Chapter 39 — Just Looking

They rented a cabin outside Tahoe City for the second week of September, when the days could still be warm but the evenings gave them a reason to bring sweaters. Claire found it through a rental office. The description promised two bedrooms, a fireplace, and easy access to the lake. Focus Man wanted to know what easy meant. The woman on the telephone said they could walk.

“How far?”

“About ten minutes.”

“Level?”

“Going down.”

Claire wrote the address on a piece of paper and told him they could probably manage the return.

This time they packed less. He left several things beside the car after Claire asked whether they had used them on the previous trip. The maps came with them, along with a folder he had begun filling with information about the area. He put the folder beneath a bag, where she discovered it while finding room for her coat.

“What’s this?”

“Some things I’ve collected.”

“Things about houses?”

“Some.”

She looked through the first few pages, then put it back.

“Good.”

He had expected her to tease him. Her approval made the folder seem more consequential than it had while lying on his desk.

Before they left, he called Jill. He told her where they would be staying and gave her the rental office’s telephone number. Mom had been having a better few days. Dave had taken her outside after lunch, and one of the children had persuaded her to help identify people in an old photograph.

“We’re going to look around a little,” Focus Man said.

“At houses?”

“Possibly.”

Jill was quiet for a moment.

“Let me know how it goes.”

He said he would, then asked whether there was anything they needed before he left. She told him they were all right. After the call, he checked that he had written down the cabin’s number correctly and put the paper beside the telephone for Claire.

They reached Tahoe City in the afternoon. Summer had left signs of itself everywhere: boats on trailers, outdoor tables still occupied, people carrying towels toward the water. But there were fewer cars than they remembered, and the air changed when they stepped into the shade.

The cabin stood among pines on a narrow road that climbed away from the lake. It had a small porch, a woodpile beneath a cover, and windows that looked toward other cabins partly hidden by trees. Focus Man carried in the bags while Claire opened the curtains.

Inside, the furniture had the durable comfort of things chosen to survive strangers. There was a sofa with a faded plaid cover, a heavy table, and a fireplace large enough to dominate one wall. The kitchen was small but usable. In the drawer beneath the counter, Claire found three corkscrews and no vegetable peeler.

“People know what they come here for,” she said.

Focus Man opened the back door. A squirrel stopped on the railing, looked at him, and left with an air of having reconsidered the neighborhood.

They unpacked, then walked to the lake. The woman at the rental office had been right about the ten minutes. She had also been right about the direction. They followed the road downhill and found a path between two properties that led to a small stretch of shore.

Claire sat on a rock and took off her shoes. Focus Man stood beside her looking across the water. The lake was familiar now, but it still required a moment of adjustment, as though his eyes had to relearn how far they were allowed to travel.

On the way back, they slowed on the steeper part of the road.

“Easy access,” Claire said.

“We’re accessing the cabin now.”

“That explains it.”

They bought groceries before dinner. Focus Man found himself noticing the people in the store differently. A man in work clothes was buying milk and something for dinner. A woman stopped beside the produce to talk to someone she knew. Near the checkout, a child was negotiating for a packet of gum with little prospect of success.

He had seen all of these things in other stores. Here they held his attention because the people doing them would still be there after he and Claire went home.

That evening they cooked, ate at the heavy table, and opened his folder. Most of what he had collected was too general to be useful. There were advertisements for houses they couldn't afford, descriptions of neighborhoods whose names meant little to them, and photographs taken from angles that concealed everything surrounding the property.

Claire studied one picture of a house among trees.

“I like that.”

“You can’t see much of it.”

“I like what I can see.”

He turned the page to find the price.

She watched him.

“We haven’t even decided what we can spend.”

“I know.”

“Or whether we’re doing this.”

“I know that too.”

They left the folder open and took their coffee to the porch. Across the road, someone was carrying groceries into a cabin. A dog waited in the doorway, supervising each trip. The air had cooled enough that Claire went inside for her sweater.

