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Now I’m almost mad he’s here because every time I’m reminded of his presence, I think about that kiss, his lips pressed to mine with determination. No inhibitions.
Perhaps he does that with everyone. Gives them a pep talk and a big smooch on the lips. That would be insane, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself or start believing Rory might be feeling the same things I am.
We’ve been through almost the entire house at this point. I wanted to save the master bedroom for last since it’s the most well-preserved, with facets of the time it was built. Even the four-poster bed, with its heavy mahogany, was crafted for the original owners.
Most everyone has been enamored the entire time, save the two younger boys who were bid to go to their play room for iPad time (kids these days…). Liliana has remained on pins and needles at every facet I point out, even asking some follow-up questions that make me wonder if she’s interested in the study of history. Liliana’s interest has pulled Donna in. If I was Liliana’s mother, I wouldn’t be so quick to destroy something that piqued her interest.
It’s Fred I worry about, however; I knew he’d be the most difficult to win over.
After all, he gave me this chance. No promises.
I cross to the windows. “And these pocket shutters are—” I pull on the shutter. It growls sharply, metal scraping violently. I wince. So does everyone else. “Well, with a little oil, they’re a perfect example of craftsmanship of the time. We can’t have these in modern homes because walls aren’t built nearly as thick.”
I take a quick look at the garden down below. What a shame that would be for a garden to be transformed into a sub-basement. What do they need to store in asub-basement? Wine? “The shutters are an amazing example that this home is greater than the sum of its parts,” I say with a pointed look at Fred. “Everything has been specifically designed to work together.”
“So would our new home,” Fred offers.
“Daddy,” Liliana scolds bitterly.
“I’m just saying that if we’re talking about perfection in design—” Fred begins.
“That’snotwhat we’re talking about,” I say clearly. “We’re talking about a property in a small town where history matters. We’re not a big city. Not Chicago where history remains down every street, where money is poured into public works and preservation. We only have a few things. And while yes, this home is yours and you have the freedom to do what you please with it, I would strongly ask you to consider that we also have stories that are worth preserving.”
Fred is silent. There’s a glint in his eye. I think I’ve caught him. At least a little.
I point at the top of the bay window where there is an inlay of stained glass. “These stained glass windows weren’t made, they were salvaged from a church that had burned in town. Cornelius Wilhelm the Second wanted them preserved because he thought it was horrible to watch something so beautiful crumble like that. If that’s not an apt metaphor, I don’t know what is.”
Donna sniffles. She’s… crying? “That’s beautiful, don’t you think, honey?”
Fred smiles. Just a bit. “It is.”
I feel my ribcage expand.
“You’ve given me a lot to think about, Dr. Chaplin,” he says in a tone that suggests he’s done thinking.
He’s made up his mind.
My ribcage retracts.
“Thank you for taking the time to come out here and give us a history lesson. Haven’t had something like that since I was a kid,” Fred says with a silly grin, elbowing his daughter.
Liliana rolls her eyes at him then looks to me. There’s something unreadable in her expression. Pleading, maybe? I don’t blame her. If I had a man like Fred Frederickson for a father, I’d be tearing my hair out.
This wasn’t a history lesson. This was an argument. I’d go as far to say a tour de force, save a bit of stuttering in the beginning.
All of this was a joke to him. A way to appease little Dr. Constance Chaplin who decided to confront him in the grocery store. He never really cared. All he wanted was to get his way and be able to tell people he really considered it from all angles.
I’d be surprised if he even listened to anything I’ve said.
I don’t know what I expected… of course he’d have to think about it. But I gave it my all.I gave it my all.
I want to scream.
I look to Rory as my insides fold in on themselves.
And just his eyes in mine relieves the pressure in my chest.
I will be okay.
