Following him inside, A.J. found herself in a foyer with a staircase ahead and a kitchen beyond. To the left, a modest living room was furnished sparsely but glowed with the warmth of cherry paneling and some embers that were dying in an old stone fireplace. On the opposite side of the entrance hall was a dining room with an exquisite antique table in the center and a set of carved chairs pressed in tight around its flanks. Throughout the rooms, oriental rugs covered wide oak planks, and the ceilings, lofty and creamy white, provided fair skies. Everywhere she turned, there were banks of windows stretching from the floor to above her head and she knew light would flood into the rooms during the day. With spectacular views and antique details, it was a gorgeous house but there was something sterile about it. She noticed that there were no family pictures, no snapshots of friends, no random trinkets from vacations. And where were all of his trophies and medals? “You’ll have to sleep on the couch,”
