16

Cody Rigdon is recovering at home after falling out of the back of his friend Brandon's new Chevy pickup. "A handful of boys were horsing around out in the country. Cody decided to stand up in the bed of the truck at the same time Brandon swerved to avoid a skunk," Cody's dad said. "We've warned him about that before, but I think he learned his lesson this time. He'll be working the next four summers to pay off that emergency room bill."

—The Green News-Item

On the first Sunday in August, we ate lunch as usual with Estelle and Hugh, and Chris settled down to watch football videos, a task he seemed never to tire of.

I sat in his lap and kissed his neck.

"I have a surprise for you," I said.

"Here?" He actually blushed and glanced around. "Where are Mama and Daddy?"

"Not that kind of surprise. I have a list of houses for us to look at. I've stalled long enough."

"That's great news." He reached for my notebook. "Let's see what you've found."

I held the list out of reach, swinging it by the metal coil at the top. "No, no, no. I've got our itinerary all mapped out. Let's go for a Sunday drive."

Chris's truck seat was cluttered with a case of water, a map of the parish, country roads highlighted with a marker, and a list of people who needed food, so we climbed into my small car, me in the driver's seat, Chris complaining about how low to the ground it sat.

"We could take your truck if it hadn't become a mobile food bank," I said.

"I don't think I'll ever get caught up. This food business was supposed to have eased up by now, but the more people hear about it, the more requests we receive."

"Give yourself the afternoon off." I was astonished to find myself energized at the prospect of locating a home. "Even though Green doesn't have a lot of neighborhoods to choose from, I ruled out the area around the Country Club. Those houses are dated, and I don't like the thought of living there.The houses in the new development by the school are jammed together, so I put that area on the long list."

"You're telling me we have to live at the Lakeside for the rest of our marriage, aren't you?"

"I have three excellent ideas, so prepare to be wowed."

The first house was a small white frame cottage in Kevin's neighborhood with a patched roof and a cute picket fence. "The neighborhood's a little uneven, but we could put our money where our mouth is and support this area," Chris said.

We got out of the car and walked around the yard.

"It's vacant, but it's been partially restored," I said.

He pointed to boards pulling away from the front windows and the tilt of the tiny cement porch, a wrought iron post pulled out at the bottom.

"Apparently my idea of partially restored and theirs are two different things," I said.

"Good idea to consider this neighborhood," Chris said, "but wrong house."

I made an elaborate show of crossing the address off my list, and Chris tried to read over my shoulder.

"No peeking. This is the Lois Craig real estate tour."

He crawled into my car, his long legs crowded in the tight space. "Next?"

"Iris and Stan are talking about building, but there's another option." I drove to the south side of town. "What if we moved one of these houses onto Aunt Helen's lot?"

We pulled into a dealer who sold houses that were a combination of prefabricated and custom-built, a variety of architectural styles. "What do you think?"

"Interesting idea," he said. "I stopped by here a couple of weeks ago. They have several good-looking model homes."

"They're cute, too," I said.

"I'm not sure I want to live in a cute house."

"Charming, then. I wouldn't have considered this a year or two ago, but now it seems like one of our easier options. Let's look around."

The sales manager made a beeline for us as soon as we stepped from the car.

"Good to see you, Coach, Miss Lois," he said. "I hoped you'd be back together."

I glanced at Chris, sheepish. "I came over here last week too."

As we explored the model homes, we discussed the pros and cons of a new house at the old home place.

"Would it look out of place?" I asked.

"Depends on the style," Chris said.

"Would we be too close to the highway?"

"Not from the revised plans that your newspaper posted online. There's a big slice of land behind the parsonage and then all those trees on your land. That's probably ten acres or more."

"What about construction and traffic noise? Iris is concerned about that."

"I don't think they'll be able to see the interchange from her house, and I know we wouldn't on your land."

"Our land," I said.

"Our land," he repeated.

"It'll be different without the church and your old trailer there. It won't feel like as much of a community, but I guess I have to get used to that idea."

"It'll be a new community," Chris said. "Our lot is not too far from the spot Pastor Jean has picked out for the new church. She hopes we can move Maria and the boys to a spot down that way too. She's found an acre of land near the little store there at the crossroads. Now she has to decide about a parsonage."

We strolled through three model homes, pushing the salesman off on a family who pulled in behind us. "We're having a look," Chris said. "We'll give you a shout if we have any questions."

The floor plans were much more efficient than in the old house where I had lived, complete with laundry rooms, electric fireplaces, and garden tubs in the master bathrooms. The windows were insulated and opened easily, and the doors shut snugly.

I thought of the front screened porch at Aunt Helen's, the pitch of the roof with intricate woodwork, the tall brick chimney, glass doorknobs, and claw-foot bathtub. "They don't have as much personality as an old house, but we could probably replace the deck with a porch."

"There'd be a lot less maintenance," Chris said.

"We could choose interesting colors and decorate them in our style."

