WISHBONE (7 page)

“Oh, Julien,” Rachael gushed, scampering down a long staircase inside. “It’s amazing.  It’s so beautiful. There’s baseboard heating…no oil.” She knew this was one of his biggest concerns. “There’s an apple orchard and a maple grove out back. I can make maple syrup! There’s a thing…on top, like a room, but open…”

“A widow’s walk,” he provided, studying her bright eyes and wide grin for any sign of panic. She was talking so fast he could hardly understand her. She was more animated than she had been in so long; so suddenly normal.

“Oh Jules… come see.” She grabbed his hand and led him upstairs moving him through the house at warp speed.

“Okay, okay, slow down. Where’s the agent?”

What was her name again?

Rachael kept a tight grip of his hand, allowing him only a few seconds to take in each room before moving on to the next. 

The home was beautifully maintained, both inside and out. The wood floors were polished and newly refinished. Each room had decorative molding with exquisite detail. It was vividly apparent that someone had done a lot of work here, carefully bringing the home up to date without compromising the original design.

Rachael stopped to throw her arms around his neck. She whispered into his ear, “Arlette said we could make an offer on the furniture if we want to keep it.”

Arlette! That’s her name.

Before Julien could respond, Rachael let go of him and ran off again. “And here, look…” She called out.

He followed her into the master bedroom where she tugged him toward an iron spiral staircase leading up into the widow’s walk. 

There were no windows sealing them in, only large open sills where glass panes could have been. Julien’s assumption had been correct; the view seemed endless from the widow’s walk, as far out as his eyes could see into the distance. He stepped ahead of her and grasped the ledge, leaning out and drinking in the fresh air. Above him, the triangular ceiling shaded the deck. He looked down at the roof below, then out into the surrounding view. It was spectacular.  He went to the other side and saw the barn where he spotted the ducks again swimming in the pond. A quick flash of movement caught his attention once again, and his eyes darted toward the coop. Positive now, he was seeing something real, though he could find no evidence to prove it.  He would not mention any of this to Rachael for fear of setting off her anxiety.

“Come, let me show you the kitchen…the dining room…and there’s a mudroom, Jules.  It has a sink and this huge table. Not a small mudroom—
a huge room
, right off the kitchen. It would be perfect for me to get back into sculpture, or to paint. Just come, let me show you.” She charged down the spiral stairs again.

“Rachael, slow down on this thing.” Before he could reach the bottom at his own, more cautious pace, she was gone. He heard her footsteps moving quickly down the main staircase and followed after her. 

In the kitchen, they found Arlette and an array of paperwork spread out on an old farm table in the middle of the room. Julien briefly scanned the kitchen. It was recently remodeled with new wood-faced appliances and updated cabinetry, granite counter tops and a slate floor.

We’re in over our heads.
 

“Okay, you two. Your wife loves the place. What do you think, Mr. Grenier? Have you ever seen a home with such charm and personality?”

Julien nodded. “It is exquisite, yes. Nevertheless, Ms. Vandermark, this home is considerably higher in price than we planned.”

“Mr. Grenier, you can’t put a price on happiness.” She stared accusingly at him through bifocal glasses then looked over at Rachael, who was busy opening cabinets.

Julien followed Arlette’s manipulative gaze and he too watched Rachael for the moment.  It was good to see her happy and full of life again. Nevertheless, he needed to be the practical one.

“Rachael, we should go home and talk, no?”

She whined, “Julien, no. If we don’t make an offer now, someone else will make one today. Arlette has two other couples coming to see the house after we leave.”

Julien hadn’t heard her child-like whine in ages. He watched Arlette digging inside her briefcase then asked, “You said the price was negotiable?”

He studied the agent closely and added, “and Rachael mentioned the furniture can be part of the sale.”

Arlette uncapped a pen. “The seller is quite motivated,” she replied. “Providing your offer is reasonable, that is.”

Julien looked away, pretending to examine the flattop stove.

He turned back to the agent. “You said the roof was new?” He hadn’t a clue what he was doing, or what questions to ask, but thought he should at least pretend to play the game.

