The Green Room by Gwen Masters

Author:Gwen Masters
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Total-E-Bound Publishing

Chapter Nine

The house was magnificent. It was over seven thousand square feet, three stories and more than enough garage, all settled in the centre of twelve wooded acres. The six bedrooms were huge, but the master suite put them all to shame. There were Jacuzzis and a wrap-around porch. The house boasted two staircases and a kitchen twice the size of my old one. It had big gates, a long and winding driveway and an impressive security system.

It also had a treehouse and a swingset in the backyard, both brand new, built especially for our child.

We had planned on building a house of our own, but when our chosen realtor told us about a home that was halfway finished, we decided to give it a look. The potential owners had backed out of their contract because the husband was transferred overseas, and now the house was sitting in limbo, waiting for an owner to swoop in and make it a home. When I saw the big staircase and the beautiful skylights, I was lost. When Anthony saw the enormous bedrooms and the backyard that provided plenty of privacy and room to romp, he didn’t bother asking how much it would cost.

“When can we move in?” he had asked.

Now I stood at the foot of the stairs and looked up to the skylight in the centre of the building, three stories up. The building was now finished, and only the small details remained. It still smelt of fresh paint, sawdust and the sweet aroma of promise.

The furniture was in place, most of it still covered by clear plastic. Parts of a ceiling fan lay strewn across the living room table, waiting for assembly. The new refrigerator hummed a single low note. The fireplace in the front room was enormous, imposing, and the mantle that surrounded it was built specifically with award statuettes in mind. It would be not only our home, but also a testament to how far we would travel down the road of fortune and fame.

Anthony’s boots made hollow thumps on the hardwood floors. I listened to him approach while fluffy white clouds drifted across the skylight. His hands curled around my waist—what was left of it, anyway. Somehow sensing his father’s touch, the baby inside me kicked.

“It all ours,” he whispered.

“Just what we wanted.”

“Can you believe it’s been a year since we met?”

The clouds drifted slowly away. “Is that all?”

“Did you ever think that we would come to this?”

I closed my eyes and rocked back and forth with him. Had it been only a year ago when I saw Anthony Keenan sitting on a stool in a smoky bar, playing his guitar and drinking Jack Daniels?

A year ago I had been reckless, full of myself, with no goal in life other than the next talent, the next contract, the next award on a mantle. I thought of how hard I had been, how difficult to get to know, how closed off and jaded by the whole separate world that was the music industry.

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