Read Online The Wrong Stuff by Sharon Fiffer - Free Book Online

it back in her bag along with the lucky buckeye and Belinda St. Germain’s book, which made it even heavier than usual. Tim had slowed the car down and turned onto an almost hidden road. They approached a tall, intricately worked iron gate. An iron stand, hidden by clematis vines and climbing roses, still lush with fall blooms, housed the state-of-the-art intercom system. Tim gave their names, and the gate swung open.
    â€œWelcome to Campbell and LaSalle, honey,” said Tim.
    â€œRemember the commune down at school? When you came to see me at college and we visited my friends who were living in the Bucky Fuller dome they had all built together?” Jane asked, hanging out her window, looking at the lush woods, trying to spy some of the hidden cabins Tim had described.
    â€œYeah, your friends’ kids wandered around looking like feral cats. Frightening place.”
    â€œDidn’t little Moonbeam or his sister…?” Jane asked, starting to laugh.
    â€œYes, the little animal child peed on my shoe. The mother said it was because he liked me and wanted to mark me as his own.”
    â€œI still get a Christmas card from his mother. Moonbeam goes by Bob now. He’s in mergers and acquisitions.”
    â€œStill peeing on people.”
    â€œOh my,” Jane said. Her mouth remained open as she stared at the main building of the Campbell and LaSalle complex.
    The first impression given by the lodge, as it was called in the brochure, was somewhere between the most inflated, nostalgic, selective memory of the perfect summer camp and a presidential retreat. Set among majestic pines, the low, rambling log building was both impressive and inviting. Was it a Northwoods Camp David or 4-H Camp Shaw-wa-na-see? The twig furniture on the long front porch gave it the perfect look, but the piles of cushions and padded footstools emphasized that it wasn’t only for a photo shoot. People could actually wrap themselves up in one of the Pendleton blankets stored in an open chest under the eaves and watch the sun rise over the tree line. Or set? Jane looked up and noted that the sun was still high overhead, not giving her much of a clue as to which direction the lodge faced. She always liked to know her directions and usually considered long, twisting driveways her personal enemy; but here, she realized, she felt less lost than enchanted.
    As soon as Tim stopped in the large circular drive, she opened the door and listened. At first, nothing. Then a distant sound of water. A rushing creek? A waterfall? Was it just the trees breathing in the wind? Jane got out, closing the car door as softly as she could manage, not wanting to disturb this scene.
    There was a corkboard, tastefully framed in hand-carved twigs hanging on the massive front door. A note was pinned there with what Jane would swear was a pine needle. The paper was most certainly handmade, delicately imprinted with ferns and wildflowers.
    To our arriving guests—
    Please make yourself at home on the grounds. Wander, breathe, enjoy. We at Campbell and LaSalle maintain a creative midafternoon silence between the hours of one and four. If you encounter an open studio, an individual artist might be happy to share his/her current work with you. If a door is closed, please respect the privacy of the resident. At four, return here and we will be happy to serve your needs.
    â€œDo you mean, if customers show up, they have to wait until four P.M. to pick up a piece of furniture? Or to have an appraisal done?” Jane asked. “They can run a business like that?”
    â€œThis is not just any business,” said Tim. “It is, my cretin junker friend, Campbell and LaSalle, as every brochure and hand-lettered note is going to remind you. The ‘we at Cambell and LaSalle’ is going to wear pretty thin by tomorrow afternoon, I guarantee you. But they do cast a spell, yes?” Tim asked. “Note that we’re whispering,” he