Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
"I don't think this is a good idea," he said.
"Why not?"
"For all kinds of reasons."
"Oh."
Jo withdrew her hands, feeling silly for having gotten carried away again.
"I don't mean you. It's not a good time, that's all."
She looked at him more closely, still feeling dejected.
He picked up her hand and held it. "Tomorrow, I have to go on a trip for a few days."
"Oh, really? Anywhere nice?"
"No." He said it in a way that precluded further questioning. "I'll call you when I get back. Around the middle of next week.”
"Okay,” she managed.
“Come on and I’ll get you back to the houseboat,” he told her.
They rode there in silence and he didn’t walk her to the door, instead ending the night with a simple goodbye.
"Goodnight, Jo. Sleep well."
He gave her a brief kiss on the cheek and she got out, walked to her tiny abode and stripped for bed, falling off to sleep in a mood of vague hopefulness.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jo didn’t take the time to examine what she was feeling. She drifted through the next few days in a kind of daze. Soon, it was moving day. The contents of her current life fit in the trunk of her car. Saying her goodbyes to Hank and Patty, she didn’t mention her parting gift. She knew Hank would go down to check out that she had left the place in good order and find an envelope on the counter with the details.
She dropped off her things on the completed size of the house. She had been surprised when she had finally gotten a full view of the place. The bedroom upstairs was miniscule and the kitchen nothing more than a small galley. They suited her for now and would become guest quarters once the other portion was finished. The large den and front room would remain intact with only a portion of the wall removed to allow for an entry into the “garage” portion of the house.
Using her phone’s camera, she began taking some photographs of the inside as they now were, all gloomy beams and tacky partitions and plumber's cast-offs, so she could look back fondly in years to come, and capture the distance traveled from workshop to winter garden.
Then she went out into the street again. She wanted to see if she could capture that mysterious atmosphere on film. She took a few pictures of the grey New Orleans house next door, and some of the little houses across the road which had wisteria cascading down from the roof, and a charming walled courtyard in front. Then she turned her attention to the house on the other side of hers. They had trimmed the ivy a bit since her first visit, revealing Germanic-looking wooden beams and pale pink plaster. It looked like a fairy tale house of some sort, but from a dark Grimm variety.
As she lined up the shot, the door opened, and an elderly lady came out with a watering-can. Jo stared at her curiously. At last, a human being. Despite the increasing spring heat, she was wearing a tweed skirt and a woolly sweater. It was very odd. Jo lowered the phone and walked over, introducing herself as her new neighbor.
"Oh, yes," she said, "I heard it had been sold. So, you're going to be living here? I'm Sarah.”
“Jo. How long have you lived here?"
"Thirty years," she said.
"Then you must know all about the history of around here?"
Her face lit up. "Why not come in and have a cup of tea?"
Sarah, it turned out, was from Liverpool. She had come here with her husband after his time in her majesty’s service and she said she would never go back. Her husband had passed away nine years ago, and she had been on her own since then. Her son came to visit every so often from London.
She seemed excited to have someone living there after all this time. It was never good to have a place stand empty. Jo noted that she used “plurals” despite being alone, saying they would look forward to seeing her there from now on. The people that were left here were very nice on the whole, but of course, it wasn't like it used to be. It was a pity Jo hadn't been here thirty years ago, when most of the houses were still occupied by artists. Oh, the conversations they had about art and artists! The parties they gave!
She paused for a breath, poured them more tea and started off again. Jo guessed she got so few opportunities to entertain a guest that she was making the most of it.
Jo listened with fascination. This was just the kind of thing she wanted to know.
"And your house, dear," she said, "you know it's one of the oldest on the street? It was built about the beginning of the century. From what I understand, it was something to do with the army. They serviced vehicles there. The mechanic lived in for all sorts of off hours repairs.”