Page 13 of The Sound of Harmony

Ben slammed on the brakes. Two girls and a boy had jumped out in front of them. They’d appeared between parked cars, crossing in the middle of the street. They all carried backpacks and wore clothing with the CU logo on it. They moved on without noticing Ben’s car.

Ben pounded the steering wheel and pulled in gasps of air. “They didn’t even look.”

“They’re kids. They’re immortal.”

“Why are you moving here anyway? Why not rent a place in Columbus that’s move-in ready instead of going through the trouble to fix up a place you’re not even going to stay in?”

Kendrick scoffed. “I’m not living in Columbus. At least in a college town I have the chance at some culture.”

“Columbus is a college town as well, monsieur,” Ben said.

“Not like this,” Kendrick said. “Cannondale University is a small liberal arts school. I don’t think they even have a football team.”

“Look who is…how do you say…a snob,” Ben said, his accent thicker.

“I believe you mean ‘polished’ and ‘refined.’ Besides, I already have the house.”

Ben drove down Main Street, which had a surprising number of interesting places to shop and eat, and an equally surprising lack of chain stores. The buildings rose four or five stories above them, and were filled with what he assumed were offices or apartments. A post office and a library faced each other at the end of the block.

Coming from Washington, Kendrick was used to skyscrapers, prominent museums, and signs warning that this area or that area had restricted access. Cannondale seemed a lot more welcoming. More pedestrian-friendly too, which would be convenient since he’d be walking everywhere.

As they got closer, Kendrick started to recognize landmarks. He’d driven this route with his parents dozens of times and tuned out the GPS in Ben’s phone, substituting directions of his own. Left on Turnberry Street by that funny flat-roofed house. Cross the railroad tracks. Turn at the ice cream shop. Two more streets, then turn onto Cricket Lane. His ribs felt like they were constricting in a tight band around his lungs, making his breaths shallow as he leaned forward in his seat, eager for a glimpse of the house.

He was hoping for a moment alone when they arrived. He’d planned on asking Ben to let him have a few minutes to open the house. He needed to let it air out a bit and let his memories air out as well. But the white truck with The Clutter Whisperer logo was already parked in the driveway, and Emma stood next to it, poking at her phone.

Ben pulled in front of the house and gave a breathy whistle. “Is that her?”

“That’s Emma.” Kendrick didn’t like the way Ben was looking at her, or the way he pushed back his shoulders and smoothed down his shirt as he did so. Ben jerked the wheel and came to an abrupt stop that forced Kendrick against the seatbelt.

“You can stay in the car if you want,” Kendrick said. “Or come back for me. I’d planned on doing this solo.”

“Not a chance. You need backup for this.”

Before Kendrick could protest, Ben was out of the car and halfway across the lawn, hand outstretched.

Kendrick reached for his duffle bag in the back seat, where he’d put a tape measure. He levered himself out of the car and put a hand on the door frame to steady himself when a flash of vertigo threatened to send him sprawling. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Now was not the time for his ear to start acting up.

When the dizziness passed, he made his way carefully over to the truck, where Ben and Emma were already deep in conversation.

“That’s what I think, too.” Ben laughed. “That’s what we were saying all the way here.”

“What were we saying?” Kendrick asked.

“Ah, there you are.” Ben clapped Kendrick on the back, still using his French accent. “Emma, may I present my friend Kendrick Bell. Kendrick, this is Emma Gibson.”

Kendrick felt like he’d missed his cue and come in on the wrong beat. What was Ben doing, presenting Kendrick, as if Ben was running the show and Kendrick was a minor player? This was his house. He’d hired Emma. He was the one moving in. Ben had no reason to be standing so close to her, or smiling so broadly, or introducing him as if Ben and Emma were old pals and Kendrick was cutting in.

He flicked his eyes toward Ben and then held out his hand, making his voice as American as possible. “Nice to meet you.”

She shook his hand briefly, but he didn’t catch what she said. It was probably something socially acceptable and neutral, like how nice it was to meet him too, but he had no idea what it was because his right ear was stuffed up and Ben was talking in his other ear and there was a kind of buzzing in his brain, like Emma had made it short-circuit.

He didn’t know where she got the photo for her website, but her picture did not do her justice. Now that she existed in three dimensions, he didn’t quite believe she was real. She was tall. Five nine or ten maybe? He was six foot and they could almost look eye to eye. She was dressed in skinny jeans and a loose white shirt with her hair in a high ponytail. A few escaped strands danced across her temples in the breeze. She gazed at him with deep brown eyes and gave him a small smile that made his pulse hum.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Kendrick said, which was the most bland, obvious thing to say but it was the best he could manage. He flicked the end of the tape measure out, then back again.

“Yes,” Ben said. “Thank you so much.”

Emma looked back and forth between them. “When we spoke on the phone, you didn’t mention a partner. Will you both be moving in?”