Page 79 of The Attic on Queen Street
“So, what did you think?” I asked, girding myself.
“The pool was a little big,” she said.
“ ‘A little big,’ ” Michael repeated slowly, an edge to his voice I was becoming familiar with.
“And I’m afraid that with the marsh so close, we’ll be inundated with mosquitoes.”
I could almost hear Michael holding his breath and counting to ten.
I unclenched my teeth. “You know, Veronica, this is South Carolina. Mosquitoes are part of the deal. The back of this house has one of the largest screened-in porches I’ve ever seen in my career as a Realtor. And to get that view at this price is unheard-of. It’s a brand-new listing but I guarantee this house will be gone in a day or two. I don’t think we’re going to find a more perfect house that the two of you will agree on. I suggest making an offer today.”
She turned to look back at the house, at its pristine lawn with moss-laden oak trees and its new roof. “I’m not a fan of the front porch lights.”
“Veronica...” Michael started.
I held up my hand. “Those are easily changed, and at this price, replacing them wouldn’t be an issue.” I took a deep, cleansing breath. “Look, why don’t we get back into the car and drive around the neighborhood a bit so you can think? Stiles Point Plantation is one of the most sought-after neighborhoods on James Island, so not only is it a beautiful home to live in now, but it’s also a great investment.”
We piled back into the car, with Veronica in the passenger seat and Michael in the rear, and I began to drive slowly around the established neighborhood with older-growth trees and well-manicured lawns. I attempted to dispel the thick miasma of tension with real estate chatter.
“There’s a neighborhood tennis court, a basketball court, and a five-acre park all right here. And so close to the Ravenel Bridge that Lindsey can easily make the six-mile drive to Ashley Hall in less than twenty minutes—depending on traffic, of course.”
Veronica was silent as she looked out her window, although I wasn’t sure she was actually seeing the scenery. Eventually, she said, “I think I want to look again in South of Broad. It’s just that it’s so familiar to me and I can’t see moving away from it.”
“But that’s exactly why we’re moving, Veronica,” Michael said from the backseat, his anger barely concealed behind his words. “We might as well stay where we are if we’re just going to move down the street!”
“Is that an option?” Veronica asked, turning her head to face her husband. “Because that’s what I’d prefer to do. None of these houses, as lovely as they are, will ever be the home I grew up in and love.”
“Look,” I said in a last-ditch effort to dispel the tension. “Why don’t you two sleep on it, talk it through, then call me in the morning? We’re all tired, we’ve seen a lot of options today, and after a good night’s rest, we can regroup.”
I took their simmering quiet as an assent and headed out of the neighborhood and back toward Charleston. As I turned onto the James Island Expressway, I said, “You know, there’s no need to rush this decision. Even if you sell your Queen Street house quickly—which I suspect will be the case—you can always rent somewhere. That would buy you time to figure out what you really want.” I met Michael’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “I think I heard Lindsey mention that you have a fishing cabin on Sullivan’s Island, right?”
“No,” he said abruptly. He drew in his breath. “What I meant was that it’s not really suitable for a family or full-time living. I wouldn’t want to force my wife and daughter to live there for any amount of time.”
“He’s right,” Veronica said. “I’ve only been there once. Right after we were married. It was built in the thirties and I don’t think it’s been updated since. It’s just one room—and no door on the bathroom.” I heard the smile in her words. “He’s never invited me back, and I’m okay with that. It’s his man cave, I suppose.”
She turned in her seat to face Michael. “I guess if worse comes to worse, you could sleep on your fishing boat and Lindsey and I could take the cabin.” I could tell she was trying to lighten the mood, but Michael didn’t respond.
Veronica faced forward again, her voice straining to keep it light. “He named the boat theOmega Threebecause it’s a fishing boat. Get it? I thought it was pretty clever.”
“Very.” Trying to spare her the burden of carrying on the labored conversation, I said, “Do you two get to spend much time on the boat?”
“Oh, no.” She forced a lighthearted laugh. “TheOmega Threeis anextension of Michael’s man cave. I’ve been on it only once—that same trip when I stayed in the cabin. Let’s just say that I’m happy to allow him his privacy on his fishing weekends. Maybe we should look for a house with a deepwater dock so we could keep the boat nearby and Michael can teach Lindsey and me how to fish.”
Michael said nothing, and the car descended into an uncomfortable silence. I usually didn’t listen to the radio with clients in the car, but I thought it necessary in this case. I turned it on and the car was immediately flooded with the mind-jarring repetitiveha ha habackground refrain of “O Superman.”
•••
The disconnected landline phone in my bedroom rang at three a.m., ruthlessly shaking me from a dream in which Jack and I were standing in the garden by the fountain, surrounded by friends and family. It reminded me of our wedding, except I was wearing the red dress instead of my wedding gown, and Beau was there strumming his guitar. Nola stood next to him, singing, and by the third ring of the phone, I realized she was voicing the refrain from “O Superman.”
I stumbled out of bed, trailing blankets and a grumpy General Lee across the room to pick up the phone’s receiver. “Hello?” I said, my frequent conversations with my deceased grandmother no longer making me feel foolish speaking into a disconnected phone.
The distant noise coming through the earpiece made me think of the black nothingness of outer space, the hollow echo the sound of stars spinning through empty inkiness.
Nola.
The sound of my grandmother’s voice came through more as a breath than a word, but I understood her just the same.
“What about Nola?”
