My Life in Dioramas (22 page)

We all headed toward the car after my parents exchanged a few words with Bernie.

I sighed loudly in the backseat.

“You know what they say,” Dad said. “Third time's the charm.”

We backed out of the driveway and waited for Bernie to pull out, to lead the way.

29.

As we turned onto a narrow
street that curved up and around a stone wall way high, I looked down at the muddy river churning. Dad said, “We're almost there,” and my stomach felt like it was churning, too. What if this was going to be my new neighborhood? Was that the same river that ran through town? What if this was the one? What if it was awful?
Then
what?

“It's on this street,” my dad said.

“It's cute,” my mom said.

It really was.

Back at Big Red, everything felt closed off, like it was our own private hideaway in the woods. Here there were houses sort of on top of each other, with playsets you could see in yards without fences. One house still had some Christmas
decorations out front. Another had a sign that said
DOG GROOMING
and a phone number. The street itself—up and around that bend on the hill, covered in a canopy of trees—felt sort of like a secret place, but it seemed like everyone was just letting it all hang out once you got there. A woman walking a dog gave our car a friendly wave as my dad slowed down, then we pulled into a driveway where Bernie's car sat.

“There she is,” my father said with some fanfare.

I almost smiled. It looked a little bit like a gingerbread house, only gray instead of cookie-colored. It had a red front door and a chimney and a big arched window with white trim on the top floor. The front yard was a long stretch of bright green grass with a garden and a white wishing well.

“It's cute,” my mother said. “Is there a backyard?”

There didn't appear to be. Behind it there seemed to be nothing but a big hill made of rock.

“There's a deck area, but no, not really.” My dad got out of the car. “There's this front yard, though.”

“But everyone can
see
the front yard,” my mother said as she got out.

“Can we please keep an open mind, here?” my dad said.

“Sorry,” Mom said.

Bernie came out of the garage with a set of keys in her hands. “I think you're going to like this one, Kate.”

“I really hope so.”

She led the way for me, and my parents followed.

Inside the front door was a tiny living room and dining room area—already emptied of furniture—with sliding glass doors leading to a patio off to the side. There was a small coal-burning stove with a fire lit in it and a chimney that ran up the wall and out the front of the house. I couldn't think of where all our furniture would go since the place was so small, but it was cozy seeming, not cramped.

The kitchen was right there, separated from the living room by an island with a wall cutout. The cabinets were country-ish, painted a pale blue. There was a closet and laundry room down a hall and a small bathroom and that was all for that floor.

Up we went, to a second floor with a big open room at the top of the stairs, and then two small bedrooms.

“One of these would be an office,” my dad said. “But you'd basically have this floor as a suite. You'd have this bedroom and then this room at the top of the stairs for whatever you wanted. Like your craft stuff or whatever.”

The windows were huge and looked out in two directions, making the room feel light and bright. The yellow of the walls was perfect, like warm butter, and the trim was all newly painted white.

“Where's all their stuff?” I asked. “Why are they already gone?”

“I don't know, Kate,” Bernie said. “It's not really the kind of information we share.”

Out the front window
I saw a boy around my age riding his bike down the street, being chased by a shiny, happy black dog.

“Come on,” my dad said. “There's one more floor.”

Upstairs, there was a master bedroom at the front and then a huge bathroom at the back. In between there were two closets, his and hers. There was also a door by the stairs that went out onto a deck on the side of the house. Stepping out onto the wooden slats, I could easily see my parents sitting there together late into the evening, or with morning coffee and a book.

“Cute,” I said.

Then we went back down a level again and out another door to a deck out back, this one larger. From there you could see the rocks that made the wall behind the house and how big they were. I imagined in the winter there'd be icicles hanging off them.

At least I hoped there would be.

That
was the kind of stuff they should put in real estate listings. Not how many bedrooms there were or what the floors were made of; that was all stuff you could see for yourself once you got there. They should tell you whether there were icicles or cats who came by to say hi or cows that mooed you awake. They should say things like “Beware:
Mean Girl Next Door,” or “Stinkbugs Love This Place” or how there was a great pond just beyond the neighbor's house that was perfect for skimming rocks. People selling houses should have to write all that stuff down for you so you'd
know
whether any of the wishes that had been wished into the well out front of the house had come true.

My parents and Bernie were gathered in the living room when I went back inside.

