“Damn GPS,” I muttered as I pulled to the side of the road. I was late and lost in an upper-middle-class neighborhood. Though the houses looked similar, yards were freshly trimmed and lined with beautiful Spring bulbs and flowering trees. The man across the street, wearing sunglasses, board shorts, a KISS tank top, and flip-flops, paused his mowing to watch me. I pulled my phone out of its holder and clicked on my email. The address wasn’t correct. After some fast Google searching, I put the van in gear and U-turned in the street. As I drove away, I could hear a lawnmower starting up.
The professor’s house was on the other side of the expansive neighborhood. The British-accented GPS voice had a hard time keeping up with directions, turning me left and right through winding streets and manicured lawns. I turned the last corner and saw in the distance two golden lions on the right-hand side of the street. “Did I miss a turn?” I asked out loud to British GPS. I pulled up to the lions, silent sentries that flanked an open iron gate. The brick roundabout past the lions was just big enough for two small cars. “You have arrived.” Replies British GPS. “No kidding,” I respond as I find a place to park on the street. I gather my notebook and notice several houses down, a family putting out signs for their daughter’s upcoming quinceañera. Across the street, a man is working in a boat on a boat trailer in the driveway, loudly singing along to a Bon Jovi song. I turned to look at the lions. “Let’s see what we’ve got,” I said to them as I walked inside the compound.
I walked across bright orange and yellow cobblestones that led to a marble entryway. The doors to the house looked like they came out of a castle. The gates in front of the doors were open, expecting my arrival. I rang the bell and was a little disappointed, only to hear chimes. A young woman answered the door with a smile on her face. She introduced herself as Melinda, the professor’s former caretaker. As she guided me inside, I noticed the beautiful marble floors. Then I looked up to see marble walls. I followed Melinda into the dining room, a room so large that tapestries hung from the high ceiling. “Are those wooden beams?” I ask Melinda. Before she can answer, an older man emerges from the kitchen. “They are!” he says proudly. “Robert was a man of great taste.” The older man introduces himself as Mitchell, the person I’m meeting to evaluate the papers of his recently passed friend, Robert. The men taught English together at the local university for over thirty years. In retirement, they became close friends. As they were both widowers, they made a pact that should one of them die before the other, they would oversee the estate.
Mitchell pointed me to a box on the long banquet hall table. “These are all of Robert’s short stories. At least, what I could find of them, anyway,” he explained. The high-backed wooden chairs around the table held large paintings of knights, horses, fair maidens, and a unicorn, all being prepared for storage. “There’s other stuff in the house, which I’d like to show you. I spent a lot of time with Robert in his study, reading and talking, and just being old, retired teachers. Honestly, I’m having a little bit of a hard time deciding what to take with me and what to give you. We never talked about that. I just know I’m supposed to give you stuff.”
“I’m happy to look at this box now if you’d like. Maybe as we go through the box . . .” I’m interrupted by a high-pitched cell phone ring. “I’m so sorry,” says Mitchell, “This is the realtor. Melinda can give you the first part of the tour.” Melinda, with a smile, asked, “Are you ready?” I noticed a painting of Robert with a beautiful woman, both dressed in medieval attire, propped up next to the giant fireplace. I nodded and replied, “As I’ll ever be.” Our first stop was the garage.
When the decorative slatted wood door opened, I half expected a stable with horses and a chariot. Melinda flicked a switch, and instead sat a baby blue Ferrari. “He’s been trying to sell it,” commented Melinda. “It’s barely got 30 miles on it. Robert was so excited to get his dream car in his favorite color. He drove it to the grocery store once before he passed.” I asked, “Where would you put groceries?” Melinda smirked and said, “Oh, in the front seat. I’m sure if you talked to Mitchell, he’d cut you a deal.” I declined, citing the need for a car seat. Melinda closed the door and continued to the massive flight of stairs leading to the second-floor landing. At the top, we walked into a cavernous room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A small desk with a green shade lamp was tucked into the corner. A white bear rug, complete with paws and teeth, stared back at me from the landing.
“This was one of his favorite places,” said Melinda. She pointed to old family photos on the desk, some slivered with age. “He was tracing his ancestry back to medieval Germany before he died. He and Mitchell sat in here for hours, talking about their ancestry, their families, and old teaching stories. Robert believed his father’s family descended from Clovis the First, and Mitchell was helping him trace it.” I walked the bookshelves, looking for titles I recognized. “Robert preferred books in German. That’s what he spoke. Most of the others are in Spanish or French.” The books, many well-used with frayed cloth and faded titles on the spine, were packed so tight I dared not pull one. Melinda pointed me around the corner to a dark hallway with closed doors. Electric lights designed to look like burning iron torches lined the marble hallway. My heels clicked unevenly as we quietly made our way down the hall. Melinda opened the door to a grand bedroom, complete with a four-poster bed and a red canopy. This time, modern photography lined the walls. Melinda approached the bed and pointed to the framed photo on the side table. “Robert was still in love with Penelope until the moment he died. She’s been dead twenty years. He died surrounded by her.” In black-and-white, the mini gallery showcased an inseparable couple who embraced at every opportunity. We stood for a moment, Melinda closing her eyes and taking in the room. With an exhale, Melinda turned to me and asked, “Would you like to see Penelope’s other love?” Without a reply, I followed her out of the room.
I stepped into the adjacent room with a shock. This room was plain in comparison to the rest of the house. Simple white walls with shelves filled with books and memorabilia. A desk covered with mementos and a typewriter. A fresh notepad and a pen sat next to the typewriter, waiting for discovery. The simple wood floor had a floral rug. In the corner sat a well-word armchair and a lamp turned on. “He came here every day after she died,” Melinda replied. “Penelope was a member of the League of Women Voters. She worked with several women’s rights groups on the ERA and funding for Planned Parenthood. I never met her, and I wish I did. Robert sat in this office every night, reading in that chair before bed.” Melinda, walking to the armchair, turned on the lamp. “Robert said this was the only place he felt the closest to her. This is where I found him.”
“I never knew this about Penelope,” I replied. “Maybe there are materials here that Mitchell would like to talk about donating to other historical societies in town.”
Behind us, we heard a voice, “Maybe one day,” said Mitchell, joining our tour. “It sounds crazy, but I don’t think Robert is ready to give this up yet. He’s gone now, but I can still feel him in that chair, you know? I’m going to put her desk and his chair in my house, just for a bit. I want them to have a little more time together.”
We walked out of the room and back downstairs. The box of stories waited for me on the table.
“I’m happy for you to take a look at that box. But I’m wondering if I shouldn’t wait to get all their stuff packed up and moved to my house first. You know, so I can go through it,” says Mitchell.
I offered to help him pack the materials to make preliminary decisions, but he declined. “Robert and Penelope were so special,” he replied. “I just want to make sure I’m doing this right.”
We said our goodbyes, and I headed for the door. “Hey,” Mitchell called out. “Would you be interested in a baby blue Ferrari?”
I left the marble house and entered back into the heat of the neighborhood. I crossed the cobblestones and bid a silent farewell to the lions. I turned on the air conditioning full blast as I entered my car. I turned on British GPS to help me find my way back to the office. As she declared, “All right, let’s go,” I saw Melinda walking away from the lions and the closed metal gates.
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