On the Alberta/Montana Border: The Housing Market

“This one. See?”

I followed Sally’s pointing finger. It stopped about a third of the way down the page of the flier she was holding.

At a beautiful home on an acreage somewhere outside of town.

“Mr. Baggins stopped by and gave me this flier. What do you think?”

About Mr. Baggins bringing my sister real estate fliers? Ummm…

“Mort and I are going to go to the open house this afternoon and have a look. Wanna come?”

I thought of the lovely book I was just getting into. And my special date with Peter later tonight that I had bought a new dress for and…

Just then Ivy Jean Gunn of the sweet face and very loud lungs sounded off somewhere in the house.

I set down my book. “You know what? I’ll drive!”

I squinted at the picture and typed the address into my phone. “K. Let’s roll!” I led the two of them into the garage and, from there, into the car. “Did anyone check for motorcycles?” I asked.

You have to know that, since the birth of Ivy, the entire family has been a bit skittish about backing the car out of the garage without doing a ‘stray motorcycle check’ first.

“It’s right there.” Mort pointed.

“Ah." I pushed the button for the garage door. "Then we’re off!”

Sally and Mort were happily discussing the selling points of the house we were going to see. (Well, Sally was. Mort just, in his ‘Mort’ way, smiled and grinned.) Suites, extra room. Extra rooms. Outbuildings. A shop. Barns.

I nearly stomped on the brake. Barns? A picture of the damage Sally could do if she had some actual, you know—horsepower—burst in living colour into my mind.

Heaven help us all.

But I’m nothing if not determined, so I kept going.

“Turn right at the next intersection,” the GPS voice said. In a southern accent that sounded more like ‘tun rat at the next intusection.’

I turned.

The house that slowly came into view was, in a word, spectacular. It went on and on and on.

I think I gasped. I should have gasped. It was bigger than the home town we grew up in.

“Oooh! It’s a win!” Sally squealed. “Morty, honey! It’s our sanctuary!!”

Mort shrugged and grinned.

See?

I pulled the car into the wide, circular driveway.

Sally was out of the door before we stopped. She looked around. “Huh. Why don’t they have any signs?”

I frowned. She was right. Nary a real estate sign was in evidence.

“Maybe we’re early?”

She shrugged and, taking Mort’s hand, towed him to the front door and tried the knob. “Well, it’s open, so come on in!”

We did.

The foyer was amazing. And huge. A chandelier the size of my bed at home looked…normal.

“Perfect!” Sally enthused. “Oh, I’m so happy right now!”

An archway to the left led into a bright, immense, living room. Or drawing room. Or…what do they call these rooms that are so large our whole house could sit comfortably in one end and a group of forty could still find seats and carry on a conversation in the other?

Right. A cathedral.

I didn’t get much chance to get much more than an impression, though.

Because there, on one of the numerous couches, was a man.

Stretched out and obviously asleep.

Huh. Maybe he was early, too?

Just then a woman came around the corner, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. She stopped and stared at us. “Jes?” she said, with a distinct Spanish accent. “What can I help you with?”

Sally looked at her. “We're here to see the house.”

“House?”

“Yeah.” Sally tipped her head to one side. “The open house.” She held up the flier and the woman adjusted her glasses and bent to look at it.

Then the two stared at each other.

I think that’s when I finally realized we had entered a set of stunning front doors, passed through an amazing foyer, and were standing in a beautiful cathedral-sized room…all in the wrong house.

Oops.

I looked at the address on my phone. Then reached for the flier. The picture was a fairly close match. Oh. Walker Lakes Station. Not Walker Lakes Street. Huh. What are the chances?

On a good note, Mr. and Mrs. Cavallero have laughingly agreed not to press ‘breaking and entering’ charges.

And may be coming to dinner on Sunday.

Ahem.

We’re going now to see the real house.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Today’s post is a writing challenge. Participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post with the understanding that all words be used at least once. All the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.