“I want to honor your work the same way I honor other art that is precious to me. I want to study it. Take my time. Absorb everything I possibly can. Let it take its place at the deepest level of who I am.”
He wiped one side of his face. Up and down. Very slowly. “Kari . . .”
“Yes?”
“The key will be under a planter by your front door.”
Herdoor.Herhome. Kari shivered. “Thank you, Noah.” As she started to cut the connection, he called her back. “Yes?”
“I was wondering, could I invite you to dinner? A friend of mine is playing at Miramar’s premier restaurant this coming Friday.”
“It’s always a sellout night,” Megan said. “The atmosphere is Miramar at its finest. Not to mention the food.”
Kari found herself captivated by the sensation of new friends. It required no effort whatsoever to reply, “That sounds nice. Thank you.”
* * *
Kari had not returned to Miramar since deciding to purchase her home. She wanted to arrive when life’s new canvas was hers to paint. She had waited. Worked. Kept herself busy. Endured the nights of fears and thrills and uncertainty. So she could do this now: Turn through the valley gates and drive slowly, slowly down the narrow lane. Savoring every moment of her arrival.
The northern ridge was scarred by fires from some distant season. Down below, everything was silent and still. Watchful. Low-slung houses set on big lots. Several had boats parked in their drives. A dog barked once, then went quiet.
Her new home stood at the end of the lane. The gray-white exterior remained similar to how it had been for three-quarters of a century. The windows were new, as was the railing that framed the wraparound porch. And the rockers. Two of them. Positioned beneath broad-blade fans, which rotated slowly in the hot breeze. Varnished hands waving her forward.
She parked and sat for a long while, not so much studying the house as coming to terms with the fact that it was now hers. She might have remained there all day if Sienna had not planted her front paws on Kari’s right arm and mewed.
Kari opened her door, lifted out the kitten, carried Sienna inside. Returned for the padded basket where Sienna liked to sleep, her bowls, food, and covered litter tray. She entered the kitchen without really seeing anything, filled both bowls, then walked back outside. She took a long breath, surveying the silent valley. When she was ready, she entered the house again. And looked.
The home had been kept to its original size, but the interior had been reconfigured into just two large rooms. The kitchen-dining-lounge area and the main bedroom were floored in broad redwood planks. Noah had rescued the wood from an office building undergoing redevelopment. The open ceiling of pale oak was framed by varnished beams. Kitchen and bathroom cabinetry of pale blue with white trim. Gray-blue counters and matching tiles. Kari walked slowly from room to room, the kitten padding at her feet.
The sight left Kari breathless.
Behind the main house rose the three other structures, connected to the rear porch by fired-brick walkways. A new cottage matching the home stood well off, there to house any overnight guests. And a garage built in the same weathered style.
And then there was the third structure.
The old barn had been transformed into a massive single room, lined with narrow cathedral-style windows and floored in polished concrete. The distant ceiling held a trio of skylights and multiple light fixtures that could be dimmed or swiveled by controls set beside the main entry. Another set of switches controlled the pale blinds for both windows and skylights.
As she left the atelier and checked out the guest cottage, children shouted from some yard. A dog barked in response. The sounds made her shiver.
The home, the outbuildings, the space they contained, all this was hers to shape. But first she had to come to terms with Noah’s artwork in and of itself.
She imagined most people would think it silly, wanting days and probably weeks to absorb the empty spaces. They would most likely be out already, buying items to fill the rooms, reshaping and decorating and laying claim. Kari saw things differently. Noah’s sculpture of wood and stone and space was a delight in and of itself.
The builder had left her an unexpected gift. Four rocking chairs of polished oak, two on the front porch, two out back. Kari stroked the top rim of one and thought it was just like the man she had never met. His silent “Welcome home,” an invitation to sit and rest and revel in what was now hers.
The moving van arrived thirty minutes later. As soon as the driver stepped from the cab, however, Sienna fought to be released, squirming and pushing against Kari’s hold. She opened the kitchen door and allowed the kitten to scamper inside.
Kari had brought the absolute basics, the very few items required for day-to-day life. A Japanese-style pallet for sleeping, one set of sheets, a few chairs, a kitchen table, the necessary utensils and basic plates and cutlery. Along with that came everything her art required—easels, stretched canvases, drop cloths, paints, brushes. And the paintings she was not yet prepared to part with, fourteen in all.
When the movers left and Kari returned to the home’s rear porch, Sienna stood inside the rear screen door, mewing. Kari picked up the kitten and seated herself in one of the polished rockers, overwhelmed by the enormity of it all.
Her home.