"Thank goodness I put most of my catfish collection in Mama's attic," Chris said.

"Please tell me that while half of Bouef Parish blew away, the catfish collection doesn't live on."

"It's available if needed, Mrs. Craig. We can make it the cornerstone of the décor."

"You're keeping secrets. I thought you gave all that to the shelter."

He grinned, his cute Chris grin. "I didn't figure they'd want that stuff."

"At least we have the piece of green pottery you recovered.That's a start. Rose can help us find antiques, too. Linda's been too busy to do much with the shop, but Rose is back to regular hours at the Holey Moley."

"This is a good floor plan," Chris said. "We could have our room here, and the children over here."

My eyebrows shot up. Before we got married, we had discussed possibly having a child one day, but the topic had not been raised since.

"Are we house shopping or family planning?" I asked.

"Just in case. This could be the children's room, just in case.These models would be ideal in a lot of ways, but they're not quite what I had in mind."

"Me either." I was relieved at his opinion and the change of subject.

"We could build a brand-new house," he said. "That's a lot of work, but it could be fun. Maybe more expensive than we planned."

"Before we discuss building, I have one more for us to look at today. It's a little extreme, but promise you'll give it a chance."

"If you like it, I'll give it a chance, whatever it is, wherever it is."

"It's on the lake, in the older part of Major Wilson's development.I vowed I'd never buy over there, but the listing sounds perfect, and the pictures look like it's ready to move right in.It has the master suite on one side and guestrooms—or a nursery—on the other."

A strange look passed across Chris's face.

"What's wrong? I thought you might like living on the lake.The lots are big, and we could even get a boat. They're having an open house today, so we can look around without an appointment."

"Let's take a look," he said. "It can't hurt."

"I'm so relieved that I'm finally excited about looking at a house."

The drive through the brick gates was a transition into another world from Route Two. Most homes had a view of the water, many had piers and boathouses. A row of smaller patio homes sat to the left of the entrance, expensive replicas of Creole cottages with cypress beams and antique brick walkways.

We wound to the back. "Here's the turn," I said. "Even the street has a cute name. How could you not be happy in a house on Bluebird Lane?"

I glanced at my notes and back at the brass numbers on the door. "This is it. It looks better in person. Isn't it darling?"

I was almost to the front door before I noticed Chris wasn't moving. His car door was open, and he had both feet on the ground but he didn't seem to have any momentum.

"Come on, slowpoke," I yelled. "They're going to close at four."

He stepped out of the car and leaned against the front fender, his hand on the hood as though to hold himself up.

"Lois." His quiet voice seemed to reverberate across the yard."I know what it looks like. This was my and Fran's house."

I took a step toward Chris and then turned back to the house, looking at it as though I'd never seen a house before. A young woman with a real estate nametag came to the door and invited me in. "It's stunning," she said. "The original owners were quite creative with the design."

"I'm stunned all right," I mumbled, feeling as though I might throw up. "Excuse me."

Chris and I got in the car and made the short drive back to the motel in silence, except for an occasional sniffle from me and one heavy sigh from Chris.

When I pulled into the parking spot, I didn't know what to do. Part of me wanted to push Chris out of the car and run away. Another wanted him to explain why he had never mentioned a house on the lake.

He spoke first. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to mislead you."

"That's obvious," I said in my most sarcastic tone, a good dose of hurt mixed in. "You made me think you and Fran lived in the trailer on Route Two. Not one time has a house on the lake been mentioned, not one time."

"Can we go inside to talk about this? My legs are cramping."

"You go. I've got work to do at the paper." I put the car in reverse, but he didn't move.

"I'm not getting out of the car without you," he said in a subdued voice.

I started driving. "Well, I guess you can go to the Item with me."

"Can we at least talk about this rationally?"

Hearing my husband of four months imply I was irrational added fury to my emotions. I drove too fast down Main Street, largely empty on a Sunday afternoon, and whipped into the News-Item parking lot, swinging wide, and flattening the newspaper box.

I had never heard Chris utter a curse word, not even in the middle of the tornado, but I think he came close at that moment.

I put my head on the steering wheel, hiding my face.

"Let me try to explain," he said.

"I thought I knew you."

"I thought I knew you, too. I had no idea you had delusions of being a NASCAR driver."

"This isn't a joking matter."

"I suspect Stan will agree with you on that. How many times have you flattened that rack?"

"I'm going inside. You can do whatever you want to do."

"Could you take me to get my truck?" he asked. "We left it at my parents' house."

For a moment I considered telling him to walk. "I guess so."

"May I drive?" he asked.

I didn't answer but walked around the car, my knees trembling.

We met at the trunk, and he reached up and touched my hair, one of his most tender gestures.

"I love you, Lois. You make me happier than I ever expected to be. You make me happy even when a tornado hits." He tried to hug me, but I stood rigid, not nearly ready to yield to his sweetness.

We pulled out. Again the drive was silent, me staring out the window, feeling betrayed.