Focus Man could hear a car farther down the hill and, after it passed, the movement of branches overhead. He thought of their kitchen at home, the lights along the Bay, and the work he had left arranged for his return. Nobody had asked him to reconsider taking the week. That had made leaving easier and had troubled him more than he expected.

The next morning, they walked through Tahoe City after breakfast. Focus Man stopped outside a real estate office to look at the photographs in the window. Claire continued a few steps before realizing he wasn't beside her.

“There are more inside,” she said.

“I’m reading.”

“I can see that.”

One photograph showed a modest house with a broad deck. Another offered a view of the lake at a price that suggested the water belonged to the purchaser. He was studying a third when the office door opened.

“Would you like to come in?”

The woman standing there was perhaps their age, with a pencil tucked behind one ear and a telephone message in her hand. She introduced herself as Helen and held the door while Claire stepped inside.

The office had a large map on one wall and folders arranged on shelves behind the desks. Helen offered coffee. Focus Man declined, then accepted when Claire did. They sat across from her, and he explained that they were visiting for the week.

“Looking for a vacation place?”

“Possibly something more permanent.”

Helen put down her pencil.

“Are you moving here?”

“We’re considering it.”

“Have you spent much time in the area?”

“A week earlier this year.”

“And this week.”

“Yes.”

She nodded without making the answer seem inadequate.

“What kind of work would you be doing?”

Focus Man described the company. Claire told her about her own job. Helen listened, then asked whether either position would continue if they moved.

“Probably not,” he said.

He had said as much to Claire, but it sounded less flexible in an office where someone was writing things down.

Helen looked at both of them.

“All right. Then we’ll keep that in mind.”

He began listing what they wanted: enough room without too much house, somewhere quiet, access to trails, a garage, perhaps a view. He explained that they didn't need to be right on the lake. Helen made notes, waiting while he considered whether he had forgotten anything.

Claire set down her cup.

“I’d like somewhere I could know people.”

Focus Man turned toward her.

“You’d know people.”

“Eventually. I mean somewhere there are people to know. Neighbors who live there.”

Helen nodded and added something to the page.

“That makes a difference.”

He hadn't thought of the cabins along their road in quite that way. Some had cars outside; others had closed curtains and porches cleared of furniture. He liked the space between them. Claire had been wondering who would be there on an ordinary Tuesday.

Helen stood and went to the map.

“You’ll want to look beyond one neighborhood.”

She showed them where they were staying, then moved her hand around the lake and toward Truckee. There were places they had driven through and places they knew only by name. She spoke about them without trying to make one sound like the obvious answer. When she asked what they liked to do, Claire answered first, then looked at Focus Man to add his part.

“And you’ve been here in winter?” Helen asked.

“Not recently,” he said.

“You should come.”

“We’re not making a decision this week.”

“I didn’t think you were.”

She said it kindly, but he felt Claire smiling beside him.

They discussed a budget, cautiously at first. Helen asked what they could comfortably afford rather than what a lender might allow. Focus Man offered a range and heard how much depended on things they hadn't done: selling their home, deciding about work, agreeing on what money they were willing to use while finding their way.

Helen didn't press. She pulled several sheets from a folder and laid them on the desk.

“I can show you two tomorrow. They’re different enough to help us learn something.”

He looked at the photographs. Neither house resembled the one he had imagined, though he wasn't certain he had imagined the same house twice.

Claire picked up one of the sheets.

“What time?”

They arranged to meet at ten.

Outside, Focus Man stopped to put the papers into his folder. Claire waited beside him while a couple passed carrying shopping bags. Across the street, someone was sweeping leaves from the entrance to a store.

“That was useful,” she said.

“Yes.”

“You looked surprised.”

“By what?”

“That I wanted neighbors.”

“I thought you liked quiet.”

“I do.”

She waited while he closed the folder, then took his hand. They walked toward the lake and found a bench with room for both of them. He put the folder beside him, but Claire reached for it after a few minutes and opened the first sheet again.

The photograph showed a small house with a sloping roof and a porch that needed painting. He leaned closer while she read the description. Tomorrow morning, someone would unlock its front door and let them walk inside.