filled with red roses and white lilies (picked from the garden, of course) on either side.
Imogen felt overwhelmed as Mrs. Moody took her on the grand tour, first through the foyer, decorated with fête galante art, the same kind seen in the French salons of the eighteenth century. Imogen wondered if the pieces were originals or replicas. At this point she couldn't place her bet accurately. Next was the formal dining room. Next was the library. Last were the rooms.
Imogen's room was large, with a canopy bed with deep emerald drapes around a mahogany bedframe. There was an antique vanity against one wall and large French windows.
"I hope you'll be comfortable here," Sylvia smiled.
Comfortable was an understatement.
Sylvia turned and left the room, leaving Imogen to walk around and familiarize herself with her new surroundings. She placed her bag, which now looked meager and low-class to her, onto the floor and shoved it under the bed.
She heard a cough behind her and turned to see Cameron leaning against the door. Imogen's mouth was still hanging open.
"I can't believe this is where you grew up."
"Believe me, it was torture as a child. 'Don't touch this, don't get this dirty.' It's no fun when you're ten. You couldn't care less about antiques. In fact, I still kinda don't. 'Hey, here's something really old. Let's not ever get rid of it, even though it's hideous and prone to breaking easily.'"
Imogen bounced on the bed.
"My mom wanted me to tell you that dinner will be ready shortly. That's why I'm here."
"It's not everyday you join women in their bedrooms, is it?"
Cameron's breath was knocked out of him. Again. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. Um. Anyway. Dining room. You know where it's at."
* * * *
Sylvia and George Moody sat at opposite ends of the table. Imogen and Cameron were placed at either end of Sylvia, facing each other. Bobby and Sarah sat to Imogen's right. Their two daughters, who ate an earlier, separate dinner, were playing outside. Alex, the youngest of the Moody children, sat to his father's right.
Imogen tried to keep her eyes on her bowl of soup, so as not to seem rude. Never before had she been so self-conscious about her own eating habits.
Cameron watched her. His divided attention only caught bits and pieces of the polite conversation between his sister-in-law and his parents.
"The dance recital went fantastically. I have the video tape, since you two couldn't make it."
"I'd love to see it."
"Maybe tonight."
Imogen caught Sarah's eyes and they smiled. She was a nice enough lady. Very pretty. She looked younger than her age. Her daughters looked like her.
"What do you do for a living, Imogen?" Sarah was speaking to her. It took her a few moments to realize.
"Oh," she dropped her head. "I work as a desk clerk at a bookshop in the city."
"You live in Chicago, too?" Bobby, the eldest, asked. It was easy to tell he was related to Cameron. They looked almost exactly alike. If it hadn't been for the fine lines around his eyes, Imogen might have guessed the two were twins. She nodded.
"Yes. I haven't been there long. The drive over here I kept telling Cameron how much I love the countryside. I might be a converted girl, I think."
Bobby and Sarah laughed. Imogen watched Bobby place his hand atop his wife's. "It's a nice place to settle down. It's too hectic trying to raise children in the city."
"I imagine so," Imogen said. She looked up at Cameron. They both looked swiftly away from each other. "Your daughters are beautiful, by the way."
Sarah and Bobby beamed like the proud parents they were.
"Thank you," Bobby said. "They're the best thing to ever happen to us. Do you have any children?"
Imogen took her glass of water and drank the entire thing in one sip. Wiping her mouth, she shook her head. "No, no. Someday. Not right now."
"They truly are a blessing," Sarah said. Sylvia nodded, taking the time to look at each of her three sons.
"When is the next dance recital, Sarah?"
Imogen felt overwhelmed as Mrs. Moody took her on the grand tour, first through the foyer, decorated with fête galante art, the same kind seen in the French salons of the eighteenth century. Imogen wondered if the pieces were originals or replicas. At this point she couldn't place her bet accurately. Next was the formal dining room. Next was the library. Last were the rooms.
Imogen's room was large, with a canopy bed with deep emerald drapes around a mahogany bedframe. There was an antique vanity against one wall and large French windows.
"I hope you'll be comfortable here," Sylvia smiled.
Comfortable was an understatement.
Sylvia turned and left the room, leaving Imogen to walk around and familiarize herself with her new surroundings. She placed her bag, which now looked meager and low-class to her, onto the floor and shoved it under the bed.
She heard a cough behind her and turned to see Cameron leaning against the door. Imogen's mouth was still hanging open.
"I can't believe this is where you grew up."
"Believe me, it was torture as a child. 'Don't touch this, don't get this dirty.' It's no fun when you're ten. You couldn't care less about antiques. In fact, I still kinda don't. 'Hey, here's something really old. Let's not ever get rid of it, even though it's hideous and prone to breaking easily.'"
Imogen bounced on the bed.
"My mom wanted me to tell you that dinner will be ready shortly. That's why I'm here."
"It's not everyday you join women in their bedrooms, is it?"
Cameron's breath was knocked out of him. Again. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. Um. Anyway. Dining room. You know where it's at."
* * * *
Sylvia and George Moody sat at opposite ends of the table. Imogen and Cameron were placed at either end of Sylvia, facing each other. Bobby and Sarah sat to Imogen's right. Their two daughters, who ate an earlier, separate dinner, were playing outside. Alex, the youngest of the Moody children, sat to his father's right.
Imogen tried to keep her eyes on her bowl of soup, so as not to seem rude. Never before had she been so self-conscious about her own eating habits.
Cameron watched her. His divided attention only caught bits and pieces of the polite conversation between his sister-in-law and his parents.
"The dance recital went fantastically. I have the video tape, since you two couldn't make it."
"I'd love to see it."
"Maybe tonight."
Imogen caught Sarah's eyes and they smiled. She was a nice enough lady. Very pretty. She looked younger than her age. Her daughters looked like her.
"What do you do for a living, Imogen?" Sarah was speaking to her. It took her a few moments to realize.
"Oh," she dropped her head. "I work as a desk clerk at a bookshop in the city."
"You live in Chicago, too?" Bobby, the eldest, asked. It was easy to tell he was related to Cameron. They looked almost exactly alike. If it hadn't been for the fine lines around his eyes, Imogen might have guessed the two were twins. She nodded.
"Yes. I haven't been there long. The drive over here I kept telling Cameron how much I love the countryside. I might be a converted girl, I think."
Bobby and Sarah laughed. Imogen watched Bobby place his hand atop his wife's. "It's a nice place to settle down. It's too hectic trying to raise children in the city."
"I imagine so," Imogen said. She looked up at Cameron. They both looked swiftly away from each other. "Your daughters are beautiful, by the way."
Sarah and Bobby beamed like the proud parents they were.
"Thank you," Bobby said. "They're the best thing to ever happen to us. Do you have any children?"
Imogen took her glass of water and drank the entire thing in one sip. Wiping her mouth, she shook her head. "No, no. Someday. Not right now."
"They truly are a blessing," Sarah said. Sylvia nodded, taking the time to look at each of her three sons.
"When is the next dance recital, Sarah?"
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