As he pulled into the drive, he took in the surroundings. The sun filtered in less and less through the crowded trees as he drove farther into the property, bathing the interior of the car in dingy light. Gray squirrels ran and jumped from branch to branch on all sides. The gravel crunched under his tires, and when he rounded yet another corner in the driveway, he finally got his first look at the house.
It loomed solemnly in the middle of a clearing, just as he had seen on the realty website. The grass in the yard looked longer than in the photo and there was an air of disuse about the grounds. The stone of the lower level had darkened with time, and moss of some sort grew in patches here and there in the cool shadows. The logs of the upper floor were beginning to lighten and needed to be stained. Two darkened windows stared him down from the upper floors as he approached, and he could see a few sticks lying like sunbathing snakes on the roof. Another circular turnaround was positioned before the front entry and a twin of the berm at the driveway’s mouth rose neatly in its center. Lake Superior stretched out beyond the house like a dreary drop cloth, its waves rolling over one another in a race to reach the rocky shore first. In its day, Lance thought, it would have been a sight to behold; perhaps a place of envy by neighbors who lived in much less striking abodes nearby.
A shining Chevy Tahoe and a Ford Ranger so rust-coated its original color was indiscernible were parked near the front door. As Lance approached and stopped the Land Rover a few paces behind the Ranger, he caught sight of a man sitting on a stone bench just outside the entryway. Lance could only make out white hair protruding in every direction from beneath a dark baseball hat that had been jammed on, it seemed, as an afterthought. The man also wore a black T-shirt and baggy gray painter’s pants. The bill of the hat obscured his features, but if he had to guess, Lance would have placed him near seventy-five, if not more.
When Lance cut his engine, the man seated on the bench looked up and stared from beneath the brim of his hat, his hands resting flat by his sides. He looked like someone on the edge of a deep pool contemplating a dunk into waters that he no longer trusted. Lance opened his door and shut it, making his way between the vehicles to the front porch. The man did not move as he approached, and it was only when Lance was a few feet away that the man betrayed the illusion of a statue.
“Afternoon,” the elderly man said, his dark eyes running uneasily up and down Lance.
“Hi, I’m Lance. I’m here to see the house,” he said as he stepped forward and extended his hand. The man hesitated only a moment before reaching out and shaking Lance’s outstretched palm. The man’s hand felt like iron wrapped in paper.
“John Hanrahan. I’m the caretaker here, although I haven’t been able to fulfill my duties as of late, and for that I apologize.”
“I think the place is beautiful, just needs someone to live here, I’m guessing.” John pursed his lips and nodded in agreement. A moment later the front door opened and a tall blond woman dressed in a white business suit and black high heels stepped out onto the concrete apron before the entry.
“Lance?” she said as she strode over to him, her hand held out before her.
“Yes, and you must be Carrie?”
“The one and only,” she said, beaming at him through what must have been an inch of makeup. “Well, what did you think of the drive? Very scenic up here, but just wait until fall. You said you live near Minneapolis, right?” Without giving pause to let Lance answer, she hurtled on through what must have been a customary greeting and sales pitch combined. “I lived there in college, couldn’t really get the hang of city life though. I grew up a few miles south of Duluth, so this has always been my home, so to speak. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Come inside and I’ll give you the grand tour.”
Lance followed Carrie as she spun on one polished black heel and disappeared back into the house. As he mounted the steps, Lance looked over his shoulder at the old man, who still sat on the bench, not looking in his direction but staring at something across the yard, seemingly in deep thought. Lance was about to ask him if he was coming with them when Carrie’s high voice called out from inside.