The Feel of Echoes

by Mari Labbee

  The house wasn’t visible from the road. The woods completely obscured it, and the driveway curved away from the highway in an arc. The woods were overgrown and thick with undergrowth that made it impossible to see through. The house wasn’t the only thing that needed work, he thought as he looked from side to side. One thing he was sure of: the driveway needed widening; it was too narrow. It crossed his mind that maybe the owner wanted it this way. Only a recluse would live out here anyway, but Dana mentioned something about them maybe wanting to start an inn. He couldn’t imagine leaving it in this condition if that was the case.

  At the end of the curved driveway, he came right up on the house. He brought his truck to a stop a few feet away from the front steps and looked through the windshield. Dana had been right; it sure was something. And she was also right about another thing—it needed work. His expert eye began taking inventory almost immediately. It was weathered, but it was also a beauty.

  Grabbing his clipboard and a pen, he stepped out of the truck. Dana told him the owners were from New York, so he was expecting all the usual neuroses on that front. Lots of people came out here with the dream of remodeling one of the old houses scattered throughout the area. Romantic notions were usually dispelled quickly. He had worked in a lot of the big summer homes, many owned by out-of-towners. A good percentage came from New York, and he had come to know the personalities attached to them.

  There was a car parked at the far end of the house, close to the woods, taking full advantage of the shade. It was a small, fuel-efficient import. Good, he thought. This far out, you needed something like that. It was promising too; obviously, they were practical.

  The gravel crunched under his feet as he made his way up the porch steps. The front door was ajar, and it was in unbelievably good condition, considering. He stopped to admire it. Vines with bell-shaped flowers and roses were carved along its length, the details still clear. It was weathered, but a little sanding, some stain, and not much else would restore it. He knocked lightly with his knuckles. After a minute or so, he knocked again, harder this time.

  “Hello?” he called through the opening. His voice echoed back out to him.

  No one came or answered, so he tried the door, but it didn’t budge. Then he noticed the hinges. They were rusted through. It was a miracle they had managed to get it opened at all.

  He looked around. Someone has to be here, he thought, glancing at the small car again. And the door was open, but it’s possible that it was left open after they couldn’t get it shut again.

  Stop by anytime, Dana had said.

  I hope I didn’t come out here for nothing, he thought, slightly annoyed.

  Recently, since that phone call from home, it didn’t take much for him to become irritated, which was totally out of character for Matt. He turned around and started for his truck, intending to leave. But then he changed his mind, figuring he was already here, might as well take a look around and talk to the owner later. He would make it quick—just a perfunctory glance so he could speak to the owners on an informed level while he suggested they find someone else.

  He walked over to one of the windows, thinking he might be able to look inside. None of them was open, but someone had cleaned them. As far as he could tell, the house was empty. He didn’t see any furniture, and he didn’t see anyone. He walked back down the porch steps and began along the perimeter of the house, away from the woods.

  He started making notes: exterior—good condition, roof—TBD (need to get up there to say), window frames—rot.

  He scribbled notes as he went, craning to get a better view of the second story as needed. He noticed an electrical box and opened it. “Oh boy,” he whispered and added to his notes. He walked deliberately, writing as he went, keeping a steady pace so he could finish up and get back on the road. He wasn’t paying particular attention to where he was going, just keeping to the line of the house, following as it curved around, and as he rounded it, he stopped.

  A gust of wind whipped around the corner of the house, almost throwing him off balance. But it was more than the wind that had surprised him. He stared out at that flat expanse of land all the way to the lighthouse, stunned, until the sound of a woman’s voice jarred him from his catatonia.

  “Damn!”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Bri had just smacked her thumb with the hammer. Fortunately, it was the little hammer; she had misplaced the big one. Frustrated after struggling with the windows from the inside, she had grabbed the hammer and gone outside to see if she could tap them loose from that side. The first swing of the hammer came down on her thumb, missing the window frame entirely, and instantly her thumb began to throb. She dropped the hammer and jumped back, cursing and cradling her hand, when a man’s voice startled her.

  “Hi.”

  Matt had followed the voice around to the back of the house, where he saw a woman standing by one of the windows, holding her hand to her chest and talking to herself. She was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, her hair twisted up in a blue bandanna. She jumped when he spoke.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Startled, she just stared at him, and Matt noticed immediately how blue her eyes were. Not an ordinary blue—they were dark, like two blueberries. Even from where he stood, he saw them clearly.

  “Um…Dana asked me to come by.”

  A few moments passed before either of them said anything; then they both spoke at the same time.

  “Who…”

  “I didn’t mean to just barge…”

  Their words jumbled one on top of the other, and both stopped talking.

  “I’m Matt,” he said, quickly extending his hand.

  “Bri,” she said, shaking his hand awkwardly. “Sabrina, actually, but everyone calls me Bri. Like the cheese.” Like the cheese—one of these days, she would stop saying that.

  “Nice to meet you, Bri.” He looked at her balled-up hand. “Uh…can I help you with that?” he asked, gesturing.

  She held her hand out, unfurled it, and was horrified. In just those few minutes, her thumb had turned a glowing bright purple, and it looked astonishing against her fair skin.

