Free Time Out of Mind by John R. Maxim

Jonathan.”
    “ Well, it's an investment. And it's not as if I'm going to be out here all the time. A couple of weekends a month. And I'll keep the place in New York.” Corbin, in truth, had given no thought at all to the future. The apartment he'd leased had slipped his mind entirely, so mesmerized was he by this peeling, sagging pile of dry rot, which to him was a thing of joy and beauty.
    He spent few nights in the city. Few nights with Gwen. Most days he would catch the earliest train he could man age and be at the Mullins house before seven. He would work there, scraping and plastering, often neglecting to eat, until midnight. Sometimes, when it was still light enough in the evening, he would take long walks through the neigh boring streets. Now and then he would see another old house and stand for a long time staring at it. He did not know why.
    The thought that he was behaving compulsively, or at all irrationally, never entered Corbin's mind. Nor could he understand why Gwen seemed upset with him. He did notice that she was increasingly unavailable on the occasional free nights he found time to spend with her, but he felt sure that she'd come around once she saw the finished product. Just wait until he had the house papered and furnished properly. Then every weekend would be just as happy as that one at the Homestead. As happy as he was.
    Since that first time she saw his house, Gwen Leamas re membered, she had seldom seen him happy again. Thanks giving was one exception. He was beaming like a schoolboy when she arrived to spend that holiday weekend with him in Greenwich. He was so proud of what he'd done with the house and of the Thanksgiving dinner he'd planned from a Victorian cookbook that she managed to choke down his oyster stuffing and his mashed turnips with no visible sign of distress. The dining room furnishings, which he'd found at an auction, were also authentic Victorian. So was the reproduction wallpaper. The other rooms were as yet largely, unfurnished. But wait until Christmas, he said. By Christmas everything will be perfect.
    It snowed several times before Christmas. An inch fell during the last week of November. Then another inch a few days later. Then two more substantial snowfalls and a few scattered flurries. And Jonathan began to change. At first Gwen made no connection between his behavior and the snow. She simply knew that he seemed to be calling in sick an awful lot. It took her a while to realize that on those occasions when Jonathan came down with the flu, or had a toothache, or couldn't get his Datsun started, it was al ways snowing. And his too-frequent absenteeism was beginning to wear thin with some of the network staff. When she tried to discuss it with him, Corbin brushed it off. Just a string of rotten luck, he said. Coincidence. Nothing to it.
    By now he was spending nearly all his free time at the Greenwich house and paying little attention to Gwen, which Gwen increasingly resented. When he called to confirm their Christmas plans, Gwen at first declined to come, but his disappointment seemed so sincere and so innocent that she changed her mind. At the very least it would give her a chance to have a good talk with him. Christmas, as it turned out, was pleasant and even loving. She had to admit that the house was quite nicely done up and that his au thentic Victorian Christmas dinner was delicious. The oys ters, this time, were left on the half shell where they belonged. But as for the talk she wanted, Jonathan remained evasive as ever.
    January was particularly snowy that year. Jonathan missed more days, some of them important. Whenever the skies appeared to threaten, Jonathan would either arrive very late in the morning or make a headlong rush to Grand Central for an early train home. It was Sandy Bauer who first came to Gwen's office and told her how worried she was about Jonathan. ”I don't understand it,” she said. ”I mean, the man is standing in there right now looking