His everything.
And that’s fucked up.
We wander into more residential streets, pointing out the various Halloween decorations to each other and laughing at the silly headstones on some of the lawns.
‘Here lies Guy O’tine. Worked hard to get ahead.’
And‘RIP Ruby Scaggs, she zigged when she shoulda zagged.’
Noah’s favorite said‘Here lies the last dog that pooped in this yard,’which I thought was kinda mean, but he got a good chuckle out of it.
Eventually, we end up on my favorite street, in my favorite neighborhood. It’s a quiet tree-lined road full of happy families–at least that’s what I’ve always imagined. Just a few blocks up from the shores of Hedd Lake, you can see the water at the bottom of each cross street as you pass. The houses here are all moderately sized, the yards wide and green, and the properties meticulously maintained.
I’ve subconsciously been leading him here because it’s been my go-to place ever since I’d discovered it riding my bike as a kid. Sophie Mead lived in the large house at the end of the road where it terminates in a cute little cul-de-sac. I’ve always imagined that she lived a perfect life in that beautiful house and I wanted so badly to live there as a child.
It's so out of character for me to share things from my childhood, but with Noah, I find myself divulging all kinds of personal stuff. So it comes as no surprise when I offer up the following: “I used to ride my bike here after school most days when I was a kid, imagining that I lived here. I’d watch the other kids playing in their yards and the moms calling them in for snacks. I’d watch the dads pulling into the driveways in their nice cars, home from a long day at some reputable job and happily welcomed by their families in the doorways.”
Noah reaches for my hand and squeezes it, but says nothing.
“That one there is my dream house,” I say, pointing at the one at the end, and just now noticing that it has a for sale sign on the lawn.
“A girl from my class lived there growing up. We weren’t friends–she never once talked to me, actually, but she had the nicest clothes, and her hair was always braided with these pretty silk bows. She had different colors every day. I used to imagine we lived in that house together. Like … maybe we were sisters or something. And sometimes, when the sun went down, I’d stand right here and watch her family gathered around the table–you could see through the front room to the dining area in the back–all lit up and warm. I’d pretend that I was in there with them. I’d make up entire conversations in my head, telling her parents about the art project I made that day at school or teasing her little brother about his crush on the teacher.”
We stop walking as we draw up in front of the house. Noah puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me to look at him. I’ve been so lost in the memories that it takes a moment before I’m able to meet his gaze. He’s staring down at me so intently, like he wants to say something, but doesn’t know what. All I know is that at this moment heseesme–really sees me. It’s not the first time that I’ve felt this closeness with him, but it’s the first time that I’ve really understood what it is.
It’s intimacy.
The type of intimacy that I’ve always avoided, but … with him, it’s maybe not as scary as I thought it would be.
He reaches out and puts a hand against my cheek, warm and comforting. Just then there’s a noise from the house and we both turn, Noah’s arm falling away as we watch the dark green front door swing open and a man step out onto the porch. He’s dressed in a suit and juggling some file folders as he slips them under his arm to lock the door. I don’t recognize him, but I realize, as he then places the keys in a lockbox on the stair railing, that he must be the realtor. I cast a quick glance back at Noah, an idea taking form.
And I grin.
The man makes his way down the driveway, nodding politely to us as he passes, crossing the street towards his car. I hesitate for only a moment, before I call out to him, “Excuse me,” and he pauses with his hand on the door handle. When he turns to us, I ask, “Are you the realtor?”
He smiles and starts drifting back across the street to us. “Yes, I am, can I help you?”
I can feel Noah’s eyes on me but I keep my own trained on the man as I say, “I hope so. I’m Lucy, and this is my husband, Noah.” I feel Noah stiffen beside me at the lie, but the agent’s eyes are already lighting up as I continue, “Would you by any chance have a few minutes to show us the property? We’re just so in love with this house!”
He makes a show of checking his watch, but I know I’ve got him. “Certainly, I’d be happy to!” The man smiles and offers his hand–first to me and then to Noah who shakes it reluctantly. He introduces himself as James Faraday, and explains that while he’s new to the area himself, having just moved to Llyn Lakes six months earlier, he’s already well-versed and will have no problem answering any questions we have about the neighborhood.
I nod along while James makes his spiel, responding with “great,” and “okay,” and making other noises of understanding or approval whenever it’s seemingly appropriate, but my attention is firmly on the large man beside me who’s glaring down at me in disapproval.
When James glances back at the house briefly I throw a wink in Noah’s direction and murmur, “Just play along.”
“Well then, shall we?” James asks brightly, and gestures towards the house. Guess he’s completed his sales pitch.
“Yes, please. And thank you so much for squeezing us in like this on the spur of the moment.”
“Not a problem at all.”
James turns to guide us up the path, and I move to follow, but Noah clamps a hand down on my shoulder halting my steps.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks through gritted teeth.
“I just finished telling you about how much I love this house. I’ve always wondered if it’s as perfect inside as I imagined it was. Now’s my chance to find out,” I whisper. “Just go along with it, Noah,please.”
That little frown line between his eyebrows is back and my chest tightens because it’s been noticeably absent this morning and I hate that I’m the reason for its return.
