The Lake of Dreams - Kim Edwards [175]
In any case, they made the deal. My mother negotiated a sale of her house and land that would allow her a final year to clear things out. The conservancy started talking about converting the house into a nature center. My mother started talking about buying a condo in town.
As for Art and Joey, they made a bid on some of the other, smaller parcels along the lake. I watched, expecting, I suppose, that something would break, and change. That Art would show up one day full of remorse and confess what he’d done. That some kind of great justice would have to prevail, with Dream Master suffering a reversal of fortune, going out of business, or bursting into flames from spontaneous combustion.
None of this happened, of course. Instead, Art started the zoning process right away. His artist’s renditions were scaled down and posted on a billboard near the gravel entrance to The Landing. Over the summer, lots sold swiftly for his asking price. By October, his garish machines were stripping topsoil from the earth, tearing out the groves of trees by the shore—oaks and pine, maples and elms, all falling, strewn across the land like the bones of dinosaurs. I glimpsed Art overseeing the construction, his baseball cap pushed back on his head, his large hands planted on his hips, as if nothing had ever happened or gotten in his way.
Other things changed, too. Restorers came and took the stained-glass windows from the chapel for cleaning and repair. We saw the trucks parked in the field, and we went to watch. It was such a delicate operation to remove the windows, which turned out to have been installed in panels. The crew stood on ladders, tapping with their chisels and hammers at the seals between the glass and stone. It made me hold my breath to watch, but they were very good, and one by one the windows came out and were packed carefully away. Oliver estimated that they’d be gone for three months, long enough for him to do enough fund-raising for the grand opening he planned to have. He showed us the mock-up of his brochure, which featured the Wisdom window on the front and included descriptions of all the other windows, too. He’d added a biography of Rose, and he told us that he’d changed all the literature at the Westrum House to reflect her contributions as well.
The day before we were to leave The Lake of Dreams, Yoshi and I went downtown for one final stroll, and we walked down to the Fearful Symmetry, which was docked at the very last slot in the pier. Avery came up right away when I called hello, holding on to the railing with one hand to keep herself steady, carrying a bag full of books in the other. She looked just the same, slender and fit, except for the round swell of the baby.
“Hi there,” she said, offering the bag as she reached the deck. “Want any of these? We’re cleaning out. Clearing out. I can’t wait.”
“You’re moving?”
“We are. It’s so exciting. We just signed a lease for a little house on Orchard Street. It has two bedrooms and a bathroom with retro pink and black tile. It has a little garden in the back. Best of all, it doesn’t sway!” She laughed.
“What about the boat?”
“Sold. Signed, sealed, and to be delivered this afternoon. Blake!” she added, turning to shout down the stairs. “Blake, your sister’s here. With Yoshi.” She waited until he appeared and then looked back at us. “He should tell you himself.”
“Tell us what?” I asked, as Blake emerged from the stairwell. “Tell us what?”
“It’s sold,” he affirmed, running his hand along a railing in a way that let me know the decision hadn’t come easily. “We’ll be all off-loaded