This morning's writing

The Morrisons’ house stood out. A two-story Mediterranean that towered more than it sprawled, it was soon to impress me with its surprises. The entryway, first off, was huge, the marble floor dappled by strategic light from an oval chandelier. Down two oval steps was the living room, a space that looked like it hadn’t been used once since the furniture was set into place. A dual-step platform led to an impressive circular staircase, but we didn’t go up there. Instead Leslie – Mrs. Morrison – led me through a pastel kitchen into a wonderfully jumbled family room.

 

That’s where the girls were.

 

The female energy in that space was nearly enough to cause me to back out through the French doors, past the poodle and into the pool.