“Have you seen this house before?” My bewildered wife asks Harper.
“Just in my head!” she says, pointing to her head. “I imagine it!”
“Wow. Well you were pretty spot on. It’s even the same color.”
Okay technically, her drawing was just a basic two story house that she used a blue crayon to draw, and I’m sure hundreds of houses in town look the same as a toddler’s drawing of a house. It’s not like me to believe in some kind of magic where my kid manifested the perfect house on a piece of paper, but coincidences are cool, too. And I just can’t shake the idea that this house is something special.
We’ve been sitting at this stop sign for a long time, but no other cars are around. This part of town is cozy and quiet--wouldn’t it be perfect to raise a family here?
I look both ways at the intersection and then drive forward, turning left and pulling into the driveway.
“What are you doing?” Keanna asks. She grabs my arm as if squeezing hard will somehow make the truck stop.
“There’s no cars here,” I say, parking at the end of the driveway. “Let’s take a look around.”
“I don’t know…” She chews on her bottom lip. “That feels like trespassing.”
I shrug. “There’s a for sale sign.”
Her hand grips the door handle--not like she’s about to get out but like she desperately wants to stay inside. “But it’s a for sale by owner sign, not like a legit real estate company sign. And it looks like it’s a million years old. The owner might be some crazy lunatic who calls the cops on us.”
I grin at her overactive imagination. She’s gotten less likely to take any risks since she became a mom. It’s one of the things I adore about her, always putting our family’s safety first. “I’m pretty sure no one’s home. But you girls can stay in the truck just in case. I’m gonna look around.”
“I want to come!” Harper says.
“No, stay here,” Keanna says. “Daddy is being crazy but we are going to be smart and stay here.”
“It’s okay,” Harper says. “I want it to be our new house!”
“It says for sale, not rent,” Keanna says. “And that sign is so old, it’s probably not legit anymore.”
“I’m gonna go look.” I give her a sheepish grin, hoping she doesn’t stop me. If she really objects, then I won’t do it. She doesn’t. In fact, there’s a little sparkle in her eyes that tells me she’s just a curious as I am about this house.
I pop open my door and step onto the gravel driveway, my wife nervously watching me from the truck. This isn’t something I’d normally do, but I just have a good feeling about this place. It looks exactly like Harper’s drawings, like she imagined it into existing for real. Isn’t that work checking out?
My hopes lessen as I walk up the long driveway. The front yard is gorgeous, and I can see a wooden fence in the back, so hopefully it’s in good condition and goes around the back yard fully. It looks good from here, but it stretches out far down the left side of the house. It must be a huge property. I wonder how many acres are included? To the left, a small white house sits about two acres away. To the right, the next house is triple the distance away. Everything is nice and spread out here.
But the house needs work.
A lot of work.
The paint is peeling and faded. Up close, I realize the wooden shutters and porch used to be white, but now it’s peeled so much it’s taken on the color of the wood beneath it. The two steps up to the porch are sagging and rotten, which means the whole house could be rotten, too. Maybe this place isn’t livable, and is only for sale for the land value.
I risk a step onto the wobbly porch step. The actual porch is solid beneath my feet but those steps could use some work. A forgotten porch swing gently creaks as a cool October breeze rolls by. The swing would need replacing, but come on? It’s a porch swing! On a porch that was just made for this kind of thing. Arko could relax on the porch beside us.
I can picture Harper growing up on that swing, and one day, Keanna and me retired, grandparents, sitting on that swing and enjoying our life together.
I walk up to the front door. Doors. There’s two of them, a giant double-door entryway that is just begging for Keanna’s holiday decorating touches. I peer inside the nearest window. The house is empty. This must be a dining room, judging by the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The flowery wallpaper would need to go, but the wooden floors look great.
I walk down the porch and peer into the other window. This is a large open living room that goes all the way back to the kitchen, with some wooden columns for support. This house is elegant, Victorian-ish but somehow more modern. I don’t know much about architecture, but it’s stunning in here. Not the same boring contractor grade homes that we’re used to in our neighborhood.
A sliver of excitement rises in my chest. In fact, I’m downright giddy. I’m a grown ass man who is so giddy I could do a little dance on the porch right now.
I don’t.
But I could.
I leap off the porch, avoiding those two questionable stairs and jog back to the truck.