“So?” Bernie asked. “What do you think?”

The whole house was a
little
bit buttoned up for my parents, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe this house would help them focus. Also, there was no napping room. That seemed like a good thing. Though I guess my mother hadn't actually taken a nap or gone upstairs at my grandparents' to lie down in weeks.

“It feels like a dollhouse,” I said, finally, and they all just looked at me. “I sort of love it.”

Everyone seemed to breathe out this huge sigh of relief. It was like the room actually got more full with air.

“But there's no backyard,” my mother said.

“But there's a front yard,” my dad said. “And all the neighbors seem very nice.”

We went out the sliding doors and onto a side deck.

“Kate?” my mom said. “You're okay? No backyard?”

I thought about all the stuff we'd done in the yard at Big Red. Boccie and croquet and badminton. I remembered the
parties with people splayed out in the yard here and there and everywhere. I felt sad about my stream. And Pants. And the kittens. And Angus. But all of that was already gone.

I gestured to a long path of grass. “That's a pretty good spot for boccie right there.”

We all were quiet for a while and then my dad said, “Liv? It's pretty much the best we're going to do. I've been all over the whole Hudson Valley and I really think this is the one.”

Bernie drifted back into the house.

“It really is cute.” My mother looked up and down the block. “I sort of wish it was all a bit more spread out but . . .”

We just waited.

“I think I might love it,” she said.

My dad said and I both said, “Yes!” and he hugged her and they looked happier than they had in a long time.

Bernie poked her head out. “Does that mean we're making an offer?”

Dad said, “Yes.”

And Bernie said, “Now I have to remind you, these short sales can be quick or drawn out and there's no guarantee.”

My dad said he understood, though I didn't.

He and Bernie went to talk about some paperwork and my mom and I sat on the edge of the deck.

“Hey, Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“What are your appointments for?”

“Apparently I am having a textbook midlife crisis,” she said. “But I'm seeing a therapist and it's getting better by the day. Talking helps.”

“Good,” I said. “I'm glad.”

My dad called my mom over so we got up. They needed my mother's signature on a few things. Meanwhile, the boy on his bike was back, with his dog. Both of them moving more slowly this time.

“Hey!” he called out when I caught his eye.

“Hey.” I walked down to the end of the driveway where he'd come to a halt, straddling his bike. The dog sniffed my sneakers and happily ran around in circles then came back to me. I bent to pet him and scratched him behind the ears.

“You buying this house?” He had light brown hair that was too long in front of his eyes and he pushed it over to one side with his hand.

“I think so,” I said. “This may sound like a stupid question, but we've been all over the place today. Where are we, exactly? What town?”

“Lloydville,” he said.

“Which is . . . where, exactly?” I knew the name, but couldn't place it.

“The Wallkill River is that way. And New Paltz is that way. Frosty Fest is just over there.”

“How far?” I asked, bracing myself for the answer. We'd been to Frosty Fest, a holiday light show, every year for as
long as I could remember.

“Ten minutes?”

“So how far from New Paltz?”

He shrugged. “Twenty minutes, give or take.”

“So what high school will you go to?” I asked.

“My brother goes to Highland.”

“Wow. That's where all my friends will end up, too.”

“So that's a good thing. Right?”

“Yeah, mostly!”

I'd be in school with Naveen again!

And Megan. And Stella.

In the meantime, I could study with Miss Emma.

I could compete with the troupe next year!

“Any more questions?” he said.

“Just one. Who lived here? Where did they go?”

“That's two.”

“Okay,
two
questions.” I smiled. “Jerk.”

“They were an older couple and after the miserable winter they decided to unload this place and move permanently to their place in Florida.”

I wasn't sure I understood exactly how you could do that, just “unload” a house, but at the very least it sounded like they weren't bankrupt or homeless.

He put a foot on a pedal. “Well, if it works out—the house—we'll hang.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said.

Then he whistled. “Oscar! Come on, let's go!” And he pushed off down the street and Oscar followed. Right away he circled back. “Hey, what's your name?”

“Kate.”

“I'm Benny. See ya.”

I watched as he rode off and then up a driveway a few houses down, across the street. He laid his bike down on the blacktop and walked inside, holding the door open for Oscar.

“Look at you,” my mother said. “Making friends already.”

“Let's not get carried away.” I was very much eager to get home so I could dance the rest of the day—the week—away.