See Disclaimers in Part 1
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A Patriotic Pursuit 2/4
By Lacy
Predictably, it takes me bit longer to reach the address than it
should have, since it was early afternoon and people have left their
offices for lunch.
I grew up in a small house built my grandfather after he returned home
from World War II. And when I say 'built by my grandfather' that's
what I mean. He laid the foundation, measured the wood for the frame,
and he installed everything from the water pipes to the knobs on the
kitchen cabinets.
It took him seven months to complete, but he did it with the loving
care of a man who was building a home for the wife he'd left behind,
and the son he'd never met until he'd returned home. Grandpa Moss was
a one of a kind, and when I was a child, he would always tell me that
I got my 'get-up-and-go' from him. I miss him to this day.
The house was small, but the man built it with his own too hands, so I
have to cut him some slack. And it's still standing today, so there
you go. Anyway, the house has been a home for three generations of
Mosses, and I can still recall the love and warmth that enveloped me
as I grew up.
For a long time I wasn't keen to leave that warmth. I hated leaving
to go to college. I wasn't ready to leave the nest. I didn't know
what I wanted to do - what I was supposed to be -- I only knew that I
had this safe place to which I could go home.
So after my manipulative, back stabbing boyfriend dumped me that was
where I went. I went home…to lick my wounds. I went home to
decompress. I went home to remind myself that I was loved.
When I watched Bartlet's speech from my cocoon of safety, that's when
some of Grandpa Moss' get-up-and-go kicked in. So I got up and went
and I haven't looked back since. Metaphorically, I mean.
I also haven't had a home since then.
So, that's what I mean when I tell Josh I'm searching for a home. I'm
not asking him to build me a house with his own two hands. God, could
you imagine that? I'm just looking for a place that will always
welcome me, no matter how battered and bruised I am. A place where I
can always know I'm loved -- a place where I can heal.
Although the vision of Josh Lyman nailing up a wall, his naked chest
gleaming in the hot sun, is enough to make me ask just for the fun of
it.
While searching for Cindy's car on the street I scan the houses on
16th Street. I don't understand what she could have been thinking. I
locate Cindy's car and park directly behind her.
Sitting in the front seat, she catches sight of me in her rear view
mirror, and steps out of her car before I have the chance to kill the
ignition. She's got a big smile on her face and is carrying her
leather briefcase.
"Cindy," I say, sweeping my arm to indicate the neighborhood we're in.
"You're breaking my heart."
"Trust me, Donna," she responds.
I sigh. "So, which one is it?"
Across the street is a row of attached Victorian era structures, each
as impressive as the next. She points to a three-story brownstone,
complete with a front garden and a gate. I can't breathe. It's
beautiful. It's a dream home.
"Cindy? We talked about how much we could afford, right? I mean, I
distinctly remember having that conversation. It wasn't something my
fevered brain hallucinated, was it?"
"We did," she responds.
"So, why am I here? You know we can't afford this." I can't tear my
eyes away from the house.
"You're right. It is a bit more pricey than what you told me
originally." She smiles and her eyes have this mischievous twinkle in
them. "But not by much."
"How much is not much?" I ask.
She shrugs, smugly. "The owners had a little real estate they needed
to dump."
"Oh? Keeping this house made maintaining Windsor Castle a little
difficult did it? Put a strain on the Queen's finances?"
"You caught a lucky break, Donna."
My life's had an awful lot of lucky breaks recently. At some point
you have to wonder when it's going to bite you in the ass. "We'll
see," I respond skeptically.
"Shall we have a look?"
"Might as well. What's it going to hurt? A girl can dream, can't
she?"
The house really is breathtaking. Its bricks are painted a deep
forest green and the door is bright red, with gold numbers just over
the brass knocker. The walkway and low wall are red brick and the
gate is black wrought iron. It squeaks as Cindy opens it to lead me
up to the front door.
She fumbles with the keys before locating the correct one and turning
it in the lock. As the door swings open, she begins her usual pitch.
