Free The Time Between by Karen White Page A

door was painted black, with a leaded glass transom over it, and a brass carriage light hung by a chain from the ceiling.
    The house was painted yellow, the inside ceiling of the porch painted haint blue, just like Dah Georgie’s house. But that’s where the resemblance ended. This house was pristine, perfect from the fresh paint to the orderly flowers lined up in the garden like marching soldiers in their bright finery. It was a beautiful house, but it didn’t feel like a home. I couldn’t imagine large numbers of family members gathered for Sunday dinners any more than I could see Finn sitting with his daughter on the empty joggling board set up in the side garden.
    Before I could talk myself out of it, I reached up and pushed the doorbell, then waited. And waited. I looked at my watch, making sure I had the right time. Finn had asked me to meet him at his house at five thirty. He would have driven me himself, but he’d been called away from the office. I’d been glad to meet him here, not wanting to have to explain to my coworkers why I was driving home with Mr. Beaufain.
    There were no warning footsteps, just the sound of the latch being sprung from the other side of the door, followed by it opening slowly. I looked down and saw a young girl, older than in the photo on Finn’s desk, with white-blond hair cut in a short pixie style and held back with a pale pink fabric headband. Her eyes were large and round and much too big for the tiny face that peered up at me. They were dark gray, like her father’s, and had the same steady intensity as his. But seeing those eyes in a young face was unexpected, like finding a pearl inside an oyster’s shell.
    Despite her appearance, I knew Finn’s daughter was about ten, although she could have easily passed for a six-year-old. The skin on her face was so pale it appeared translucent, and her stature small enough that I could probably span her waist with both of my hands. But her smile was broad and welcoming, and the hand she put into mine, though tiny, was warm.
    “Eleanor Murray?”
    “Yes,” I replied, startled at her firm grasp. She shook my hand, then let it go before pulling the door open farther to allow me inside.
    “And you must be Genevieve.” I smiled down at her.
    A round-faced woman with bright red hair and freckles came hurrying into the marble-floored foyer, wiping her hands on an apron. “Miss Murray?”
    I nodded. “Yes. Mr. Beaufain is expecting me.”
    “It’s so good to meet you. I’m Mrs. McKenna, the housekeeper. Mr. Beaufain called to say he’s running a bit late. He said he’d let you go ahead and take the car, but he has the keys in his briefcase. He wanted to know if you could wait.”
    I glanced at my watch, realizing I didn’t really have an alternative unless I wanted to call Lucy and make her come back and get me. “Sure, that’s fine. Is there someplace I can wait?”
    Before the housekeeper could say anything, Genevieve spoke up. “I can show you my room if you’d like.”
    Mrs. McKenna beamed. “That’s an excellent idea. If you don’t mind, Miss Murray?”
    Not really knowing what I should say, I shook my head. “Of course not. I’d love to see it.”
    Genevieve slid her hand into mine again and tugged me toward the graceful staircase that rose in a spiral to three levels from the foyer. Passing by a large floral centerpiece holding court on a round table in the middle of the marble foyer, I noted the antique furniture and custom draperies as we ascended the stairs, marveling at how perfectly beautiful it all was, how it looked like somebody had re-created it from a painting that showed the way an elegant home should be. But I found myself wanting to push aside the draperies to allow the light to shine into all the corners, to see the father with his collar unbuttoned or the mother reading a magazine in bed. But I neither saw nor felt either one.
    When we reached the first-floor landing, Genevieve led me down a long