“Last summer…I can show you the receipts.” Arlette began digging through her briefcase. “I also have the latest survey here and an estimate. You’ll have your own done, of course, but the home is estimated well over the asking price. Not a crack to be found in the foundation. They don’t build ‘em like this one anymore,”  she said. 

Never make a decision like this on impulse.

 He looked back to Rachael who was mussing with curtains in the mudroom. Over his wife’s shoulder, through the window, he could see the barn in the distance. He stared at it long enough to cause Arlette to clear her throat impatiently before turning to take a seat at the table where he and the agent began working out the details.

Rachael left them, disappearing from the kitchen. It was not long before Julien made his offer and the paperwork was packed away in Arlette’s briefcase. He had lost track of Rachael now. The home was so large she could be anywhere, but all he could focus on was that, for the first time in months, she was not attached to his side. She was venturing off on her own again, wandering about without him. This was all the reassurance he needed.  

I am making the right decision.

Arlette locked her briefcase with a loud snap. “Providing there isn’t a problem with the paperwork you’ll be the rightful owner of this home in thirty days, Mr. Grenier.” She beamed.  “That’s the beauty of a short sale.” 

Getting up from the table, she returned the chair to its appropriate place then leaned closer to Julien, whispering discretely, “I have a brother-in-law in charge of this sort of thing in town and a cousin at the bank.” She winked.

Julien unconsciously shifted away from her. “You say they’re very motivated…the current owners. When will we know if they’ve accepted our offer?”

“Your offer has already been accepted.” She grinned. “I am the owner of this home. As I said, providing there’s no problem on your end, I’ve already accepted your offer. I’m quite sure we can make this work…with your substantial down and immaculate credit, we can rush this right through.”

Julien starred at her, his mouth agape, unsure how he felt about this. 

Why hadn’t she mentioned that she was the current owner of the home?
 

He tried to figure out what her reasoning would be, or if this was even a problem, but he was baffled by her sudden disclosure and didn’t know what to think.

He decided to ask her outright. “Why didn’t you mention that you were the owner before this?”

“I didn’t want it to affect the sale. I wanted you to be honest about what you thought of the home and not feel any additional pressure,” Arlette explained.

Julien still felt somewhat slighted, suspicious, even taken.

Sensing his unease, Arlette patted his shoulder. “Mr. Grenier,” she offered. “Leave the city behind. No one’s out to get you here.” She passed behind him.

The sound of thumping and galloping erupted in the living room. Julien rose from the table just as a rambunctious golden retriever darted toward him. The young dog lurched forward, its surprisingly large mass nearly taking Julien down.

Arlette began screeching wildly. “Down, down, get down!” She tried to grab the oversized puppy, but it broke away from her and darted around the table, huffing and panting gleefully as it headed back out in the direction in which it first appeared. 

“Mr. Grenier, I am so sorry….so, so very sorry. Are you hurt?” She brushed at his jeans like a mother taking her child off the playground.

“It’s okay. I’m fine, really.” Julien stepped back, embarrassed by her touch, and brushed himself off.

“That’s Cooper’s dog. He has three of ‘em, but this one doesn’t have the sense of a deer tick. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Julien laughed and Arlette dropped her guard. “I swear I’ll have a word with Cooper—that’s your nearest neighbor by the way, a few acres down the mountain. He needs to pen that beast in once and for all.” She shook her head, still overwhelmed by the uninvited visitor. “I swear I hit that animal with my car one night. Damn thing bounced right back up, running around like a wild banshee—no worse for the wear!”

Julien pointed to the living room. “We must have left the front door open.”

“Well, I better get you folks back to your car.” Arlette moved toward the door. “Give me until Monday afternoon. I’ll check on a few things with your bank then give you a call. After that, you’re welcome to start moving your stuff up, if you’d like…I don’t mind.”

Julien ran his palm down the smooth woodwork framing the dining room. “How long have you owned this house?”

“Not long. The previous owners had a family emergency and needed out in a hurry. I knew I would have no trouble selling a home like this, so I thought I would help them out.  Young couple…shame to see them go.”