Before I realized where he was going, we pulled into the driveway where the cottage had stood. The birds seemed to be singing extra loudly. More than anything I wanted to run into the old house and throw myself on my bed, sinking into my beautiful new down comforter and feeling the cool pillow under my head. But all that was wiped out.

We walked over to the swing and sat down. "I don't suppose we can let this go?" Chris asked.

I didn't say anything, wondering what planet he was from.

"Are you going to talk to me?" he asked.

I crossed my arms, ever-so-slightly enjoying watching him squirm.

"Lois, I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say."

"How about telling me what else I don't know about you? How about explaining why no one in town ever mentioned a fancy lake house, Mr. I-love-the-stars-and-open-space?"

"I wasn't trying to hide it from you. At first, it didn't seem relevant. We weren't dating, so I let it slide. Later I knew it bothered you to talk about Fran, so I didn't know how to bring it up."

"It's hard to think about you being married to another woman," I said. "To find out you lived in that beautiful house.. . . It's like learning there's a side to you I never had an inkling of." . . . It's like learning there's a side to you I never had an inkling of."

"Fran was a wonderful wife—"

"Thanks for reminding me."

"Let me finish. She was a wonderful wife, but she didn't much like the country. That was her dream house, and it meant more to her than it did to me."

"Did you build it yourselves?"

"We did. I said I'd never do that again, but I'd do it in a minute if that's what you want. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. I sort of always knew I'd marry Fran from the time we were in high school, but you, you caught me off guard. You were an unexpected gift."

I looked over at the house site, remembered sitting on the porch, risking my heart to a man who had loved deeply before, remembered Chris's willingness to risk his heart again.

"I should have known Fran never lived in that mobile home," I said.

He was ill at ease, and the out-of-left-field comment threw him. "I'm not following you."

"She would never have put up with that catfish skull in the bathroom."

"That was all me." Chris offered a half smile.

"I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or not. But I'm not throwing you back."

"Are we OK then?" He put his arm across the back of the swing, the way we had sat so many times while getting acquainted.

"I suppose so, but we still don't have a place to live . . . and no more secrets."

"Let me show you one more house possibility," he said. "It's a long shot, but it's been on my mind."

Chris drove, taking a left out of the driveway, away from Grace Chapel and town, and headed west past the monument to the boll weevil, a reminder of Green's unending economic challenges, making another turn about ten miles later onto a small paved road.

"I've never been way out here," I said.

"I hope this go-cart of yours can make it." Chris swerved to miss a pothole. "This is my parents' land." He made another turn, down a grown-up, rutted drive.

A weather-beaten Louisiana-style house, similar to Helen's, sat covered in vines, trees up to the porch.

"This was my grandmother's house."

A snake slithered into the tall grass as I got out of the car, and Chris had to pull me up onto the porch, the steps long gone. "Watch your step. Most of this is rotten."

"Great." I gingerly stepped over a cracked board, trying to keep my balance.

He pulled a skeleton key out of his pocket. "Believe it or not, the front door stays locked."

"From the looks of things, vandals have found other ways in." I stayed close to Chris.

"There used to be a screened door here, but someone stole it a few years ago. Daddy always thought it was funny that they took the screened door and not the antique wooden one."

"It's a work of art. I've never seen such a beautiful door in my life." It had four different colored stained glass panes, in rich colors you seldom saw in modern glass. The bottom had a four-panel design with dogwood blooms carved on every panel.

Chris gave the door a shove to unwedge it. "The house has settled," he said. "It'd have to be leveled, among other things."

We stepped into a wide hall that went straight to the back of the house.

"It started off as a dogtrot," he said. "All the rooms open off this hall, and the kitchen and the side porch were added through the years."

Peeling pink and gray floral wallpaper was torn back, revealing a fabric that resembled cheesecloth over wide boards. The ceiling was made from beaded board, and the windows were largely intact, huge old glass that showed bubbles in the afternoon sun.

The entire time I oohed and aahed over its details, I fluctuated between thinking how pale the prefab houses looked compared to this and wondering how you breathed new life into a long abandoned house.

"This was grandma and grandpa's bedroom, and here is the living room." Chris walked to the other side of the hall. An old wood-burning stove sat in the corner, a pipe running out the window.

"Here's Grandma's sewing room, and the dining area and kitchen. The kids always had to eat out there." He pointed to the little porch, lined with windows.

"Look at this piece of furniture." I touched a screened door on the front of a cupboard. I heard a creature scurry inside it, and I stepped back so quickly I bumped into Chris.

"That was Grandma Craig's pie safe. I forgot it was out here.Now that I look around, it's probably the only thing salvageable about the whole thing, that and the front door."

He steered me back toward the front. "It would cost a fortune to remodel this place, even if we did the work ourselves, which we don't have time to do. We could build a brand-new place for what we could fix this one up."

"It is awfully far out here. But it sure has a lot of character."