Echoes in Eternity
 
 
 
 
 
This work of adult fiction, loosely based on characters portrayed by Russell Crowe, includes adult language and experiences; you have been warned.  No copyright infringement on the original work is intended.  © Reagan Kavanagh 2006.
 
 
MAXIMUS
“Your wife is having a miscarriage.”
 
I kissed her fingers as I lay her hand at her side and stepped away from her bed, permitting the medical team who entered the room to move her to a stretcher and take her from me.  Terry walked into the room as they transferred my Cara from her bed and looked at me.
 
“What’s happened?”  My face was stiff when I replied.
 
“She is losing the child.”
 
“Oh, Christ, Max!”  We followed them to the lift and downstairs to the obstetrics floor, through seemingly endless hallways, and on to the surgical suite.  They permitted me a moment with her before taking her inside.  I leant over her restless form, again taking her hand in mine and pressing it to my lips before softly kissing her mouth and whispering in her ear.
 
“There will be other children, Cara.  Survive this …come back to me, stay with me.  I will be waiting for you.”  I watched as they took her from me, feeling Terry’s arm go round my shoulders.
 
 
TERRY
I wanted to call Diana because I needed her.  Max needed her as well because she was Reags’ best mate, but if I called and gave him the phone now, he’d be as likely to throw my phone across the waiting room or take a swing at me as to talk to her.  For the present I’d have to suck it up; I’d call her later.
 
What more could God ask of Max and Reags?  He’d separated them 2000 years ago with Max’s death.  She’d gone on to bear and raise his child alone.  Now – in this time – He’d allowed them to find each other again, to fall in love once more, to nurture that love from a flicker to a consuming flame, to marry and conceive a child together.  Today He was taking that child from them.  If all those things weren’t enough to shake your faith, I don’t know what would.  I did know enough about Max’s philosophy of life to understand that when he couldn’t change something, he’d accept it.  He might not like it, but he would accept it.  This was one of those times.
 
Max’s face was immobile as I moved him across the hallway and into a chair in the lounge area outside the obstetrical unit’s surgical suite.  His eyes were unseeing until a tall, bearded man walked into the room and turned toward us.  Max stood, and then I recognised the bloke.  He was the Chief of Obstetrics, and we’d met him Sunday night.
 
“Mr. Espan, I know it’s very difficult, but try not to be overly concerned for your wife.  We have been expecting this.”  Max nodded once as the man continued.  “I’ve spoken with your wife’s OB in Dallas, and Dr. Fletcher assures me there’s nothing of which she’s aware that would preclude your wife’s conceiving again.  Based on my own examination of Mrs. Espan, I agree.  I found nothing in my earlier examination of her that indicates any problem.  This loss is a result of the overall shock to her system.  At this point, her body is focused on its own survival; there’s nothing left over at this point to nourish a child.  The body directs its energies to the life it can most likely sustain.”  He put his hand on Max’s shoulder.
 
“I promise you I’ll take the best possible care of her.  I’ll be back to speak with you as soon as we’re done inside.”  He gave Max’s shoulder a squeeze, nodded at me and turned, walking into the suite’s doors which hissed silently closed behind him.
 
 
Forty-five minutes later Reags was wheeled out of the surgical suite with the doctor by her side.  He motioned to us, and we joined him.  The lift arrived, and we were silent until the orderlies got Reags back into her bed and left the room.  The doctor motioned Max and me to chairs and sat on the edge of the bureau in Reags’ room.
 
“Mr. Espan, do I have permission to speak frankly in front of your friend?”
 
“Of course.”
 
“This was a spontaneous abortion in every sense of the term.  Your wife has been through an experience she was fortunate to survive, and now her body is directing all its energies to healing the damage and sustaining her life.  Her physical resources simply had nothing left over to give to the foetus.  After addressing the emergent aspect of the abortion – the miscarriage if you prefer that term – I did a deep pelvic exam while she was still under anaesthesia.  Her reproductive system is entirely healthy and intact.  There is absolutely no reason that she can’t conceive again once she’s recovered from her injuries.  I would advise caution for three to six months; at that point, you may again attempt to conceive.  She’ll be more than well enough at that point in time to sustain a pregnancy.”  He walked the two steps to where we were sitting and put his hand on Max’s shoulder as Max looked up at him.
 
