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It’s perfect. Lots of wall space, lots of high windows, pretty great indoor lighting, tall ceilings for grandeur. I feel myself smiling. Dexter walks over to where I’m in the middle of a slow spin.
“This is splendid,” I say, hands stretched out from my sides. “Would they really let us use this for the exhibit?”
“Did you just say ‘splendid’?”
I nod my head, trying to look like I’m not embarrassed. “It’s possible that I channel my grandma when I see a space this great. So, would they let us?” I ask again.
He shrugs. “How much would you need to spend?”
I do a few quick calculations in my head. “If we used wire and clips to hang work from the ceiling and walls, we could totally get it done for a couple hundred. What about you?”
“I could find a piano tuner for about the same. We can bring down small risers from the auditorium. I think they’d go for it – it says something about our willingness to make use of our resources.” He looks directly at me for the first time since we left my apartment. “I like it. You?”
A laugh escapes me. “Seriously? I’d live in here. It’s magnificent.”
He shakes his head. “It smells weird.”
“It does not.” Why do I feel like I need to defend this place? Who knows, but I don’t want to admit anything but perfection. To prove my point, I take a deep breath through my nose. Oh. He’s right. It does smell weird. A little damp, a little skunky, maybe. Kind of smoky.
“Okay, so maybe it doesn’t smell like you’d want your home to smell. But whatever. It doesn’t smell like a church, that’s for sure.”
He looks at me from the side of his eye. “What does a church smell like?”
“You know. Old wood. Books. Incense.”
He shakes his head again. “Yeah. No. My experience doesn’t match any of those things.”
Did I just step into a sensitive topic? Redirect. “So why don’t we use this building anymore?” I walk across the open room and into a hall, hoping he’ll follow me.
He does.
“It wasn’t that long ago that we did. When I was a student, we had a really democratic kind of chancellor. He asked for a lot of student input. Discussion groups. Lots of institutional meetings. This became the place where things happened. Decisions were made. And because it’s basically a church, some of the parents complained that it was maybe too Protestant.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
He rubs his hand across his jawline. I would like to try that. To put my fingers to his face and draw them back and forth. My hands tingle with anticipation, and I shove them in my pockets. Dexter doesn’t answer, and I realize he doesn’t need to.
“And if I don’t know what it means, it probably suggests I’m part of the problem,” I say. I try to be aware, but sometimes it becomes clear that I have a bias.
“Let’s not make something out of nothing, Miss Harker.” He smiles. “Besides, now that this building’s not used, parents find different things to complain about.”
I watch him, hoping it doesn’t look like I’m watching him. He seems relaxed in here, calm in a way I don’t see him everywhere. “Did your parents have issues with the chapel?”
He laughs, low and easy. “Nah. My parents are not interested in ruffling feathers. And they didn’t worry about me converting when they sent me to Chamberlain.” We move down the hall, stopping now and then so I can stare at the windows.
“What did they worry about?”
“Not much,” he says quietly. “Their worry was reserved for my older brother. He made waves. He made messes. He made impressions. I didn’t. I was not a kid my parents needed to be nervous for. The worst thing I did was sneak out of my dorm at night.”
I’m intrigued. “For what purpose?”
He blushes. “Can’t remember.”
I shake my head. “Nope. I refuse to believe it.”
He doesn’t answer.
“You were pursuing the ladies, weren’t you?”
