Chapter Seven

OUR HOME

 

WALKING INTO WESTON’S . . . our . . . home was like walking into a different world. The place was huge. And spotless. It reminded me of the display homes in the new neighborhoods that Mom always liked to look at, or a magazine portraying homes of the rich and famous. There was no clutter, not a speck of dust, nothing. It was hard to find personal items, just a few pictures hanging on the wall. Otherwise, it held a museum-like feel to it. I almost wondered where the film crew for MTV’s Cribs was hiding.

“Kitchen is here, living room is through that way,” he said, pointing toward the large arched hole in the wall. We walked through, Weston mapping out the layout with hand gestures. It was a lot to take in, and I knew it would just take some exploring on my own to really understand it all.

He halted when we neared the stairway, and I almost ran into him.

“I didn’t think you were here yet,” he said.

I looked around him to find a very pretty woman w