It would be even nicer to park the car a short distance away, slip back through neighboring yards, and climb the massive elm behind the Mundy house. Perched high in its branches at night, camouflaged by dense foliage, Casey watched the family inside their home throughout the summer and into early fall.
That became too risky after the leaves fell.
But eventually, frustrated by the lack of proximity, emboldened by the knowledge that November thirtieth was looming, Casey tried a new tactic.
The Mundy family is careless about locking doors: their cars in the driveway and even the back door of the house are often left unlocked. Not that it matters. They keep a key hidden under a planter on the back step.
Casey began to prowl the house when they weren’t home—-and once, in the dead of night, when they were. Those stealthy maneuvers were dangerous, but they allowed a heady, perhaps even addictive, sense of power, as well as some mementos that have come in handy.
The family dog—-an ignorant creature—-barely stirs when Casey comes around now, other than to happily chew the chunks of steak fed to him with gloved fingers.
But those days are over. Now isn’t the time to throw caution to the wind. You don’t painstakingly scale a towering tree only to remove your safety harness just short of the apex.
But this is a special night; one that calls for a celebration.
And I know just the place . . .
The Village Common is aglow with white twinkle lights. The surrounding streets are quiet, though hardly deserted. The red brick Village Hall, stately Dapplebrook Inn, and cobblestone library building are aglow. The Olde Opera House marquee advertises a current showing of a popular art house film. Restaurants are busy, and a -couple of shops have extended holiday shopping hours. There are only a few available parking spaces in the municipal lot. Casey pulls into one of them and waits for the song to come to an end before stepping out into the chilly night air and striding toward Marrana’s.
Back when Rowan and Jake got engaged, long before they decided to move back to their hometown, they built their dream home—-a shared imaginary one. They pictured themselves in a house with fireplaces and wooden floors and staircases; with tall paned windows and a gingerbread porch.
They pictured themselves here.
Neither of them had ever been inside it, or even noticed it during all the years they’d spent growing up in Mundy’s Landing. Yet the moment the Realtor drove them up to the house the real estate ad described as a Victorian charmer, they both knew it was meant to be theirs.
It was so ideal that Rowan sometimes wonders if it had been lurking somewhere in the back of her mind all along, an indelible fragment of some childhood memory that had long since evaporated.
The house had every feature they’d fantasized about and then some, but layer upon layer of “modern updates” had masked the original charm. Previous owners had painted the nineteenth--century woodwork, paneled over the wainscoting, layered the inlaid oak floors with shag carpet, and obscured vintage tin ceilings and crown moldings above popcorn drop ceilings.
That was fine with Rowan and Jake. The house was a bargain fixer--upper, well within their budget. Restoring it had encompassed the better part of a decade and a good chunk of money, but it was worthwhile.
Their dream home has become a reality, something Rowan doesn’t tend to take for granted. Most evenings, when the day is fading and the rooms glow with lamplight, hushed aside from the electric hum of the dishwasher or television, she soaks up the cozy ambiance.