Property Management

"What do you think of the property?"

We stood atop a hill just shy of the Blue Ridge. If I used my imagination, I could see the outline of mountains that held parts of the Appalachian Trail. In the winter, I probably wouldn't have to imagine it.

The realtor squatted down, facing back the way we'd come. He fiddled with a twig, his mind on joining his friends for the back nine.

I idly wiped sweat from my forehead. It wasn't particularly hot, and the hardwoods provided good shade, but it had been a long walk up the old gravel road that wound up and around the hillside. The road had been cut over a century before, and was fairly maintained ever since, but no great care had been taken to keep it completely free from deadfall or underbrush. So, we hiked.

The only people in recent memory who had regularly been on this hilltop were seasonal hunters from the extended family of the original owners.

The land had been granted to a German family who fought in 1812. It made no nevermind to the government that the space had already been claimed by a tribe of natives centuries before Oglethorpe arrived in the colonies.

For the first time in history, the land was being sold instead of given or stolen.

I glanced over at the old homesite. Only a few signs of foundation remained, but where the house once stood was clear.

Also clear to me, and unseen by the impatient salesman, was the figure of a woman standing near what was once the hearth of the original structure. In the late evening sun, she was dappled in shadow and dark promise.

The sweat on my forehead suddenly felt cold on my fingertips, and my hands were clammy.

I stared at her, and she stared through me.

My voice, when I found it, was a hundred miles away to my ears. My throat felt tight, like I was speaking for the first time after several days of tonsillitis. My steps, when I finally took them, were light, even airy.

"Let's talk about it in the car," I managed to say, and the sound of my ragged breathing and pounding heartbeat filled my ears. I reached the agent's new Land Rover a full twenty seconds before he caught up, and I was tugging on the locked handle before he could let us inside.

"You ok, man?" He asked, with a grin, as he started the car. "It is a pretty great spot, right? A beautiful place with a ton of acreage for the price."

He was right. The land was selling for about half market value, and the lot was twice the size of anything else I'd even considered.

"It is an amazing deal," I took a deep breath, turning the air-conditioning vents away from me. I'd gone from August to February in those few seconds I'd matched gazes with someone not quite here and not quite gone. "But I'm afraid the homesite is too crowded for me."

In my peripheral vision, I saw the realtor cut his eyes over at me and really examine my condition for the first time. He nodded, sighed, and I heard him whisper a quiet fuck.

I looked over at him, raising an eyebrow.

"It's not you, man. I've taken a dozen buyers up there, and not one of them has put in an offer. What did you see?"

"What I saw isn't as important as what I'm worried saw me."

We didn't speak any more after that, but I noticed his name came off the listing that still sits on Zillow.