"The house is a Victorian, as you can probably tell. It was built in
1890."
"1890?" The first thing I notice is the deep hardwood floors as far
as the eye can see and a polished wood staircase with a green carpet
runner.
"It's been remodeled several times over the last century, but the
previous owners did a bang up job. They were able to restore the more
period friendly light fixtures and crown moldings, but they also did a
full upgrade in the kitchen and the bathrooms. Also, the basement can
be rented out as a separate property."
I wander through the ground floor of the house. I see the living
room, with its tall fireplace and stone mantel. The kitchen is fully
loaded with space for a large refrigerator, and just as Cindy said,
it's been upgraded recently.
In the separate dining room a sparkling chandelier dangles from the
ceiling. I'm falling in love with this house more by the minute. The
study has built-in bookcases made of a rich dark wood.
"It has four bedrooms," she continues. "I know it's more than you
said you needed, but I wanted to give you a shot at it anyway. Would
you like to see the upstairs?"
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. She leads me up the stairs
pointing out that the staircase still has its original railing. The
wallpaper in the hallway is horrid, but that can be changed. The wood
floors beneath my feet make a soothing creaking sound. Despite its
modernizations the aroma of history and age permeates the air.
She leads me down the hallway, to the last door on the left.
"This room can be converted into a guest bedroom or even a nursery."
She tells me. The room is richly carpeted and light streams in from
the windows. I can see the backyard from through the panes. It's not
big; nothing like what I grew up with, but it's enough for children to
play in.
Children. I can almost hear how their laughing voices will echo off
the high ceilings. I can hear the wood floors creaking as they rush
about, running much too fast for their own good. I can almost imagine
their faces, but they are just out of reach now.
"The other bedrooms and another bathroom are on the third level." I'm
only half listening as Cindy speaks, and her voice becomes a steady
hum in the back of my mind. "There's a half bath downstairs, as you
saw," she raises her voice and places a hand on my shoulder to snap me
out of my daydream. "But the master bath," she sighs. "The master
bath is a sight to behold."
Her terminology is modest. I'm in love with the master bath. I could
spend the rest of my life in only this room and be utterly happy.
There's an attached boudoir with two walk-in closets, dual sinks, and
vanity mirrors. In the bathroom itself there is both a shower and a
Roman oval bath. The master bedroom, too, is enormous and complete
with yet another stone mantel fireplace. To cut down on the winter
chill, a plush cream carpet covers the floor from wall to wall.
"Do you love it?" she asks.
"I do."
"I've shown you a lot of houses, Donna, but I haven't seen that look
on your face yet. This is the one, isn't it?"
"What's the bottom line, Cindy?" She tells me the price and my heart
drops. I can feel my shoulders slumping and I want to cry. I know
that without a sizable down payment, we would never be able to pay the
monthly note. A sizable sum Josh can't afford.
"What is it?"
"It's too much, Cindy."
"You're sure?"
I shrug.
"Call him," she offers. "This is the house, Donna. I can feel it.
Call him and get him to come look at it. Maybe something can be done.
Maybe there's something you haven't thought of yet. Don't let it go
until you absolutely must. It would be foolish to not even try."
What the hell - I think. I pull my phone out of my purse and hit the
speed dial for Josh's office. He must have forgotten I wasn't there,
because it rings five times before he picks up.
"Josh Lyman."
"It's me."
"You're not back yet."
"Good detective work, Sherlock."
"Why aren't you back yet?"
"Because I'm standing in a house."
"It's better than standing on the street, I guess."
"Josh, don't be a putz."
"Okay."
"I want you to come see this house."
"I'm kind of the middle of running a country right now, Donnatella."
"The country's not going to fall apart if you leave the office for an
hour." I can actually hear him thinking about it, as the line becomes
quiet.
"Is this the house?"
"Just come see," I say. When he relents I give him the address and
disconnect the call. "He's coming," I tell Cindy.
TBC
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