to go to a house you had never visited because you didn’t trust the owner.”
“Put like that, it sounds even worse.”
“I imagine it was worse for you.”
That disarmed me.
A little.
Wendell stepped aside.
“Please.”
I climbed the ramp.
Halfway through, my knee emitted its usual little complaint.
I automatically reached for the railing.
My fingers closed on the smooth wood.
Perfect height.
I stopped.
Wendell stopped too.
None of us mentioned it.
Inside, the house smelled of pine, primer, and a slight odor of dust, like that of old buildings being restored after years of neglect.
The back room opened onto a kitchen.
Or what would eventually become a kitchen.
The cabinet doors had been removed. New countertops had been partially installed. Part
