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“Dad would have a fit,” she said aloud. To him, this would be an historical building and he’d feel that to let it rot like this was an injustice. She could imagine his saying the owner should be put in jail. Her dad was serious about historic preservation!
She put the camera away and got out her sketch pad. She needed to make drawings of the building from different angles so she could try a variety sry thatof colorways. When she met Nell, Jecca planned to show her several possibilities for painting the little house. She could see using colors of the forest, greens and rust browns. Or she could use earth colors of sand and cream. Children’s primary colors could also work.
It took Jecca a couple of hours to make the sketches. They were simple but they showed the house from different angles. She needed to photocopy her drawings so she could color them in different ways. Lucy had a copier in her apartment, but to use it would give away what she was doing.
Jecca glanced to the left and thought how close Tristan’s house was. In her fascination with the playhouse she’d nearly forgotten her promise to look after his home. She found the key he’d spoken of in the pretty little corner cabinet in the living room of the playhouse.
She packed up her art kit and started down the path that she’d traveled only at night. A few branches had fallen, and she moved them. Tris had said that with his arm in a cast he couldn’t keep the area clean.
When she reached the house, she paused to look at it. To her left was a truly splendid lake: the water a dark blue-green, very calm, with ducks floating on the surface.
She took a couple of steps and saw that farther down was a little island that came close to the mainland. Connecting them was one of those bowed bridges that curved upward and was reflected in the water below.
The artist in Jecca was so transfixed by the beauty of it that for a moment she couldn’t move. If she lived here, she’d have a small gazebo built on the island, a place where she could go to paint or to just be quiet. She could see all of it in her mind.
It was a while before she could look away, and she saw two big stone pots where she and Tristan had picnicked. Contrary to what he’d said, there were two of them, which meant that it hadn’t been necessary for her to lean against him. But she was glad she had.
She couldn’t refrain from her habit of looking at the house as a builder would. There were some places that sagged, but all that she could see was in much better shape than the playhouse was.
If she hadn
’t seen so many old houses in her life she would have had difficulty finding the door. The front, looking out onto the lake, had huge expanses of glass, and none of them opened from the outside.
The house was L-shaped and in the crook of the L was the door. She used the key to unlock it to enter a hallway. Since it was fully enclosed, the hallway was dark, and she switched on the lights—which didn’t help much. It looked like it had been a while since the electrical system had been updated.
Before her was a staircase and to the left was a door. It opened to reveal a little medical exam room that was furnished in 1950s white enameled furniture. There were a couple of old matchbooks stuck under the foot of one of the tall cabinets.
Shaking her head, Jecca shut the door and went through to the living room. The kitchen, dining, and living areas were all one long room—and they all needed to be brought into the twenty-first century.
She walked to one end of the room and thought that if it were her house—which of course it would never be—the only thing she wouldn’t touch was the fireplace. On one side was a little wo ss a="1em">oden plaque on which had been carved a picture of Tristan. Or his ancestor, she thought, since the carving looked quite old. She spent several minutes admiring the talent of whoever had sculpted it.
There was another room on the other side of the hall, a sort of family room. It too was in need of updating, as the only thing new in it was the big TV.
She went upstairs and peeked into two bedrooms that looked as though they’d been decorated many years before and not touched since. One of the bedspreads was half faded, half bright. It looked like the sun had been shining on that cover in the same way for a long time.
Jecca went down a short hallway and opened a door to what she was sure was Tristan’s bedroom.
Like the rest of the house, his room looked as though it hadn’t been renovated in a generation or two. But still, there was a feeling about it that it was a room that was loved.
A king-size bed with a plain brown spread was facing her. To her left was a closet and to her right were big glass doors leading onto a balcony. She flipped the lock and went out. The view across the lake was breathtaking. She could see it all with its little island and the pretty bridge across to it. The lake was teardrop shaped, with the narrow end leading into what looked to be a stream. She longed to walk along it and follow the water wherever it led.
She looked back at the room. It was very clean and tidy, and she wondered if that was his nature or if he’d straightened up for her.
A small bookcase was filled with medical texts and the bedside table held technical journals. “No Playboys?” she said aloud, smiling.
She sat down on the edge of his bed, then couldn’t resist the urge to lie down on it. She spread out her arms, closed her eyes, and wondered what it would be like to be here with Tristan. They could sit out on the balcony and eat croissants and raspberries. They could make love on the big bed and fall off of it onto the carpeted floor.
As she lay there, her creative mind thinking of all they could do, she noticed a little spot on the ceiling. Was it a crack? Maybe it had been caused by a leaking roof. When had the roof last been replaced?
The more she thought, the more she wanted to know what had caused that spot. She stood up on the bed but couldn’t reach it. It took some acrobatics, but when she stood on the stacked pillows, put one foot on the top of the headboard, and stretched as far as she could, her fingertips barely reached it. It wasn’t a spot but a tiny piece of paper, and at her touch it fluttered down to the bed.
Jecca’s mind filled with ways a piece of paper had come to be stuck to the ceiling. The most prominent one was of Tris having sex with someone and . . . What? she wondered. Paper went flying?
She sat down on the bed, cross-legged, and picked up the scrap of paper. The writing on it was so small she could barely read it.
J, I miss you too. T
Jecca couldn’t help smiling. It was embarrassing that he’d known she would snoop through his house, even into his bedroom, but at the same time it made her laugh. She stuck the paper inside her bra and decided to have a look inside Tristan? s Tr hei7;s closet.
