Chapter 11

Mei’s meeting with the architect went much less smoothly than Em’s had, but that was likely to do that she didn’t enthusiastically agree with everything the man said no matter how outlandish.

“This house could be a work of art,” Dawson, the architect, had argued. Mei had scoffed.

“It’s a house. Put some windows and a door and be done with it,” the short woman said.

Emerson watched the exchange uneasily, and looked on with alarm when the architect asked for his opinion.

“What do you think?”

“Um, well…” Emerson hedged meekly. “Perhaps the fountain is a bit much.”

Dawson made a disgusted noise. “Very well. I’ll have a new set of plans drawn up. I’ll be in touch.”

He stalked out of the diner carrying his blueprints under his arm.

“Well, that could have gone better,” Emerson said, stirring sugar into his coffee.

Mei harrumphed. “Better you should be happy with your house for as long as you live in it than make that guy happy for a few minutes.”

“The house could have been a work of art. It might even have been photographed one day.”

“That’s his dream, not yours,” the housekeeper pointed out as she took a sip of her coffee.

Emerson shrugged.

Mei scrutinized him and said, “So what about the old house?”

“What about it?” he asked nervously.

“Are you planning to sell it?”

“I don’t know,” Emerson said. “I guess. I have no desire to go back there whatsoever.”

“Hm,” Mei said.

“They’ll clear the property and someone can start with a nice, blank slate.”

“I suppose.” She sipped again, watching him over the rim of her mug.

Emerson looked at the table. “I want the new house to be as different from the old house as possible. I don’t want any traces of Peggy in it.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard to do,” Mei snorted.

He looked up and said, “I hope you’re right, but sometimes I wonder…”

“What?”

He looked thoughtfully out the window. “I wonder how much of her is inside me, and how much I can fight what is.”

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