“I know this is a lot to take in, Mr. Espan.  You almost lost your wife, and now you’ve both lost your child.  My wife and I lost a child to miscarriage a few years ago, and I do know how you feel at this point.  We were about your ages at that time, and that child was our first pregnancy.  We were devastated, fearful that because of our ages, we wouldn’t have another opportunity for a family.  We were wrong.  We now have two healthy children, and she’s pregnant with our third.  Women today bear healthy children into their late 40s, and there’s absolutely no reason your wife can’t be among that number.”  Max stood and extended his hand, and they shook hands as Max spoke.
 
“Doctor, I appreciate your words in this matter.  Nothing can negate our despair at the loss of this child, but your kindness and understanding – and your encouragement regarding a future child – are comforting.  I thank you, and I know my wife will as well.”  
 
 
Ten days later Max and Reags were back in Dallas.  I’d gone home the day after Reags’ miscarriage, and Dino had put in a call to our health insurance carrier.  I wasn’t in the room when he made the call, but he succeeded in having them pick up the cost of an air ambulance to transport Reags home.  I smile every time I think of how that convo must have gone, as air ambulance service other than in life-threatening situations isn’t covered by our policy. 
 
Dino, Diana, and I were waiting at the north end of their property when the air ambulance came into view and gently sat down in the field behind their house.  The ground was too bumpy to roll the stretcher over it, but the medics, Max, Dino and I carried it to the house and inside where we finally let Reags put her feet on the floor.  She laughed as the dogs thronged round her, sniffing her and the cast on her left arm as she sat in her usual chair and Diana went into her hovering routine.  Reags looked up at her.
 
“Dee, I appreciate the overt display of concern, but I’m fine.  You don’t need to compensate for not being at the hospital.  If you try it, you’re going to learn that I’m an even less cooperative patient than Terry was last year.”  That got Diana sorted, and she smiled as she sat across from Reags. 
 
“Am I allowed to ask how you’re feeling?”
 
“Pretty damned good, all things considered.  Sore, yes, but they let me off the walker for the hip yesterday, as long as I promised to use the cane for a month.  It’s a hairline fracture and should be well healed by then.  The stitches come out the first of next week, and the ribs will heal in time.  The plate and screws in my arm are permanent fixtures unless I elect additional surgery to remove them, and that’s not going to happen.  The cast will be off in another month to six weeks.  The only thing that actually still hurts is the ribs, and God help me if I cough or sneeze!  The vest keeps the ribs stable, but sneezing and coughing still hurts.”
 
Max, Dino, and I could all identify with that statement, as broken ribs are common in our line of work.  A projectile may be stopped by Kevlars, but the impact often serves to fracture a rib or two.  I noted she didn’t mention the miscarriage, and if neither she nor Max did, there was no way the rest of us would.  Some things you just don’t talk about unless the principals give you the nod.
 
 
REAGAN
I lost three days of my life, our baby, and my new car.  I can’t remember a bloody thing between driving down the lane and looking back at Max and waking up in hospital in Houston aside from the impact when that drunk son-of-a-bitch hit me.  Everything else is gone. 
 
As there was nothing to be done about the loss of memory and the time I was unconscious, I let go of that; it would likely return in time.  If it didn’t, that was fine with me.  The car could be replaced.  Both Maximus and I were still grieving the miscarriage, but we were also determined to try again as soon as Sharon gave us the all clear.  The Saturday morning after I returned home on Wednesday, we were sitting in the lounge, sipping coffee and reading the morning paper when Max put down the section in his hands and looked at me.  I put down the editorial section – a good thing, as I was becoming progressively more pissed at the idiocy between Washington and the Middle East – and waited for him to speak.
 
“Are you happy in this house?”  Huh?  Where did that come from?
 
“Yes …why do you ask?”
 
“I have been considering our options.”
 
“Such as?”
 
“We will have a family in the near future.”  That made me smile.  Yes, we would and at the earliest date possible.  We could never replace the child we’d lost, but we could have others …well, at least one. 
 
“We have friends living elsewhere who occasionally visit and spend nights with us.”  I nodded.  “This house has but three bedrooms …ours, the one converted to an office for you, and at present, a guest room.  I am not content to have no designated room as nursery.  The current situation requires us to convert the guest room to a nursery, and once our child is born I will not return the nursery to a guest room on those occasions we have friends stay overnight.  Our child will have his own room from the day of his birth.”  He did have a point; I’d not thought that far ahead.  I smiled at his use of the generic noun because I knew Max actually wanted a daughter.  Big shift of values for the Old Roman, isn’t it?
 
