“If it’s half as nice as it looks from the outside, it’ll be wonderful,” Lindsay said, turning to him. “I can’t believe you did this. This is going to be a whole new start for us. I love it,” she declared with finality.
“I think I could get a great deal on it. But listen—as much as I hope you like it, I’m still not sure about us coming back to Rosemont. I know you haven’t forgotten why you moved away.”
“Of course I haven’t forgotten. But the accident was a long time ago and I’ve let that one incident cast a shadow over all the good things that came before it. My dad overreacted which is where I get it from. This was once a good place, a wholesome place. I shouldn’t judge it by that one thing.”
“I always thought ‘Rosemont’ sounded more like the name of a cemetery than a town. In another twenty years, that might be exactly what this whole area becomes. What did we pass—three cemeteries in the last ten minutes? Jesus, the amount of dead probably outnumber the living already.”
“Paul, don’t talk like that in front of Cilly.”
“I’m just saying, don’t fall in love too quickly. I’m glad we’re a getting a new start, and I’m glad you’re excited. Just don’t get too excited.”
Lindsay rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the house.
Paul smiled, wondering if Lindsay was really this happy or if it was her anti-depressants kicking in. A minute later, a dirty white station wagon pulled in behind their Accord.
“Hiya, folks,” Helen Carroll said, walking around the car toward them. “Sorry if I’m late. I was chattin’ with Lewis Stroud at the post office. Don’t ask the man about his garden; you’ll never get about your business! Well now, who’s this little beauty queen?”
“Tell her your name,” he whispered to her.
“Cilly,” the girl mumbled.
The lady laughed. “Sounded like you said ‘Silly!’ That your name—‘Silly?’”
“It’s Cecilia, but she’s always said ‘Cilly’, so that’s what we call her,” Paul said.
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” she said, taking Cilly’s hand into her own. “My name’s Mrs. Carroll, but you can call me Helen, seeing as how we’ll be neighbors and all.”
She introduced herself to Lindsay and they shook hands. Lindsay kept looking anxiously at the house.
“Neighbors? I didn’t know that. Where do you live, Mrs. Carroll?” Paul asked.
She pointed down the street. “You can’t really see it from here; we’re the next house down. Anderson winds around quite a bit; ‘bout a half mile, I’d say.”
“Is that as the crow flies?” Lindsay asked. There was a silence then. It looked like Mrs. Carroll didn’t know what she was talking about.
“No, dear, that’s as the old lady drives, I suppose!”
Mrs. Carroll put an arm around Lin, which made her jump a little. “I can tell you want to get inside; only thing I can’t tell is if it’s because you want to see the house or just get out of this chill! I think today was the first time we didn’t reach sixty. Since last spring, that is.” Mrs. Carroll turned to Cilly and said, “Do you know what this house is made of, dear? What are those red things?”
“Bricks,” she sighed, seemingly insulted by the infantile question.
“That’s right! You know they’re the best thing to keep this cold out, too, right? Not to mention the Big Bad Wolf, right?”
Mrs. Carroll waited, but Cilly didn’t say anything. She looked at her mother for help. “You know, ‘The Three Little Pigs?’” Mrs. Carroll asked.
Lin took Cilly, who wrapped herself around her mother like a chimp, one leg curled around her front and one around her back. “I don’t think she’s heard that one yet,” Lin said, looking at him questioningly, but Paul knew that she was acting. Lindsay would never let her daughter hear what she considered violence masked in a children’s story.
After an uncomfortable pause, Mrs. Carroll dug through her purse and found the key.
The smell of mildew and cat pee hit them as they walked through the back door and into the kitchen. Within the first two minutes, Lin had sneezed three times. Cilly was warming up to Mrs. Carroll, and the two of them went ahead.
“I’m going to be in school this year,” he heard Cilly saying to her. “Not preschool, either. Regular school. Kindee-garden.”
He couldn’t hear what Mrs. Carroll said, but she sounded impressed. Lin sneezed again. “It’s okay, we can clean it,” she whispered as they followed Mrs. Carroll through the rooms.
“I like it so far. I mean, except for the cat smell. The décor looks like time froze here sometime in the mid-seventies, kind of Brady Bunch, but we can take care of that. It’ll be fun. It’ll be like we’re living in our own TV home makeover show. We can just take one room at a time and totally make it our own.”
“Well, whose else would it be?”
“Plus,” Lin continued, as if she hadn’t heard him, “all the rooms seem so much bigger than in our apartment, and what are these—nine foot ceilings? Ten?”
“Of course the rooms are bigger than our apartment, hon. But you’re right about the ceilings—most new construction ceilings are eight feet, I think. But these are at least nine. I’m glad you like it. I like it too,” Paul said, but he couldn’t get one thing out of his mind—the cat pee had reminded him that this house wasn’t just four walls and a roof. It had been someone’s home for many years, and the biggest question he had was the one he couldn’t bring himself to ask, at least not in front of Lin—in which room had the body been found?
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