“How long did they own the home?”

“Oh…” Arlette thought hard. “I’m going to say it was about a year or so. Her mother passed away suddenly and they were inheriting another home in Colorado… or Montana, someplace like that.” She stepped out onto the porch. “I’ll meet you both by the car.” She glanced at her watch, hinting to Julien that she was suddenly in a rush.

Julien called up the stairs, “Rachael…we have to go.” 

* * * *

The ride back to their car seemed much shorter than their ride up. The entire way to the Lexus, Rachael rambled incessantly, detailing all of her plans for their new home, until finally they were saying good-bye and thanking Arlette. They got into their SUV and were about to drive away when Julien remembered something.

“Oh, one more thing, Ms. Vandermark.”

“Yes?” She stepped closer to his window.

“The coop. There are some chickens beside the barn.”

“Yes, there are
a lot
of chickens beside the barn.” She laughed.

“Yes, well, will someone be taking them? Have arrangements been made?”

“Mr. Grenier, what’s better than farm fresh eggs?”

He lowered his sunglasses with a fast tap of one finger and peered at her over the rim. “Not having to clean a chicken coop,” he answered vehemently.

She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s all taken care of, Mr. Grenier. Go home and pack your things.” She patted his arm reassuringly through the car window and changed the topic. “I’ll call you on Monday…and congratulations.” She playfully shooed them off with a wink and a smile then turned to head into her office.

Julien started the SUV and drove away, leaving Arlette behind in the rearview mirror. It would be a four-hour drive before they would set foot in their apartment again. He couldn’t help but wonder if Rachael’s miraculous change would suddenly reverse once they reached the city.

CHAPTER SIX

“You’re mounting the TV on this wall, right Mrs. G?” Big Eddie, the taller of two moving men, arms full, motioned with his chin in the direction of the nearest den wall.  

“You know, Eddie…for such a muscle bound beef-bus, you look like you’re having a tough time there,” Rachael said grinning. She and the movers had been bonding with sarcastic banter since morning.

Big Eddie, his face bright red from strain, did not argue her point. His partner, K.B. rushed to take one end of the giant screen.

Rachael studied the empty wall for a long moment. She stepped back and glanced at the furnishings. “I think its fine there,” she said, though she still wasn’t sure. She tapped a fingernail noisily against her bottom teeth, deep in thought. “Okay, yes. Put it there and we’ll move that white couch to face this direction and the den’s done guys. Next, you can unload the kitchen boxes into the mudroom; I’ll unpack them later.” She directed the movers to situate what little she and Julien had brought with them from the city. 

They were relocating with a light load, having sold nearly everything they owned in the city, in part to build up their evaporated savings, but also to say good riddance to their recently tragic past. Making it easier, none of their ultra-modern furniture would suit the old Victorian’s décor; fully furnished and consisting mostly of distressed antiques. 

Rachael was placing CD’s on built-in bookshelves when she overheard one of the men announce the time. Out of habit, her first thought was that she was late to take her pills; then she remembered her plan. While her last three weeks in the city had not been without difficult moments, she felt rejuvenated by the excitement of their then pending move, enabling her to function on a much higher level than she had in some time. She was proud of herself for overcoming her anxieties, and for allowing Julien some solitude for greater stretches of time. She had set small goals for herself, Julien making short runs to pick up a meal or coffee, leaving her home alone for brief periods. She had met these goals and was gradually regaining her pride and confidence. She was showing vast improvement every day, and silently she vowed she would battle any inkling of panic
organically
once they made their move to Kings Hollow. There would be no more pills or doctors.
None of it was doing me any good,
she thought. Nor had it helped her to cope, so what was the point of rotting her liver and perpetuating the crutch. She would have to push past her fears on her own if she ever wanted to be truly well again. In Kings Hollow, she was far from her attacker—she was safe. In only two more months, she would be taking the next and last recommended HIV test, and would be able to put even more of the trauma behind her. After all, she would be busy unpacking, settling into their new home and life—no time for anxiety here.