Free Going Back by Judith Arnold

said, swiveling the
monitor back around to her.
    “All right. We’ll look at what I’ve
already set up.”
    Daphne knew the first house they
visited would be a bust the minute they stepped inside. The selling
broker, an overbearing woman named Midge, was waiting for them in
the living room, and she immediately wrapped a plump arm around
Brad’s shoulders and swept him away, babbling about what a fabulous
family home this would make. “There’s a wonderful playroom for the
children,” she gushed. “Do you have children, Mr. Torrance? No?
Well, don’t give up. My husband and I tried for seven years before
we hit the jackpot. What? No wife? Well, a nice young man like you
ought to be able to find someone sooner or later. Come, let me show
you this absolutely adorable nursery upstairs...”
    The second house Daphne took him to
was the sort which, in listings, was usually described with the
phrase: “has great potential.” The place was falling to pieces.
Several windows were cracked, some roof shingles lay on the ground
near the front door, the electrical wiring was inadequate and the
linoleum in the bathroom had been stripped off to reveal the warped
floorboards underneath. “It’s under two hundred thousand,” Daphne
pointed out cheerfully as Brad dusted the cobwebs from his hands
and strode out of the house, smoothly sidestepping the fallen
shingles.
    “What a bargain,” he muttered,
climbing into the car and staring straight ahead, as if he couldn’t
wait for her to transport him away from the dilapidated building.
“Can you honestly picture me rewiring a house?”
    “You could hire a
contractor.”
    “Daphne, look at me.” He extended
his hands beneath her nose. “Not a single callous. I’m helpless
when it comes to repairing things.”
    “I’m sure you aren’t.”
    “I am. Whenever anything breaks, my
instincts tell me to run for cover.”
    “Everyone’s instincts tell them
that,” Daphne granted, starting the car and pulling away from the
curb. “But when that option isn’t available, most people roll up
their sleeves and tackle the problem.”
    “Do you think I’m like most
people?” Brad asked, gazing at her profile as she concentrated on
the road.
    “I don’t know,” she answered,
sensing that he was hinting at something far removed from house
repairs, but not sure what it was.
    “There have been times, Daff...”
His voice drifted off, and his gaze left her to focus on the
dashboard. “Times when I was so lazy, I just threw away whatever
was broken and...yeah. I ran for cover. I suck when it comes to
fixing things.”
    Daphne considered his words. He was
obviously no longer talking about “handyman’s specials” or even
broken objects. He was talking about friendships, relationships,
broken feelings and messy affairs. One messy affair in particular,
perhaps.
    Her recollection of that affair was
that she, not Brad, had been the one to run for cover. And if there
had been anything to repair, it would have been as much her
responsibility as his to fix it.
    They’d both failed—but neither of
them was noticeably broken anymore. Houses couldn’t mend their own
roofs, but human beings had a talent for regenerating
themselves.
    “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Daphne
said, keeping her tone as light as possible. “We’ll stay away from
fixer-uppers from now on.”
    He turned back to her, and she
could feel the glittering blue light of his eyes bathing her. She
risked a glance at him and absorbed his wistful smile. “That’s
probably a wise policy,” he agreed.
    Avoiding fixer-uppers meant taking
the chance of missing a property that, with just a bit of tender
loving care, could be made perfect. On the other hand, the odds of
finding such a rare house were slim, and she and Brad had already
agreed that they didn’t want to waste time.
    So she drove him to the next house
on her schedule. The roof was tight, the floors were covered with
plush carpets and polished hardwood