“What did you have in mind?”  He held up the section of the paper he’d been reading …the real estate section.  Ah. 
 
“Would you consider moving to a more appropriate property, or possibly buying a parcel of land and building a new home together?  Though comfortable and appropriate for our current needs, this house will not lend itself to expansion, neither of its physical structure nor of our family.” 
 
He had me there.  This house is lovely, and until Maximus brought up the problems involved in its size, I’d never even thought of moving.  His analysis – irrespective of my love for this house – was absolutely correct.  The design of this house didn’t leave any options for expansion on either front.  To alter it physically by adding on a room or rooms would make it look like some sort of absurd accident, much like a three-year-old child building houses with Leggos.  I thought for a moment before replying.
 
“In truth, I don’t want to live in a house built by and for anyone else.  If we’re going to leave this house, I’d prefer we work with an architect and custom design our home together.  Of course, that means finding an appropriate property on which to build that home, doesn’t it?” 
 
“It does, and I have done a bit of looking – I had begun the process before your accident – both at available properties and architects we might consider to design our new home.”  Most times it isn’t that easy to get the jump on me, but I’d been a bit slow on the uptake since the accident and prior to that getting pregnant had occupied much of my thought processes.  On acknowledging that, it didn’t surprise me in the least that he’d been looking.
 
“What sort of property did you have in mind?”  He smiled, and I knew what was coming.  Sometimes I really can read him like a book.
 
“I am hopeful you would consider a larger parcel of land, farther from the city, perhaps truly in the countryside as opposed to the nether reaches of the urbs.  I would enjoy having room to do a bit of farming and perhaps have a few horses.  I would enjoy breeding Andalusians once more, if you would consent to that in the future.  You know I am a farmer at heart.” 

I smiled, remembering his comment to Quintus …dirt washes off easier than blood.  Max had been – and still is – a soldier by profession; his heart has always been in farming.
 
“What size parcel of land are you considering?”  He took a deep breath and answered.
 
“I see no need to dissemble with you, Cara.  I have found a parcel of land – some 350 acres – about 45 minutes drive south of Dallas.  It is for sale at $1500 an acre.  Due to the numerous ponds, the abundant game, and the perfectly serviceable farm house, the owner’s asking price is $525,000.  Given the proximity to the city for our work and the bucolic atmosphere of the country, that is a reasonable figure.  I have inspected the property and believe it to be entirely suitable for our needs.  If we were to purchase the property, we could live quite comfortably in the existing farm house until such time as our own home could be built.  I have made no commitment – I would not presume without your agreement and consent – though I did ask the owner for first right of refusal as I viewed the property some time past.  He has agreed.  This past week I called and advised him it might be some weeks before you were able to travel to see the property; I told him of your car crash, and he said he would wait.” 
 
Half a million for the farm I knew Maximus would treasure with ever fibre of his being.  The old adage about if something appeared too good to be true niggled at my brain.
 
“If this is such a great deal, why hasn’t it sold?  For that matter, why is he interested in selling?”
 
“The land is dear to him; his family has owned it for more than one hundred years.  He wishes it to go to someone who will love and respect the land as he has done; until I spoke with him, that person had not presented himself.  It appears we share a deep love of the land.  His interest in selling is a function of his age.  He is now past 80 and can no longer work the property as it should be done.  His children have no interest in farming or ranching, preferring to live in the city.  His wish is to find someone he trusts to care for the land before he dies, rather than know his children will parcel it up and sell it to the highest bidders following his death.”
 
“Have you had it appraised?  What about mineral rights?  Would we get those as well as the land, or will his heirs inherit the rights to the oil field lying ten feet underground?”  I was joking about the oil field, but if we were going to sink that kind of money into property and the current owner had avaricious children – and it sounded as if that was a high probability – I wanted the mineral rights.  If anything of value should be discovered at some future point in time, I had no wish to fight over it with someone’s children.  More than that, I didn’t want them tearing up our property to get at their oil or gas reserves.
 
