“What about the child? Whatever became of the kid?” Justin asked.
“I don’t know, I haven’t been able to find anything, yet.”
They passed a few minutes in comfortable silence, each absorbed by their own
thoughts, before Justin asked, “So, how much further to the turn off?”
“Umm, according to the directions in the email from the realtor, we turn off at Cedar
Lane which comes after mile marker 147. And we’re at number,” Susan paused to watch
for the small white mile markers that lined the two-lane country road, “142, so roughly
five more miles to go. Then after that, it’s two and a quarter miles till we see the drive
with a pretty pink mailbox.”
“Pretty pink mailbox, will have to go,” Justin mumbled under his breath.
§ § §
Twenty minutes later, the SUV rounded a bend in the road and Justin and Susan were
face-to-face with their new home. It was a lovely two-story farmhouse, more suited to
fairytale Europe then modern New England, complete with a thatched roof, leaded
windows and stone chimneys at each end. With a cobbled-stone path leading to the
door, creeping ivy caressing the stone chimneys, English tea roses beneath the
windows and an autumnal forest backdrop, the image was very picturesque and
“Looks like you finally got your Kinkade. Probably cost us less too.”
“Ohh, darling, I like your work too,” Susan said in defense. “But sometimes I need a little
sunshine,” she added with a smile as she stepped from the vehicle.
“I wonder where the realtor is? Thought we were supposed to meet him here and get the
keys,” Justin said as he climbed out. “You should have insisted that they overnight the
keys to us before we left the city.”
“Calm down, Justin. The realtor will be here--maybe he was just delayed. Let’s use the
time and explore the property.”
They walked around to the back of the house and encountered the ruins of a large
Victorian greenhouse. Although the framework was intact, most of the glass panes were
broken and the interior was an overgrown jungle of weeds.
“I guess this is the ‘Greenhouse with original Victorian wrought iron framework’ listed in
the description,” Justin muttered sarcastically.
“So it needs a little work,” Susan said. “We knew we were getting a fixer-upper. Do you
regret buying it?”
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