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Authors: Holly Rayner
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“Well, the rooms are quite large. Like back home, you know. Not like the tiny rooms they have here in America.”
She nodded, as though she knew what he meant.
“And there are some extra rooms. Guest rooms, and things like that. Nooks and crannies. I was just telling you the overall themes. There’s more to be discovered.”
She found herself excited at the prospect. She would wander around, discovering. Maybe it would take hours. Maybe it would take days.
Nadya’s heart sank again. She’d found herself imagining that this was all real, and forgetting that it wasn’t. She had to stop doing that, she thought. If only for her own sanity.
“And, of course, there’s the basement.” He said it with something sly in his voice, and winked at the end. Her curiosity was peaked.
“What’s in the basement?”
“If you’re done with your coffee, I’ll show you.”
She pitted her curiosity against her desire to stay there, sitting with him and sipping her coffee in the sunlight. The coffee and the warmth won. At least for the moment. They let the conversation between them lapse, quietly enjoying one another’s company.
“What’s that smell?” she asked, after a while.
“The coffee?” he asked, and she shot him an annoyed look.
“No, not that.”
“The food?” This time, the obviously incorrect answer was intentional. She could tell by his cheeky look.
“No, really. What is that?”
He concentrated, closing his eyes so he could focus. “Ah,” he said. “That. That’s Honeysuckle.”
“They have it in California,” she said, remembering again, for the second time in as many days, the time she’d spent there and how few her cares had been.
He was nodding. “They do,” he said.
“It’s beautiful.”
And she meant more than the honeysuckle. She meant everything. She meant the garden. She meant the house. She meant the entrance and the great grand door. She meant him. She didn’t specify, but she had a feeling he knew.
When they’d drunk in enough of her fill of sunshine that Nadya’s curiosity began to outweigh her desire to sit just a bit longer, he let her down to the basement.
They went through the door in Salman’s own side, and she caught just a hint of the rooms beyond. She wanted to explore them. She wanted to see the bedroom. She wanted to feel the way it would feel to wake up there, every day.
But that could wait. Maybe forever. No sense in torturing herself over something she couldn’t have. She followed him through a door that led to a long staircase. It took her down, deeper than she had expected, until they were well below both the house and the garden.
When they reached the bottom, they came out into a large, round room, with a tall, sloping ceiling. Salman flicked a switch, and turned on the lights. But the lights weren’t up on the ceiling. They were only about nine or ten feet above them, about at the height a normal ceiling would be. Up on the ceiling, high above them, were what looked like a million tiny, twinkling lights, laid out against a curving, dark blue field.
“A bowling alley?” she asked, surprised.
“Bowling under the stars!” He had his arms out, presenting. “I should explain,” he said, when Nadya continued to look a bit puzzled.
“It’s a reminder of home. In fact, I just had it completed, so my family can see it when they come for the wedding. When we were young, my father found out that the White House had its own bowling alley. We didn’t bowl – no one at home did. But still, my father was not a man to be outdone. So he set one up, out in the courtyard. And we played on it constantly.
“But we didn’t really know the rules, and maybe we should have found out how the game was supposed to be played, but the children were the only ones who used it. So we just made up our own rules, and played by those.”
Everything in the
She nodded, as though she knew what he meant.
“And there are some extra rooms. Guest rooms, and things like that. Nooks and crannies. I was just telling you the overall themes. There’s more to be discovered.”
She found herself excited at the prospect. She would wander around, discovering. Maybe it would take hours. Maybe it would take days.
Nadya’s heart sank again. She’d found herself imagining that this was all real, and forgetting that it wasn’t. She had to stop doing that, she thought. If only for her own sanity.
“And, of course, there’s the basement.” He said it with something sly in his voice, and winked at the end. Her curiosity was peaked.
“What’s in the basement?”
“If you’re done with your coffee, I’ll show you.”
She pitted her curiosity against her desire to stay there, sitting with him and sipping her coffee in the sunlight. The coffee and the warmth won. At least for the moment. They let the conversation between them lapse, quietly enjoying one another’s company.
“What’s that smell?” she asked, after a while.
“The coffee?” he asked, and she shot him an annoyed look.
“No, not that.”
“The food?” This time, the obviously incorrect answer was intentional. She could tell by his cheeky look.
“No, really. What is that?”
He concentrated, closing his eyes so he could focus. “Ah,” he said. “That. That’s Honeysuckle.”
“They have it in California,” she said, remembering again, for the second time in as many days, the time she’d spent there and how few her cares had been.
He was nodding. “They do,” he said.
“It’s beautiful.”
And she meant more than the honeysuckle. She meant everything. She meant the garden. She meant the house. She meant the entrance and the great grand door. She meant him. She didn’t specify, but she had a feeling he knew.
When they’d drunk in enough of her fill of sunshine that Nadya’s curiosity began to outweigh her desire to sit just a bit longer, he let her down to the basement.
They went through the door in Salman’s own side, and she caught just a hint of the rooms beyond. She wanted to explore them. She wanted to see the bedroom. She wanted to feel the way it would feel to wake up there, every day.
But that could wait. Maybe forever. No sense in torturing herself over something she couldn’t have. She followed him through a door that led to a long staircase. It took her down, deeper than she had expected, until they were well below both the house and the garden.
When they reached the bottom, they came out into a large, round room, with a tall, sloping ceiling. Salman flicked a switch, and turned on the lights. But the lights weren’t up on the ceiling. They were only about nine or ten feet above them, about at the height a normal ceiling would be. Up on the ceiling, high above them, were what looked like a million tiny, twinkling lights, laid out against a curving, dark blue field.
“A bowling alley?” she asked, surprised.
“Bowling under the stars!” He had his arms out, presenting. “I should explain,” he said, when Nadya continued to look a bit puzzled.
“It’s a reminder of home. In fact, I just had it completed, so my family can see it when they come for the wedding. When we were young, my father found out that the White House had its own bowling alley. We didn’t bowl – no one at home did. But still, my father was not a man to be outdone. So he set one up, out in the courtyard. And we played on it constantly.
“But we didn’t really know the rules, and maybe we should have found out how the game was supposed to be played, but the children were the only ones who used it. So we just made up our own rules, and played by those.”
Everything in the
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