THEY WANDER THROUGH the house. Every doorway is framed with elaborate woodwork. Muses painted gold in each corner. The face of Cicero carved above the bathroom. And a tub made of marble so thick, it looks like a coffin. Phoebe runs her finger along the frame of the bathroom mirror.
“I think this is platinum leaf,” she says.
“Platinum leaf?” Gary asks. “I didn’t even know that existed.”
They head into the bedroom, where Elizabeth’s art collection continues.
“Do you think a woman who collects art like this is the happiest woman?” Phoebe asks. “Or the least happy?”
“The question presumes that we can be happy,” Gary says.
“Can we not?”
“I think we talk about happiness all wrong. As if it’s this fixed state we’re going to reach. Like we’ll just be able to live there, forever. But that’s not my experience with happiness. For me, it comes and goes. It shows up and then disappears like a bubble.”
“When was the last time you were really happy?” Phoebe asks Gary.
“The honest answer?” he says. “Right now.”
She wants to ask why this is. Is it because he’s getting married tomorrow? Or because of how it feels to be standing here in this mansion together? Phoebe feels strikingly happy, like this kind of connection between two people can fix everything. For just a moment, she fantasizes about them living here, together, roaming the halls, talking about Parisian paintings at breakfast.
“I think the collector’s impulse is both beautiful and repugnant,” she says.
To collect is to care more than most. But it is also to hoard. To take things out of the world and make them only yours.
“Art collections were basically like travel souvenirs for these people,” Phoebe says. “Going to Paris and bringing back seven wall paintings.”
They stare at Elizabeth’s bed.
“Is this where you’d sleep?” he asks.
“I think this is where Elizabeth’s ghost sleeps.”
He laughs, and they look at the portrait of Elizabeth above the bed. She feels drawn to this woman. Maybe because she, too, lived alone in her own way, lived alone inside her marriage.
“I think you’re right,” Gary says, then he turns to her. “Can I see your phone, please?”
She hands it to him. She knows what he’s going to do before he even does it.
“When you’re living here, I want you to call me when you actually do see a ghost,” Gary says, tapping in his number.
“What are you going to do about it?” she asks.
“Nothing,” he says. “You’re right. I’m famously ineffective against ghosts. Just ask Juice.”
She laughs.
“But promise you’ll call anyway?” he asks.
“I promise.”
She looks down at the old wood floor, puts the phone in her pocket. It feels like she keeps something special in there now. The future, where she lives in this beautiful house and can call Gary when she needs to.
They walk into the next room.
“What do you think Geoffrey meant when he said, ‘I believe you,’ like that? Was that an insult?”
“I think, coming from Geoffrey, it’s the highest praise of all.”
“Is it something about my voice or my hair?” she asks.
“I think it’s just your vibe,” Gary says. “You come off as … very smart. Like you’ve studied everything and now have all the world’s knowledge inside of you.”
“Is that obnoxious?”
“It’s the best.”
When Geoffrey returns, he quickly apologizes, then says, “So what do you think?”
“It’s wonderful,” Phoebe says.
He takes her down the hall. “You can use the whole house as your own, but this would be your bedroom. We like to keep Elizabeth’s as her own.”
Her bedroom would be small, but she has always liked small bedrooms. Never liked the way her bed at home didn’t fill up the room. Always felt like something was missing. But this bedroom is understated, a simple yellow-and-blue color palette. A cozy place to go when this house feels too big.
“Perfect,” Phoebe says.
“The job would start in three weeks,” he says. “But you could move in a few days before. Let me talk it over with my partner tonight, and we’ll get back to you tomorrow.”
