“He picked up the key at a local realtor in West Brookfield who had kept an eye on the house for him for years, and reported on annual repairs that needed to be done before the winter. He had put on a new roof several years before after there had been some leaks. There was a flood when some pipes froze one year and then burst. On the whole the house looked dreary but was in good repair. Nothing had changed since he’d last seen it. Its last occupant had been his mother. She had spent her final su...mmer there when she was very sick, and died shortly after she left it. And the furniture was the same as he remembered from his childhood. The upholstery had faded, but the memories hadn’t. He still remembered the regattas, the sailboats on the lake, swimming to the raft, fishing with his father and brother. Despite his frequent problems with his twin, the lake had been a happy place for him. He turned the lights on in the house, and saw how dusty everything was, but he was too tired to go back to Boston, so he had no choice but to spend the night.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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