  He saw the hammer on the ground and picked it up.

  “We’ll just set the weapon here for now,” he said as he laid it on the window ledge.

  Dana hadn’t mentioned she was sending a comedian.

  “You need to get this under cold water. It’ll stop the swelling.” He took her hand and looked at the open door. “This way?”

  She nodded and allowed him to lead her inside. She pointed the way to the kitchen. They walked into the kitchen, and over to the sink, where he turned the knob.

  It spurted and spit before a few drops dribbled out. He tried again, and exactly the same thing happened. On the third try, it spurted and then spit out a gush of water that splashed onto both of them. He was the only one who stepped back. Bri didn’t move.

  “That’s been happening a lot,” she said dryly.

  “Well,” he said, wiping the water off his arms, “that’s what I’m here for. I’ll take a look at that.”

  The cold water helped, and the throbbing dulled. It actually felt a lot better.

  “So you’re the plumber?” she asked, leaning over the sink, propped up on her elbows.

  “Not exactly, but I can take care of some of that. Dana said you also needed electrical?”

  She remembered the chaos of working with all the different contractors at the townhouse. All their schedules overlapping, conflicts working with one another—it was hell. She’d love to just be able to deal with one person for all the work.

  “You can do all of it?”

  He nodded. Dana had mentioned to him that Bri was having trouble getting people to come out and was running short on money after escrow closed. But don’t let on I said that, Dana had told him. “Well, I can do some, and I can schedule other trades.”

  She raised an eyebrow and smiled. He’d been holding her h
and under the running water for several minutes. Finally, he removed it and looked at her finger.

  “Well, I don’t think it’ll go beyond this muted lavender shade. Does it feel better?” he asked.

  Bri nodded. “Yes, it does, actually.”

  “Works every time.” He smiled.

  He had a crooked smile, one side curled up just a little higher than the other, and he had a slightly crooked tooth that did not affect the charm of his smile whatsoever. He held her hand just a beat too long, and she gently pulled it away and then took a small step back. He picked up on her cue and did the same.

  Pointing in the general direction of the front door, he continued. “I’m sorry. I knocked a couple of times, but there was no answer. I didn’t mean to surprise you. Dana told me to drop by anytime…” He intended to go on, but she interrupted him.

  “It’s OK. I didn’t hear you knock. The sound doesn’t carry probably…”

  “Because the door’s so thick,” they said in unison, and they both quickly laughed.

  “Right,” he said. “Well, anyway, I came out from Whittlebee. It’s a little bit of a drive. When you didn’t answer, I didn’t think you were home, but I didn’t want to waste the trip up. So I figured I’d look around.”

  “Oh yes, Dana said you might be coming by, but that it would be after noon. I just wasn’t expecting anyone this morning, but it’s OK. After all, you saved me.” She lifted her thumb.

  He laughed. Then he filled her in on what Dana had told him so far.

  Bri liked him. He seemed nice. He had a boyish charm but wasn’t a boy in the least. She guessed he stood at least six foot one, slender but muscular in a non-gym kind of way. His eyes were bluish-green, almost teal, she’d say. His hair was toffee-brown with sun-streaked ends, and currently, it was a tousled mess. She must have lingered on it a bit too long because he raised a hand to smooth it down. She looked away quickly.

  “It’s windy out there,” he said.

  “Yeah, I know. It can whip up at a moment’s notice, and then the next minute it’ll be calm.” She shrugged. “I’m getting used to it,” she said. “And as far as the door goes, I’ll have to leave a mallet next to it until I get a doorbell installed, which reminds me—is that something you might be able to do? Install a doorbell, I mean?”

  “You could put a big bell on it,” he said, smiling.

  Bri smiled back.

  “OK,” he said. “You need carpentry, electrical, plumbing.” Bri nodded, agreeing to everything—yes, yes, and yes. He seemed knowledgeable, and she felt comfortable with him. She decided to trust Dana that he was the best person for the job.

  “Yes, all of that. So let me take you on a tour of the house. I don’t want to keep you any longer than you have time for. And I have to go into town for some things later too. I’ve done a complete run-through myself, but, of course, a second pair of eyes is always good.”

  She’d done a run-through. What did she mean by that? He wondered.

  “You’ve done a run-through?”

  She nodded.

  “I worked at a development firm in New York.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes. We mostly converted old buildings and factories into condos, that sort of thing,” she said, waving her hand dismissively.

  “Anyway, let me show you what you’re getting into.”

  He didn’t correct her when she assumed he would be taking the job because, after all, he hadn’t definitively made a decision on that yet.

  When she had called Dana to see if she knew a local handyman—one who knew a little about electricity and maybe plumbing; oh, and some carpentry too—that indeed was an impossible order.

  “I have the perfect person in mind, but I wouldn’t call him a handyman.”

  “Is…he reasonable?”

  “Well, he’s the best.”

  The best. The best is always expensive, she had thought at the time.

  “You don’t want that beautiful house worked on by some amateur, do you? Of course not. Let me give him a call.”

  “You know, Dana, I’d like a couple of estimates before I commit to any one person.”

