Part 10 (2/2)
”That's my place coming up on the right.”
Beth leaned forward, turning her head as they pa.s.sed it. ”I'm impressed.”
”Thanks.”
”And envious. Too bad your house isn't for sale.”
”Well, I put a lot of work into it. Mind you, the house just beyond mine is for sale.”
3.
They walked along a gravel driveway past the chest-high sagebrushlike plants that Decker had been intrigued by when he first came to Santa Fe and that he had learned were called chamisa. The attractive house was similar to Decker's-a sprawling one-story adobe with a wall-enclosed courtyard. ”How much is it?” Beth asked.
”Near your upper limit. Seven hundred thousand.” Decker didn't get a reaction. ”It's had a lot of improvements. Subfloor radiant heating. Solar-gain windows in back.” Beth nodded absently as if the price didn't need to be justified. ”How big is the lot?”
”The same as mine. Two acres.”
She glanced to one side and then the other. ”I can't even see the neighbors.”
”Which in this case would be me.”
She looked at him strangely.
”What's the matter?” Decker asked.
”I think I'd enjoy living next to you.”
Decker felt his face turn red.
”Do you think the owner would mind being interrupted at this hour?”
”Not at all. The old gentleman who lived here had a heart attack. He moved back to Boston, where he has relatives. He wants a quick sale.”
Decker showed her the front courtyard, its desert flowers and shrubs looking stressed from the July heat. He unlocked the carved front door, entered a cool vestibule, and gestured toward a hallway that led straight ahead toward s.p.a.cious rooms. ”The house is still furnished. Tile floors. Vigas and latillas in all the ceilings.”
”Vigas and ...?”
”Large beams and small intersecting ones-it's the preferred type of ceiling in Santa Fe. Plenty of bancos and kiva fireplaces. Colorful Mexican wall tiles in the three bathrooms. A s.p.a.cious kitchen. Food-prep island with a sink. Convection oven. Skylights and ...” Decker stopped when he realized that Beth wasn't listening. She seemed spellbound by the mountain view from the living room windows. ”Why don't I spare you the list. Take your time and look around.”
Beth walked slowly forward, glancing this way and that, a.s.sessing each room, nodding. As Decker followed, he felt self-conscious again-not awkward, not uneasy about himself, but literally conscious of himself, of the feel of his jeans and jacket, of the air against his hands and cheeks. He was conscious that he occupied s.p.a.ce, that Beth was near him, that they were alone.
At once he realized that Beth was talking to him. ”What? I'm sorry. I didn't catch that,” Decker said. ”My mind drifted for a moment.”
”Does the purchase price include the furniture?”
”Yes.”
”I'll take it.”
4.
Decker clicked gla.s.ses with her.
”It's such a wonderful house. I can't believe the owner accepted my offer so fast.” Beth took a celebratory swallow from her margarita. When she lowered the globe-shaped gla.s.s, some foam and salt remained on her upper lip. She licked them away. ”It's as if Fm dreaming.”
They were at a window table in a second-floor Hispanic restaurant called Garduno's. The place was decorated to look like a Spanish hacienda. In the background, a mariachi band strolled the floor, serenading enthusiastic customers. Beth didn't seem to know where to look first, out the window toward one of Santa Fe's scenic streets, at the band, at her drink, or at Decker. She took another sip. ”Dreaming.”
In the background, customers applauded for the guitarists and trumpeters. Beth smiled and glanced out the window. When she looked back at Decker, she wasn't smiling any longer. Her expression was somber. ”Thank you.”
”I didn't do much. All I did was take you around and-”
”You made me feel comfortable. You made it easy.” Beth surprised him by reaching across the table and touching his hand. ”You have no idea how much courage it took to do this.”
He loved the smoothness of her hand. ”Courage?”
”You must have wondered where I got seven hundred thousand dollars to pay for the house.”
”I don't pry. As long as I'm confident that the client can afford it ...” He let his sentence dangle.
”I told you I was an artist, and I do make a living at it. But ... I also told you I wasn't married.”
Decker tensed.
”I used to be.”
Decker listened in confusion.
”I'm buying the house with ...”
Money from a divorce settlement? he wondered.
”... a life-insurance policy,” Beth said. ”My husband died six and a half months ago.”
Decker set down his gla.s.s and studied her, his feelings of attraction replaced by those of pity. ”I'm sorry.”
”That's about the only response that means anything.”
”What happened?”
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