The footage was over two weeks old. It featured Arden walking through the house, reacting to its sorry condition.
Five minutes in, I looked to Roy and asked, "What's the question?"
His ruddy face was all innocence. "What do you mean?"
"You said you wanted an opinion. An opinion on what?"
"The footage," he said. "What do you think of it?"
It was an obvious setup. Roy had been nudging Arden into my path from the beginning. Whether he was hoping we'd fight or fuck, I had no idea and refused to speculate.
Still, I glanced at the monitor, where the footage was still running.What did I think?I thought Arden was easy on the eyes and more interesting than I cared to admit.
The current footage was taken in the kitchen, before we'd gutted it down to the studs. On the monitor, Arden gave a shaky laugh as she pointed to the oven. The thing was old, ugly, and the most putrid shade of green I'd ever seen.
It had to be at least forty years old – not vintage, just ugly as hell. It was one of the first things we'd ripped out during the demolition phase.
Now, I listened as Arden talked about using that oven to make oatmeal cookies with her grandmother. "Except," Arden added with a laugh, "shewas the real brains of the operation. I just followed her instructions, you know, on account of her arthritis."
Arden's eyes grew misty as she added, "I still have her cookie sheets in storage. And her recipe box, too." Arden smiled through unshed tears. "As soon as I get a place of my own, I'm gonna make a big batch of them in her honor."
Watching, I got a funny feeling in my chest.
Shit.
The whole thing made for some great television. But that wasn't the appeal.Not for me.
I was more interested in the way Arden looked, the things she said, and the way she made me feel. I didn't know what it was, but it was warm and sweet, like a homemade cookie fresh out of the oven.
I'd never had one, but I could imagine it just fine. Hell, I could imagine a lot of things.
This wasn't good.
As I continued to watch, Arden talked about helping her grandpa haul in wood for the fireplace and using that fireplace to keep warm whenever the furnace couldn't keep up.
I'd seen the furnace.The thing was too small for a house this size, and even older than the oven. And this was Michigan, not Florida, which meant that a fireplace wouldn't do much good, unless you were hunkered down right in front of it.
I kept on watching as Arden talked about painting the living room in her grandma's favorite color, and reading by candlelight on windy nights, when the electricity flickered off and on.
She'd said nothing about her parents.
And now, for the first time, I asked myself,"Where the hell were they?"
In high school, she'd never talked about them. But at the time, it was no big deal. Hell, I never talked aboutmyparents either, and with good reason.
But Arden had talked plenty about her grandparents, just like she was doing in the footage. And the longer she talked on the screen, the more it became obvious that she'd been living here at the house, not just visiting on Saturday afternoons.
What did that mean?
By the time the footage ended, I'd half-forgotten that I wasn't alone. As the screen went dark, I felt a pang of something I hadn't felt in a long while.
With my eyes trained on the screen, I asked, "Is that it?"
"Fromthatsegment," Roy said. "What, you wanna see more?"
It was obvious bait to lure me in. But already I'd seen more than enough to get me thinking.And feeling.
I didn’t want to thinkorfeel – not about her.
