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By Root 403 0

Do I like living in Shepherd? Do I miss New York? Do I play any sports at school? I begin to regret the invitation when I notice the package of toilet paper rolls wedged between the railings on the stairs. I’ve left a wet towel on the landing, and I can see that the bathroom is a mess, with tissues on the lip of the sink and another towel draped over the toilet. My father and I clean the house on Saturday mornings; by Tuesday it’s a mess. I wait for Virginia and Steve to climb the stairs. As we pass my father’s room, I have the presence of mind to shut his door, preventing the couple from seeing the unmade bed and the laundry basket on the floor. By the time we reach my bedroom, I deeply regret my stupid idea. I haven’t made my bed, my flannel pajamas are on the floor, and there’s an empty Ring Ding package on my bedside table. Worse, a pair of underpants is hooked over a chair post.

“Oh, it’s fabulous,” Virginia says.

“You’re quite an artist,” Steve says.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Virginia says.

“What kind of paint did you use?” Steve asks.

I see the mural then for what it is: a poorly executed and primitive panorama of the three northern New England states, Canada glowing pinkly near the ceiling, Massachusetts spelled wrong and ineptly corrected with black paint, the peaks lime-colored where they’ve been overpainted white to signal that I’ve skied the mountain.

“You must be quite a skier,” Steve says.

“Maybe you and your dad will come skiing with us,” Virginia says in a voice I wouldn’t use on a three-year-old.

I pocket the underpants.

“Is that a chalet?” Steve asks.

“Oh, look, Steve—Attitash!” Virginia says.

I move toward the doorway.

“You’ve got your father’s talent,” Steve says. “Maybe you’ll be an architect like he was.”

“I’m going down,” I say.

“It’s a shame he had to give it up.” Steve pauses. “Not that the furniture isn’t terrific, too.”

“Was my dad good at it?” I ask.

“The best,” Steve says. “He was a beautiful draftsman. Not all architects are.”

“Oh,” I say.

“It’s probably why his furniture has such a nice line,” he adds.

“Beads!” Virginia exclaims. “You make necklaces!”

We meet my father in the back hallway. Steve takes the piece of paper from him and waves it in the air. “I’ll give you a call,” he says.

I watch the couple walk to their car through the thickening snow. I notice that they don’t speak to each other while Steve makes a three-point turn, a dead giveaway they’re waiting until they’re out of sight. They both smile on cue as they take off down the driveway.

“You finish your glue-up?” I ask my father.

It seems to take a minute for his eyes to focus on mine. “Sort of,” he says.

“Did you know him well?” I ask. “I don’t remember him from when I visited your office.”

“Not very well. He worked in another department.”

“She’s pretty, don’t you think?” I snatch a knitted cap from a hook and start to bat it in the air.

“I guess,” he says.

“What did you write on the piece of paper?”

“Just a number.”

“Whose?”

“No idea,” he says.

I pick up the cap, which has fallen to the floor. “You want a tuna sandwich?” I ask.

“That sounds good.”

But still we stand in the hallway, neither of us willing to leave. I notice through the window that it’s snowing more heavily now.

“Dad?” I ask, moving closer to him.

“What?”

I put the hat on my head. “Did you like your job when you worked in New York City?”

“I did, Nicky,” he says. “Yes, I did.”

“Were you good at it? Being an architect?”

“I believe I was.”

“What kind of things did you design?”

“Schools. Hotels. Some renovated apartment buildings.”

“Will you ever go back to it?” I ask.

He plucks the cap off my head and puts it on his own. “I don’t think so,” he says.

“Is this going to be a big snow?” I ask.

“Could be,” my father says. He looks silly in the hat.

“What a waste,” I say. “It’s vacation now.”

“You just had a snow day,” my father says.

“When’s Grammie coming?” I ask.

“Tomorrow night.”

“Did you get my Christmas present yet?”

“Not telling,” he says.

“I was thinking I might like a tape player. Actually, I need