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| "Well," he whispered, "what do you think? Is the house just right?" A soft giggle was his only answer. Hannah didn't like to talk in front of strangers and even though the Real Estate agent was two rooms away he was a stranger. For the rest of the time they viewed the two-hundred-year-old, "completely restored and renovated" Colonial, Mike knew he'd have to rely on a barrage of giggles, sighs and gentle touches to determine her feelings about the house. It'd been hard, at first, but he'd grown used to it. Even to treasure those private messages between them. Hannah trusted him as she'd never trusted a living soul before. It was an honor he was determined to be worthy of and if that meant weekends spent driving up and down the state to find her the "Perfect House" that's what he'd do. And gladly. Because Hannah had deserved it, the perfect house. "Well?" Mike asked again and pretended impatience - hands at his waist, toe of his boot tapping against the polished wood of the parlor floor as he looked around. Good floors, high ceilings, the stone walls firm and solid. The house had lasted two hundred years and would, he had no doubt, stand for a hundred more. Perhaps longer. He never paid much attention before they started looking for a home, had no real reason to before that, but now he noticed how some houses seemed to stand sentry duty throughout the generations. This house was like that, it would protect Hannah and keep her safe. If she liked it. "Why wouldn't she?" he said, more to himself than her and nodded at the room with its 'real wood-burning' fireplace and deep-set windows that opened onto a small stand of trees, aflame with autumn color. It was a beautiful room and he could picture her there, curled up like a kitten in front of the fires or serving tea by candlelight or just standing by the window to watch the seasons change. "It's perfect." It was. Perfect. A perfect home for her and suddenly that thought frightened him. She made a little noise - a cross between a giggle and sigh. Her way of asking what was wrong. Mike shook his head, pretending again. "I was just thinking . . . nothing important. So, you tell me what's wrong with this house. Is it too big?" That had become part of the game they played - his Papa Bear to her Goldilocks. Hannah's giggle echoed against the stone walls. It wasn't too big. "Too small?" Giggle. No, not too small. Mike felt a chill touch the back of his neck. Not too big and not too small. He didn't want to ask the next question. "It is pretty isolated," he said instead. "The next house is a mile away." If Hannah answered it was lost in the hollow thump, thump, thump of Italian leather soles against wood. "A marvelous room, isn't it?" The Real Estate - 'Just call me Ted' - agent asked as he swept into the parlor, autumn-toned coat ablaze, lease agreement in hand. "And I know for a fact that the fireplace works perfect . . . a couple cords of wood will really cut down on the electric bill during the winter." He winked and Mike nodded. "I'm sure. What about the upstairs?" Ted's professional smile never wavered. "There's a fireplace in the Master Bedroom and forced air throughout. Furnace is only five years old and was inspected when the owner put the house on the market. The stones actually keep the heat in, I'm told. They don't make houses like this any more." Mike half-expected the man to walk over and kick one of the walls and was just as glad when he didn't. "No," he agreed, "they don't. I know, I've been looking. So-" Mike took a deep breath and felt Hannah squeeze his hand. Go on, ask. "Tell me, Ted, is the house haunted?" And Ted's smile faltered. Mike wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Hannah giggle. "What?" "Haunted," Mike repeated. "Is this house haunted?" "Not that I know of." The pressure on Mike's hand increased and he felt Hannah tremble against him. "Are you sure? I mean, I've heard things like that have to be declared . . . don't they?" The man's smile returned, a little more wry and less professional. "Yes, a lot of places do have to declare things like that." Hannah pressed against him. "And this one?" "No, it's not haunted." Hannah's sigh tickled the side of Mike's face. "That's good." "So," Ted's smile was back to its professional best as he held up the agreement, "shall we sit down? I have to be honest, I have another couple who are pretty interested." It was your typical hard-sale tactic, 'get in now while the getting's good', but Mike chewed his lip as though he honestly believed it. "I'd like to take another look upstairs first . . . do you mind?" Ted backed out of the room, sweeping the contract in an arc toward the mahogany staircase. "Take your time. It is a major decision." "You don't know the half of it," he said, softly, knowing only Hannah would hear as they mounted the stairs. The late afternoon sunshine filled the rooms with their own autumn shades. The house snug and warm and quiet . . . perfect. By the time they returned to the top of the stairs, Mike knew the answer to his final question. "It's just right," he said, "isn't it?" Hannah kissed his cheek. It was the first time she'd ever done that and it would be the last. "I'm glad. You deserve a house like this. I'm glad I was able to find it for you. Good-bye, Hannah." Her sigh followed him down the stairs and out the front door. "Wait!" Mike turned at the call and watched Ted hurry toward him, lease agreement and coat-tails flapping in the cool breeze, puzzled look on his face. "I've changed my mind," he said, gazing past the agent shoulder to the doorway. Mike knew she was standing there and wished he could see her. "Oh, and you might want to get a disclaimer after all. The house is haunted." -end- |
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