“Children are much better behaved than the two of you,” Frank said, glancing at Radley. Maybe he was eye-fucking. Josh didn’t know about these things.

Frank found the right key, opened the front door, a solid oak relic flanked by lead-paned windows, and in they went.

“Holy shit,” Sarah said. “It’s . . . wow.”

They wandered around in silence, Frank wisely letting them see for themselves.

Beautiful woodwork, stained glass and beams greeted them in the living room, which clearly had remained untouched since it was built—the craftsmanship and style were from another era. It smelled a bit musty, but not in a bad way . . . just in an old-house way.

Whoever lived here last had been fond of ugly wallpaper and paint colors. The dining room was a violent shade of purple but sported a fireplace; the kitchen was mac ’n’ cheese yellow, with the original glass-paned cabinets painted blue. At some point, the owner had updated the counters to yellow Formica, and the floor was chipped vinyl.

The house went on forever . . . a small study with chestnut floor-to-ceiling bookcases against orange-painted walls. There were multiple fireplaces and porches. There was a sunroom, wallpapered with a pattern that resembled splotches of blood, and, continuing the body secretions color palette, bile-green shag carpeting.

Upstairs, it was uglier . . . the previous owners had put in awkward modifications here and there—dividing one bedroom into two with a shaky wall, installing a casket-sized shower in one bathroom and, for some mysterious reason, building a closet around the claw-foot tub. Three bathrooms were carpeted. Every upstairs window would need to be replaced, and some would have to be custom-made. Four bedrooms plus a very cool attic suite on the third floor that had a sitting room with slanted ceilings and funky little windows, a good-sized bedroom and full bathroom. “This used to be the maid’s quarters. Perfect for a teenager,” Frank said.

Outside, the large, wooded yard led down to the water. There was a workspace over the garage, its windows looking over the bay, where, come summer, there’d be a plethora of sailboats, no doubt.

“The Edgewood Yacht Club is over there,” Frank said, “if you’re interested in boating.”

He pictured Lauren sitting on the deck of a sailboat in a big floppy hat, smiling at him. “I’m not really a boat person,” he murmured.

He could always sell it, probably at a profit once he got rid of that tacky wallpaper, overhauled the kitchen and updated the bathrooms. He kind of liked the rambling nature of the house, the fact that it wasn’t just one thing. It was full of nooks and crannies and secret closets, beautiful banisters and a creepy cellar.

It was, he thought, a little bit like him. Awkward on the outside, yet lovely within, if you could put in the work. The house was to Josh as Josh had been to Lauren—needing an overhaul, but full of potential.