The Good House by Ann Leary EPUB & PDF – Details About
- Author: Ann Leary
- Genre: Small Town & Rural Fiction, Women’s Fiction
- Publish Date: 15 February 2013
- Size: 1.2 MB
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Avail for Download
- Price: Free
one
I can walk through a house once and know more about its occupants than a
psychiatrist could after a year of sessions. I remember joking about this one
evening with Peter Newbold, the shrink who rents the office upstairs from
mine.
“The next time you get a new patient,” I offered, “I’ll sneak to their house
for a walk-through. While you jot down notes about their history, dreams,
whatever, I’ll shine a flashlight into the attic, open a few cupboards, and have
a peek at the bedrooms. Later, when we compare notes, I’ll have the clearer
picture of the person’s mental health, guaranteed.” I was teasing the doctor,
of course, but I’ve been selling houses since he was in primary school, and I
stand by my theory.
I like a house that looks lived in. General wear and tear is a healthy sign; a
house that’s too antiseptic speaks as much to me of domestic discord as a
house in complete disarray. Alcoholics, hoarders, binge eaters, addicts,
sexual deviants, philanderers, depressives—you name it, I can see it all in the
worn edges of their nests.
You catch the smoky reek of stale scotch and
cigarettes despite the desperate abundance of vanilla-scented candles. The
animal stench oozes up between the floorboards, even though the cat lady and
her minions were removed months before. The marital bedroom that’s
become his, the cluttered guest room that’s now clearly hers—well, you get
the idea.
I don’t have to go inside the house to make a diagnosis; the curbside
analysis is usually enough. The McAllister house is a perfect example. In
fact, I’d love to compare my original observations regarding Rebecca
McAllister with Peter. She was depressed, for one. I drove past the
McAllisters’ one morning in late May, not long after they’d moved in, and
there she was, out in the early-morning haze, planting annuals all along the
garden path.
It wasn’t even seven A.M., but it was clear that she had been at it
for hours. She was in a rather sheer white nightshirt, which was damp with
sweat and covered with soil. People were starting to drive by, but Rebecca
had become so absorbed in her gardening that it apparently hadn’t occurred
to her to put on some proper clothes.
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