Seeing this one brought back memories: dreams and wishes the two had shared.
Even now, trying so hard to move on, Isaiah missed her.
He entered the house and found a slender man waiting in the foyer.
"Come on in," the man said warmly. "Make yourself at home. Who knows? It might be yours one day soon."
Isaiah extended his hand, wondering quietly if the man knew he was already coming off like a used car salesman. "Thanks," he said. "Hope I'm not too late. I saw the sign a few days ago. Wanted to make sure I added yours to my list."
"Sure," the man said. "I'm here 'til three so there's plenty of time. The place is empty, so what you see is pretty much what you get. My name's Andrew, so if you have any questions..." His voice trailed off.
Isaiah took it all in: the hardwood floors, the antique windows, the oak staircase that led to the old home's second floor. It was a gorgeous entry, the old-world craftsmanship masterfully restored. Somehow the interior was even more impressive than the view from outside. Someone had put a lot of time and money into this place. And love, a lot of love.
"How many bedrooms?"
"Three," Andrew answered. "Two and a half baths."
Nodding a quick reply, Isaiah opened a closet just inside the front door and found himself overcome by an icy pocket of air that escaped from inside. It caught him off guard, the way it washed over him. It was so cold it left him strangely unsettled. The sun had been beating down on the house for hours, and yet, here he was, feeling like he'd just opened a meat locker. His mind was playing tricks on him, too. For a moment, he actually thought he smelled the stink of rotting meat.
"Air conditioning?" he asked.
"I'm sorry," Andrew began. "I was planning to put it in this summer, but... well... something happened... it doesn't look like I'm going to be around that long."
Isaiah looked over at Andrew and saw the man's gaze had fallen to the floor. "Oh well," he said. "I've been living without air for a while now. I ever want it bad enough I suppose I can put it in myself."
He turned, ready to close the closet door and move deeper into the house when something occurred to him...
I could wait in this closet , he thought. They'd never expect it. They'd come in without knocking – like always – only I'd be waiting for them: her and her new man .
Isaiah pushed the heinous thought from his mind with as much force as his consciousness would allow. He clenched his jaw in the cold, beads of sweat forming on his upper lip. He couldn't take his eyes from the deep recesses of the closet, watching as the tiny room turned darker and darker and –
"Is it just you, then?"
Isaiah shook from his trance, finally closing the closet door.
"Most the time," Andrew explained. "My son will be with me on weekends. A few days during the week, too."
"Ah," Andrew began. "Divorce?" He tried to be delicate with his question.
"Yeah. Well, no. We were never married. Lived together a while, just never took the plunge." Isaiah put his hands into the air and wiggled his fingers. "Lucky me."
"It's tough when kids are involved."
Andrew's eyes narrowed as Isaiah passed beneath the entry's archway and into the living room. Isaiah was studying the ceiling and didn't notice.
"Yeah, well, my ex seems to be doing just fine ."
Isaiah said it with a bitterness that surprised even him. Theirs was an ugly break-up, no question, but Isaiah had done a remarkable job staying positive through it all. He was proud to have navigated those waters without getting lost in the ugly whirlpools that suck so many down when they decide to go their separate ways. Still, all at once he was feeling differently about things. Cynical. Hateful, even.
"Anyway, she's moving on so I figure it's probably time I do the same." He stabbed a finger into the next room. "Kitchen through there?"
Andrew
Even now, trying so hard to move on, Isaiah missed her.
He entered the house and found a slender man waiting in the foyer.
"Come on in," the man said warmly. "Make yourself at home. Who knows? It might be yours one day soon."
Isaiah extended his hand, wondering quietly if the man knew he was already coming off like a used car salesman. "Thanks," he said. "Hope I'm not too late. I saw the sign a few days ago. Wanted to make sure I added yours to my list."
"Sure," the man said. "I'm here 'til three so there's plenty of time. The place is empty, so what you see is pretty much what you get. My name's Andrew, so if you have any questions..." His voice trailed off.
Isaiah took it all in: the hardwood floors, the antique windows, the oak staircase that led to the old home's second floor. It was a gorgeous entry, the old-world craftsmanship masterfully restored. Somehow the interior was even more impressive than the view from outside. Someone had put a lot of time and money into this place. And love, a lot of love.
"How many bedrooms?"
"Three," Andrew answered. "Two and a half baths."
Nodding a quick reply, Isaiah opened a closet just inside the front door and found himself overcome by an icy pocket of air that escaped from inside. It caught him off guard, the way it washed over him. It was so cold it left him strangely unsettled. The sun had been beating down on the house for hours, and yet, here he was, feeling like he'd just opened a meat locker. His mind was playing tricks on him, too. For a moment, he actually thought he smelled the stink of rotting meat.
"Air conditioning?" he asked.
"I'm sorry," Andrew began. "I was planning to put it in this summer, but... well... something happened... it doesn't look like I'm going to be around that long."
Isaiah looked over at Andrew and saw the man's gaze had fallen to the floor. "Oh well," he said. "I've been living without air for a while now. I ever want it bad enough I suppose I can put it in myself."
He turned, ready to close the closet door and move deeper into the house when something occurred to him...
I could wait in this closet , he thought. They'd never expect it. They'd come in without knocking – like always – only I'd be waiting for them: her and her new man .
Isaiah pushed the heinous thought from his mind with as much force as his consciousness would allow. He clenched his jaw in the cold, beads of sweat forming on his upper lip. He couldn't take his eyes from the deep recesses of the closet, watching as the tiny room turned darker and darker and –
"Is it just you, then?"
Isaiah shook from his trance, finally closing the closet door.
"Most the time," Andrew explained. "My son will be with me on weekends. A few days during the week, too."
"Ah," Andrew began. "Divorce?" He tried to be delicate with his question.
"Yeah. Well, no. We were never married. Lived together a while, just never took the plunge." Isaiah put his hands into the air and wiggled his fingers. "Lucky me."
"It's tough when kids are involved."
Andrew's eyes narrowed as Isaiah passed beneath the entry's archway and into the living room. Isaiah was studying the ceiling and didn't notice.
"Yeah, well, my ex seems to be doing just fine ."
Isaiah said it with a bitterness that surprised even him. Theirs was an ugly break-up, no question, but Isaiah had done a remarkable job staying positive through it all. He was proud to have navigated those waters without getting lost in the ugly whirlpools that suck so many down when they decide to go their separate ways. Still, all at once he was feeling differently about things. Cynical. Hateful, even.
"Anyway, she's moving on so I figure it's probably time I do the same." He stabbed a finger into the next room. "Kitchen through there?"
Andrew
Similar Books
