The Fainting Room by Sarah Pemberton Strong Read Free Book Online Page B

from garage to house are all filled with the same shade of artistically-placed beige gravel. I don’t blame you.”
    “Yeah.” She looked at him approvingly. “Are you a Southern California transplant too?”
    “No, just a poor old-fashioned architect trapped in a world of vinyl siding and poured concrete.”
    “That’s right, you’re the guy who designed our new dining hall, Ms. Luce told me. I like it, there’s lots of light. Are you going to do any more buildings there?”
    “I wish I were. At the moment I’m working on a very unpleasant bank in Waltham, and writing a book on Victorian architecture to keep my sense of aesthetics intact.”
    Ingrid was looking around the living room. “Did you work on this house too?”
    “I remodeled it to look more or less like it did when it was built in 1880.”
    “I like it—I like old stuff. In Melvin everything is so new it’s all untested. You never know whether the next big earthquake to come along will just flatten all of those stupid kit houses right down.”
    “Let me show you around,” Ray said.
    As they got to their feet Evelyn came out of the kitchen.
    “There you are,” said Ray. “What were you doing all this time?”
    “Just whipping up a snack for our guest here.” Evelyn smiled brightly, a smile that Ray knew was not a good sign. His wife was trying too hard, which inevitably led to things going wrong, to tears. “I hope you’re both hungry,” Evelyn said. “I just came out to tell you that tea will be ready in a few minutes.”
    “I’ll show Ingrid the house, then.”
    “Yes, do that. I’ll be out in a bit.” She disappeared back into the kitchen. Ingrid followed Ray through the foyer and up the stairs, the soles of her wet sneakers squeaking on the floor.
    They had gone halfway up when Evelyn appeared again. “Ray!”
    He paused on the landing and looked down at his wife standing at the foot of the stairs. Evelyn darted her eyes meaningfully in the direction of the study, then toward Ingrid.
    “What?” he said, having forgotten about all the broken glass.
    Evelyn sent her gaze around the circuit a second time: upstairs, then to Ingrid, then back to Ray.
    “What,” said Ray again, exasperated now.
    “It’s just, you know, Ray, some of the rooms are—a mess.” She glanced at Ingrid, who looked like she might be about to laugh. “I haven’t had time to clean today,” Evelyn went on. “Maybe you two would like to have some tea now while I tidy up, and then later—”
    “Nothing’s that messy,” said Ray, puzzled. “I’m sure Ingrid won’t take offense at the sight of an unmade bed.”
    “God, no,” said Ingrid. “You should see my dorm.”
    “But, Ray—”
    “Come on, Ingrid,” Ray said a little too heartily, and ignoring his wife, he led the way up the rest of the stairs and turned down the hall to the guest bedroom. “Evelyn can be a trifle overzealous in her standards of cleanliness,” he said, hoping to make a joke of it, “but really, we aren’t swine.”
    As they went down the hall he showed her the old brass gaslights that had been converted to electric wall sconces, and the spare bedroom she would sleep in if she came to stay. Then, as he was turning toward the door of the study to show off its curved bay window, he realized all at once what Evelyn had been trying to communicate. Behind the closed door was the smashed window, the glass all over the rug; there was blood on his desk. Of course he couldn’t take Ingrid in there, it was too bizarre: bizarre that it had happened, and that they hadn’t cleaned it up yet. Ingrid was standing at his elbow, waiting. He turned and led her instead to the little room at the head of the stairs.
    “This is the fainting room,” he said, and opened the door all the way so she could step inside. This room really was a mess: Evelyn never went in here, and Ray had begun using it as a de facto storage space. Boxes of books, an old typewriter and a shoebox leaking tax