Dream House

Middletown, NJ

October 1999

“Four bedrooms?” Amy says. She’s running numbers in her head.

“Yes, can you believe it?” Fran says. “It’s an absolute miracle.”

Mike rubs Amy’s belly. She knows he knows what she’s thinking: This is too much house.

“We’ve got an immediate need for three-quarters of them,” Mike says happily. “And the fourth could be an office for you—”

“Oh no, honey,” Fran says as she unlocks the front door. “There already is an office.” If Amy ever played poker with this woman, she’d lose. Fran reads her like a book and drops her voice. “The owners are highly motivated sellers. He’s already taken a job in Switzerland.”

“They left everything,” Mike says, leading Caleb by the hand down an immaculate, wood-floored hallway.

“Not quite,” Amy says, noting five places where pictures have been removed from the walls and a curio cabinet that’s been recently vacated. But there’s a lot still here—furniture, carpets, appliances. More mental calculation.

Fran had brought a plush Oscar the Grouch doll for Caleb. Amy notices it lying on the hallway floor at the exact moment that Fran sees it. Amy scoops it up, and Fran smiles graciously. No cracks in her veneer, thinks Amy. Fran’s narration takes them down the hallway. Amy notes the carefully cultivated hint of surprise in her voice, as if she herself can’t quite believe the sublimity of it all.

“Granite tops—three years old, basically new—amazing, really. Gas everything, of course. Custom fixtures. Top-of-the-line appliances—he was in the business, you know. French doors onto the veranda, overlooking the backyard—”

“That’s quite a backyard,” says Mike.

“It’s the largest on the cul-de-sac,” adds Fran. Amy admires the swivel.

“Bigger than yours was, Dad?” asks Caleb.

“My backyard was woods and creeks and train tracks,” Mike says.

“Wow!”

Mike smiles down at him. “No, this is better. Way better.”

Mike looks at Amy, and it’s all over his face. He’s in love. Amy is trying to look aloof, mildly disinterested. Fran pretends not to see any of it. She’s porcelain and ball bearings in stilettos, Amy thinks.

Fran clacks back up the hallway toward the foyer, and Amy takes the opportunity to give the Oscar doll back to Caleb, along with a look that says Do me a solid and hang on to that, will you?

“The trim is hardwood,” Fran is saying. “I love the satin finish. Aren’t you tired of gloss? Footprint basement here … ,” she says, patting a three-quarter door in the hallway as she passes it by. “… Owners are Jim and Sheila Schmutz, lovely people. Excellent taste—”

“Schmutz?” says Amy. “As in …”

“Dirt, yes, honey,” says Fran as her heels thump on the padded runner of the main staircase. “What’s in a name? Very little, thank God. Jim and Sheila were obsessed with cleanliness, as you can see. Upstairs completely redone recently, and I mean very recently …”

“Master bedroom up here, I’m assuming?” Amy asks. She knows it is, but she likes the game of throwing wrenches into Fran’s narration, if only to admire her skillful adaptation.

“… including the master, of course. Absolutely stunning crown moldings …”

“Master bedroom?” Caleb whispers to Amy, but Fran hears it.

“Yes, honey,” the porcelain machine says without turning around. “That means Mommy and Daddy sleep there. But you have two other rooms up here you can choose from. …” Then, slipping back into form, “… Jack and Jill bathroom, front bedroom attached …”

“Amazing.” Amy hadn’t meant to say it aloud. Fran turns and beams at her. Does she know Amy was talking about her?

“Jack and Jill?” Caleb asks.

Fran spins around, crouches right in front of him, and pokes his tummy. A crack, thinks Amy. Can’t read kids. Caleb’s not a kid who enjoys sudden belly-pokes from strangers.

“Jack and Jill! You can be Jack and your little sister can be Jill,” she says.

“What if it’s a boy?” Caleb says.

“Then it’s a Jack and Jack, of course.”

“Why?”

Fran doesn’t know. And she doesn’t like it. Amy fears a short circuit.

“Good question!” Amy says. “Let’s put it in the book!”

She takes the Book of Mysteries out of her bag along with the Penigma. “Go!” she says.

“Why is it called Jack and Jill?” dictates Caleb.

“Got it!” Amy says, and puts it away again.

Fran has moved on. “And … the office. Corner desk, double-pane windows—they all are, of course. Perfect for a writer.”

Aloof. Mildly indifferent. But … it is getting hard. She reaches behind her blindly, seeking his hand for an oh-my-God squeeze. But Mike isn’t there.

Keeping her five-year-old from wandering off? A breeze. Her husband? Almost impossible.

They tour the rest of the upstairs, Amy expecting to find him in every next room. But no Mike.

“Mike?” Amy ventures, shrugging at Fran. Fran, ever-indulgent, bottomlessly empathetic, impeccably nonjudgmental, smiles and continues.

“… completely reroofed just before they left—can you believe it?”

Fran’s heels thud back down the stairs, followed by Amy’s flats and Caleb’s sneakers. Caleb separates from Amy’s hand and goes to the door to the basement, which is ajar.

“Dad?” he calls, and starts to go in.

“Caleb,” Amy says, and he stops, half-in, half-out. “Don’t. It’s dark.”

“It’s okay. I can see light down there.” And he disappears, Fran just behind him.

“… footprint basement, finished, paneled and carpeted, and really just enormous. Storm windows on three sides, so you still get some light—imagine!”

###

Caleb finds Dad in the basement. His head is tilted to the side, and he is smiling.

Fran’s shoes are loud coming down the steps.

“… quite a collection of appliance manuals, actually. Had a little water problem—”

“Water problem meaning … ,” Mom says.

“Goodness no!” Fran says. “Nothing like that. Just a bit of moisture, all quite normal. But his collection was destroyed. Mold. Terribly sad for him. All still here, as you can see, but we’ll take care of that. Just came on the market, you know, when the Switzerland opportunity arose …”

She talks so much and is kind of scary.

“Mike,” Mom says. She says it like when she’s almost getting mad.

Dad makes a big blink. “I’m in.”

Caleb doesn’t understand. His mom looks surprised. Fran starts talking very fast.

“… very motivated sellers, as you know. I suspect there’s some room in the number. I’ve put some ideas on paper. …”

“Thank you, Fran,” Mom says. “Could we have a look at them in the kitchen, please?”

Fran goes back upstairs.

“Did you hear me calling you?” Mom says. Uh-oh.

Dad puts a hand on her stomach. “It’s a dream house.”

“Yes, it is. But is it our dream house?” She starts leading Dad back up the stairs.

“So much space,” Dad says, looking back down at the basement.

“Shh!” Mom says, smiling. “Don’t let Fran hear you!”

Dad laughs. “Right! Game faces! Come on, Caleb.”

Caleb is holding Oscar by a leg, so when he looks down, he sees Oscar staring up at him upside down. The light from the window is on Oscar’s face. The light gets brighter. It gets brighter again, there’s a weird sound, and Caleb is scared.

He drops Oscar on the floor and runs up the stairs.