibonacci numbers?”
“Why not?” The more Larry thought about it, the more he liked it. It would help him engage in the project in a more meaningful way. He could work on the plans while he was back in Charlotte, making his time at Myrtle Pond more efficient.
“Sounds like fun,” said Nash. “But first, can we make sure the wall doesn’t fall down?”
TALKING WITH NASH TODAY about the golden ratio had Larry analyzing Crystal’s face across the candlelit table at Rouladen’s. He could easily see why she had been picked as a model. Beauty and balance. Her lips, her nose, her chin her forehead. He was willing to bet she was a collection of one-point-six-one-eights.
He smiled.
“What?” she asked, pausing, her wineglass poised in midair.
“I was thinking you have phi all over your face.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Math humor,” he confessed.
“You think my face is funny?”
“I think your face is perfect. Mathematically speaking. The ratio of your nose to your lips, and your eyes to your chin, your pupils to your eyelashes, and the spiral of your ears.”
“My ears?”
“Yes.” He let his gaze rest on her perfect ears.
“This is a good thing?”
“It’s a very good thing. It means that not only me, but everybody in the world thinks you’re beautiful.”
She set down the glass of merlot, lips thinning, and a line forming between her eyebrows. “Is that what you’re looking for?”
It was his turn to squint in confusion.
“A mathematically perfect woman?” she asked.
“I’m not looking for anything,” he answered honestly. And he wasn’t. Crystal had breezed into his life that morning in the garage, and their connection was something he wanted to explore. But, beyond that, he had no expectations whatsoever.
“Maybe to give you mathematically perfect children?” she continued.
“Huh?” Larry had already raised his son. Grandchildren might be nice at some point, but they’d have nothing to do with mathematics-except that one and one sometimes made three.
“They talked about the golden ratio and perfect beauty, while I was modeling.”
“And you have it.” It was a simple fact.
“I don’t want it,” she responded sharply.
“If it helps, balanced facial features also tend to denote good health.”
“Lucky me.”
“Is there some reason you don’t want to be beautiful?” It hardly struck him as a severe handicap.
She gave a frustrated sigh. “It gets in the way.”
“Of what?”
“Of people, men in particular, having any interest in anything else.”
“We can talk about your IQ for a while. Or your cookbook. Or your niece and nephew. Or your dog. How is Rufus, anyway?”
She didn’t smile.
“Seriously,” said Larry. “How is he?”
She finally seemed to relax. “I think he’s still waiting for his owner to show up. But he was great last night. He woke me up when David was having a nightmare.”
Larry was assailed by memories of Steven as a little boy. His bad dreams were few and far between. But every once in a while, he’d show up in their bedroom, his scruffy, brown teddy bear dangling from one hand.
“Is David okay now?” Larry asked.
“He seemed fine this morning. But I’m a little worried…”
Larry waited, while Crystal focused on the tiny, yellow flame flickering between them. The soft sounds of a string quartet and muted conversation floated around the high-ceilinged room.