Free Snake in the Glass by Sarah Atwell Page A

had said, she had seen it as a status symbol, albeit an inadequate one.
    The Sam Hughes neighborhood was the kind of area that Tucson real estate agents love to gush over: “Most Desired Central Historic Neighborhood,” “A charming neighborhood of mature homes” with tree-lined streets—closed to through traffic, so they were quiet. First laid out in the 1920s, now it was on the National Register of Historic Places. It was convenient to downtown and the university. Some of the homes were pricey, others less so because they needed some serious work. I wasn’t sure how Matt fit in there.
    I pulled up and parked, then studied the house. It was a relatively small bungalow, a few steps higher than the street, with a sloping graveled front yard. I couldn’t see the back because of the high wooden fence, although there were clearly some substantial trees there. The building was typical adobe with smallish windows; the entry porch had a terra-cotta tile roof. The house would have looked boxy and plain, but the whole was softened by the brilliant bougainvillea that screened the entry. I took a deep breath and got out of the car. Why should I be nervous?
    Matt had apparently been waiting for me, because he opened the door before I could knock. “Em,” he said gravely.
    “Matt,” I replied. Great—we knew each other’s names.
    “Please, come in.” Matt stepped back to let me in.
    I stepped into the small vestibule, with a niche in the wall straight ahead. If I knew my architecture, the living room would be on one side, the dining room opposite. It was surprisingly dark. Was Matt frugal about electricity?
    Once I stepped into the living room on the left, I saw the reason: the place was filled with flickering light from more candles than I could count. And where there weren’t candles there were flowers. I turned to Matt and silently raised an eyebrow.
    “I wanted this to be special,” he said, his expression anxious.
    Oh, my. This was a side of Matt I had never seen. Romantic. Of course, I hadn’t precisely encouraged it either.
    My prolonged silence must have disturbed him. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Em. I know you’re not into sentimental stuff, but I wanted to make this . . . memorable, I guess.”
    I rallied my scattered wits and turned to him. “It’s lovely, Matt. Really. I just didn’t expect . . .” I swallowed. Em, move on before you get mushy. “Can I see the rest of the house?”
    “Of course.” Matt smiled tentatively. “This is the living room. The dining room’s over there.”
    “Show me,” I said, leading the way. More surprises in the small, square dining room: a beautifully set table, with more candles and flowers. “Oh, Matt . . .” I began helplessly. I really was touched at the effort he had put into this.
    “Hey,” he said gently, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
    I shook my head vehemently. “No, I’m fine. It’s wonderful. I’m just kind of overwhelmed.” There were good smells issuing from the adjoining room. “Kitchen?”
    “This way, what there is of it. Lorena . . .” He stopped abruptly.
    “It’s okay, Matt. She lived here, she was part of your life. I can handle that. What did she think?”
    “She thought the kitchen was too small and too old-fashioned. She was going to take out that back wall there and double the size.”
    I looked around the admittedly tiny galley kitchen, its aging appliances lined up along the walls, its window overlooking the verdant backyard, half hidden in the dusk. “Looks good to me. It has all its working parts, right?”
    “It does.” Matt led the way out the opposite end of the kitchen. “Bathroom’s here—just the one.”
    I peered in: lots of Mexican tile, a skylight in the high ceiling, and a huge, glass-enclosed shower. “Nice.”
    “And two bedrooms—I use one as an office. But I saved the best for last.” He put a hand on the small of my back and guided me to the double glass doors leading out to a