  Dana laughed. “Ordinarily you would, but you’re not in New York anymore. I wouldn’t trust that house to anyone else; you’ll see.”

  Dana had a way of finalizing a conversation better than anyone Bri had ever known. That was probably why she was a “top producer.” The phone call had left her feeling alternately relieved and drained then, but now she was glad she’d made it.

  “Well, obviously this is the kitchen,” she said, half turning. “I haven’t gotten appliances yet because…well, I need the electrical updated, and I need to know what amp…um…amper…for the appliances…” She searched for the word, but Matt knew what she meant.

  He wondered who had been out here to look at the electrical.

  She led the way out of the kitchen, and he followed.

  Mainly concerned with water leaks, he scanned the ceiling and walls for water damage as he followed her, looking in the corners for telltale watermarks. She walked ahead of him, pointing out items that she had noticed, but he saw plenty that she had missed. As they walked, he noted that the wood floors, though faded and worn, felt solid beneath him—no creaking or weak spots gone soft. That was good. There was no hint of mildew in the still air inside the house either—that was good too.

  They walked into what had to be the dining room. It was long and narrow, with huge floor-to-ceiling windows that separated them from the outside. They currently suffered under layers of grime, but that hardly affected a view that was nothing short of spectacular. The lighthouse was centered perfectly in them. From the ceiling hung three chandeliers—tiny, dainty, and made of green cut glass. Dappled sunlight streamed in, hitting the glass teardrops, throwing little prisms against the opposite wall.

  Matt stood at the corner and looked up.

  “Is it OK if I pull this back a bit?” He gestured to the wallpaper that was drooping a bit.

  “Oh sure,” Bri answered. “It’s all coming down, anyway.

  He pulled the corner out a bit and began examining the wall behind it.

  Bri watched as a prism of light danced just above his head. She cocked her head to one side, thinking.

  “I’ve been thinking of painting this wall,” she said. “I mean, not just one color but something big—something that would bring out the color of the chandeliers.” She paused, looking through him and at the wall. “I’m not an artist, but maybe I could find a template or stencil—something like that. I was thinking…a tree with gilded fruit hanging from its branches; soft greens, maybe a bit of gold.”

  As she spoke, she waved her arms as if painting what she imagined there. She had long, graceful arms that were delicately muscled. People asked Matt for his opinion on their decorating ideas all the time, a subject he found was best left untouched, but in this case, he made an exception.

  “A mural?”

  “Um…yes, I guess so,” she said.

  “I think that would look really nice,” he said, meaning it.

  She smiled, looking happy that he had agreed. He went back to his notes.

  Bri watched him. Eventually they would have to talk about price, and her heart sank a little, knowing how much he hadn’t seen yet.

  Passing through the dining room, they had two choices, straight or to the right. Bri turned right, which led into the foyer.

  The foyer was round and cavernous with a high ceiling. This would account for the clear echo that had bounced back at him when he’d called through the door earlier. The second floor was visible at the top of the stairs, where it wound around a balcony of sorts.

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said when I first saw it,” Bri said.

  He was impressed. Actually, he was floored. The entire foyer was covered in wood: wainscot and paneling all the way to the ceiling; the staircase, including all the treads and skirting along the wall—all of it. It was incredible.


  “I was wondering,” she said, crossing her arms, “do you know what kind of wood it is? I thought maybe mahogany or rosewood?”

  He walked over to the staircase and carefully ran a finger over it; dust fell away like talcum powder, and he could see it was badly worn.

  “It’s cocobolo.”

  “It’s what?” Bri had never heard of it.

  “Cocobolo,” he repeated, looking at the black-and-purple veins running through the dark red wood of the banister.

  “Sometimes it’s confused with rosewood, but it isn’t. This is cocobolo, and I’ve never seen so much of it used like this.”

  “Oh,” Bri said.

  Matt looked at her. “You’ve seen it. In luxury-car dashboards, violins…that sort of thing.

  “Really?” she exclaimed.

  Matt continued. “It comes from the rain forest in Central America. It’s very hard, very durable. Today it’s farmed, but this,” he said, looking around, “this is old. It came from the jungle, not any farm. And it would be very expensive to do this today.”

  Bri looked around with a new appreciation. Matt stood a few feet away from her. His back was to her, and she noticed a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck. It traveled in a perfectly straight line, no hairy stubble to mar the journey. His skin was smooth, and the ends of his hair curled in softly against it. Though he certainly looked the part, there was no hint of Maine in his speech; she wondered where he was from.

  “Yeah, really,” he said, turning to face her.

  Suddenly the foyer became stifling. There was no breeze, save whatever came through the foot-wide opening of the front door, which wasn’t much at all. Bri uncrossed her arms.

  “I’ll show you the great room before the upstairs,” she said and started off to where one of two archways stood opposite each other.

  It was a huge room between the foyer and sunroom. As they walked in, he saw the enormous hearth on the wall farthest away from them. He started for it and she followed. Just like in the dining room, the view from here was of the clearing and the lighthouse. And though the windows were still grimy, they allowed enough light in to make it bright.