Seven Minutes to Noon

from the crass commercialism of American culture? Why stay here at all?
    Because, Alice thought as she turned right onto Carroll Street and stopped in front of the school, because this was their home. It was where they lived. Having come to Brooklyn via a childhood in Long Island, then California, Alice had long felt that this little neighborhood was the true home of her soul. She also knew, from her mother’s flight from pain, that there was no real transportation away from the loss of Lauren and Ivy. That would linger anywhere, everywhere. By the time the children appeared with their classes at the door, Alice had stopped even considering the possibility of leaving town. They were here and they would stay.
    Nell and Peter held Alice’s hands and chattered about their days as they walked over to Maggie’s apartment. Sylvie had agreed to watch them, with Ethan, for an hour or so; she was always happy to double up the babysitting, both to earn extra money and provide Ethan witha built-in play date. And Alice had decided it would be better to house hunt as much as possible without the chaos of little voices. There were enough voices causing conflict in her mind as it was.
    The next house was a wide Clinton Street brownstone with single-pane windows that ran from floor to ceiling and were so clean they reflected the shimmering light that played on the leaves of a big sycamore tree out front. It was a large, five-story house with fancy ironwork and carved wooden double doors that looked recently varnished. It even had an indoor garage — a rare amenity in Brownstone Brooklyn — with a driveway leading down to the half-submerged basement level. An old rosebush, covered with masses of yellow roses, leaned against the house. Alice loved the house the minute she saw it. She sat on the front stoop, waited for Pam, and imagined herself coming home here. It felt right, perfect even, and she knew in the same thought that it couldn’t possibly be within her reach. She wouldn’t even go inside, she decided, if the price was too high.
    As soon as she saw Pam trundle up the street in her neon orange caftan and new wedgies, Alice got up from the stoop and went to greet her. They kissed each other on the cheek like old friends.
    “How much?” Alice asked.
    “See it first.”
    “How much?”
    “You’re going to love this one. We can work the numbers.”
    “I knew it.”
    “Just come inside.”
    Alice shook her head. “Tell me.”
    “One point nine.” Pam sunk her gaze onto Alice’s. “But everything’s negotiable. Let’s go in.”
    Alice knew it couldn’t be that negotiable, but the temptation was too great and she felt her resistance drain away. She would see it as a voyeur, she decided, not a potential buyer.
    “Are the owners home?” Alice couldn’t bear to facethem, whoever they were; they would know the minute they saw her that this wasn’t her level of house.
    Pam jangled a set of keys out of her pocket. “Both at work.”
    Alice followed Pam up the stoop.
    The front hallway was spacious, with a white marble floor and a glittering crystal chandelier. The living room was huge and ornamented, without all the layers of paint that ruined the details of so many local homes. Everything about the house bespoke wealth.
    “What do they do for a living?” Alice whispered, as if they might hear her from their vast distance.
    “Who knows?” Pam winked. “Yada yada yada.”
    They made a quick tour through the restaurant-quality kitchen, the master suite upstairs with its renovated bathroom and closet-lined dressing room, and three bedrooms upstairs. Alice didn’t have the heart to enter the landscaped backyard; she only glimpsed it from a top-floor window.
    “Why did you bring me here?” Alice asked Pam, when they returned to the parlor floor.
    Pam put her purse on the dining room table. “Because I wanted you to see what was possible.”
    The women stared at each other.
    “This house isn’t even for sale, is it?” Queasiness rose into Alice’s throat.
    “No.”
    “Is this your house?”
    “You bet it is. Wanna know how much I paid for this place?”
    “One point nine, I guess.” Alice’s tone was hard but she didn’t correct it or try to apologize. “I’m leaving.”
    “Wrong!” Pam followed her to the front door. “I paid one hundred fifty thousand dollars for this house, seventeen years ago. At the time I thought it was way overpriced. I said forget it, but my husband showed me the math