Seven Minutes to Noon

color and texture of parchment, twisted loosely around leaf-patterned curtain rods.
    In the kitchen, the children had indeed placed themselves at the table, but the snack they were eating was imaginary. They looked natural in this modest but efficient kitchen. It was a good kitchen, not fancy, renovated once, though not recently. It had every appliance, modern enough, with plenty of blond wood cabinetry, and pink counters in a style of Formica whose interlocking triangle pattern had recently rebounded into fashion. Everything looked like it was in good shape; either someone had reconstructed an older-style kitchen or never much used the original. It was cozy enough to work in without getting lost and spacious enough to easily accommodate two or three cooks.
    “Not renovated,” Mike said in a tone more sober than any of his usual voices. It was a new voice: the cautious buyer.
    “This house has been very well maintained over the years,” Judy said. “Plumbing and electric are in excellent shape. You have a dry basement, new windows. The kitchen isn’t new, but it looks like it’s in good condition.”
    Alice wanted to shout, Yes! but held herself back. She was glad the kitchen wasn’t renovated and hoped the bathrooms weren’t either. The potential she saw, no felt, in this house was not about fixtures but her family’s daily life, their happiness. New fixtures were an added pizzazz that looked great and probably were a dream to use but also tended to inflate the price beyond reasonability. They didn’t really matter.
    A glass door to the right of the table looked out on a grassy backyard bordered by gardens. An iron scrollwork table with four matching iron chairs sat in a slate circle at the foot of the stairs that led up to the kitchen deck, where another table and chairs sat under an umbrella.
    “A good family house,” Judy said, though she needn’t have.
    “Can we see the upstairs?” Alice asked.
    Nell and Peter abandoned their pretend tea party and followed the grown-ups to the staircase.
    Judy went up first, followed by the children, then Alice and Mike. When no one was looking, Alice nudged Mike’s shoulder. He looked at her and she raised her eyebrows and nodded. He winked, and she knew they had found themselves a house.
    Upstairs there were three bedrooms, two average in size, the third very small but with its own window. Everything looked neat and clean and newly painted. Nooks cradled built-in shelving that had a civilizing effect on the space, with things and stuff tucked into their places.
    “Closet.” Judy opened a door in the hallway, revealinga narrow linen closet next to the bathroom. “Another closet.” She opened a door in one of the larger bedrooms. “And there’s one more big closet upstairs.”
    “There’s another upstairs?” Mike asked.
    Judy smiled. “Follow me.”
    They trailed her up another flight of stairs to the top floor. There was no hallway, just two large rooms joined together by a doorway without a door. One of the rooms was being used as an office, the other as a sewing area. Alice looked around and saw, in her mind, another bedroom and a play area.
    “I can show you the basement if you’d like,” Judy offered.
    “Sure,” Mike said, nodding. “Definitely.”
    Judy started down the stairs and they all followed her. Mike went all the way into the basement but Alice stopped halfway as a buffer to keep the kids from following into whatever hazards might be harbored down there. It looked like an average, stony, cave of a basement. Utility shelves were stocked with kitchen overflow, bikes were lined up against one wall, a large hot-water heater occupied the opposite corner.
    “The technicals are all good,” Judy said. “But of course you’d get an engineer to inspect. I can give you some names if you’d like.”
    She was doling out the crumbs and Alice was devouring them. Yes, they would like the name of an engineer. And a real estate lawyer to close the deal. And a mover to make it final. She couldn’t wait to move out of Julius Pollack’s house. Maybe they wouldn’t even tell him they were leaving. They could let him begin eviction proceedings, agitate himself, under the watchful eye of the police. They could steal the final word; after all, he didn’t own them. But before allowing herself the satisfaction of victory, there was one more thing Alice needed to know.
    “Judy,” Alice asked from her perch on the basement stairs. The kids pressed up