“I have made a cursory internet search regarding mineral rights.  No one has inspected the land for reserves, as it has been utilised only for farming and ranching purposes to this date.  Tom Holloway is making a legal search to see what he might find.  I have advised the owner that if we buy this land, we will require mineral rights to be part of the sale.  He has agreed.  In addition, he took the precaution some time ago of having his children sign away their rights to the property in the event of a change of ownership; they have no legal standing either to dispute the sale or how the new owners wish to utilise the property, though they would inherit all rights should he die before it is sold.  Inasmuch as Mr. Abbott is willing to sign over mineral rights, I believe a fair purchase price would be $750,000.”  He’d certainly done his homework, but I’d not have expected anything less of Maximus. 
 
“Have you talked to anyone about house plans?”
 
“Not at this time, though I have investigated architectural firms and have two in mind I believe would meet your standards.  I felt we should delay discussion of actual plans for our home until after having discussed fully what we require in the home in which we will likely spend the rest of our lives.” 
 
I felt tears come to my eyes.  Physical roots – land, a home – and family are as important to Maximus as they are to me.  That’s one of the many reasons I love him as I do.  I grabbed a tissue and blotted my eyes before speaking.
 
“Okay …get me a pad and pen, would you?”  He did, sitting beside me as he handed them to me.  “How many children are we going to have?”  From the light in his eyes and the smile on his lips, I knew that he wanted as many as I was willing to bear. 
 
“Why don’t we say two for planning purposes?”  He nodded reluctantly.  “Master bedroom suite with a connecting nursery.  I’m not walking all over the house or running up and down stairs in the middle of the night to care for an infant.  He or she will be in the next room.  Of course, if we plan for two children, I suppose we could just as easily plan for three …or possibly four.”  That got me another smile, and now his nod wasn’t in the least hesitant.  Uh huh …the man wants a houseful of kids.  I think I can manage to live with that.
 
“One child per room.  Even very young children need their own private space.”  Another smile and nod …he was enjoying this more with every word I said.  “So, master suite plus nursery, two bedrooms for children, at least one guest bedroom – might as well plan ahead for when our brood is grown and comes to visit with their children so two or three guest rooms, perhaps a couple of guest houses later if you start breeding horses because we’ll need room to house prospective buyers; we really don’t want to have the same set up here that East had to deal with when Terry and Diana went to Virginia to buy Buck.   We'll need an office or two – I don’t honestly see you and me sharing a home office –  a library.  Formal living area and a lounge, formal dining room.  Large kitchen with a breakfast area.  Utility room.  Three car garage …we’ll need room eventually for at least one car for the children.  Playroom for the children.  Deck in the back yard and a hot tub …maybe a pool some day.”  His smile was still growing. 
 
“If you want horses, we need at least one barn to start.  If you actually start breeding Andalusians, we can build additional barns as they’re needed.  The same goes for an arena if you get into training …are you planning on going into competition with Dee?”  That got me a laugh.
 
“I would not presume so far; however, as this property is as far south of the city as theirs is north, I doubt any competition would arise.”  I looked at the list thus far.
 
“You realise that we’re talking about a 3500-plus square foot house.  And in today’s economy, we could be looking at $750,000 to a million dollar home.”
 
“I am quite aware of that fact.”
 
“Can we afford close to two million for a house and property at this point in our lives?”
 
“I have spoken with my bankers in Zurich.  Based on my reserves with them, and my ongoing earnings potential – and yours – they have pre-approved loans for both the land and the building of the house.”  I love Swiss bankers; they don’t piss about for weeks, they look at your balance and your earnings potential and answer your questions immediately. 
 
“One story or two?”
 
“I have no preference.  I shall leave that decision to you.”  Leave that decision to me?  At this point, it seemed he was leaving all the specs for the house to me.
 
“Maximus, if we’re seriously considering this, I’d like to do it soon.  I really don’t want to be in the middle of construction during the latter stages of pregnancy, nor do I have any desire to move when I have an infant or a small child to care for …well, we could move whilst I’m pregnant, but if we don’t do this soon, we aren’t going anywhere until the child is at least two-years-old.  Of course, I suppose moving from the existing farm house into our new home wouldn’t be all that stressful ….”  He stood and walked across the room, picked up the telephone handset, got his address book from his briefcase, and came back to sit beside me.
 
“Who are you calling?”
 
“As you said, if we are to do this, we should do it as soon as possible.  Do you think you can make the drive to look at the property within the next two weeks?”  I couldn’t answer him because I was smiling too broadly.  Fortunately that smile told him all he needed to know.  He dialled, and I listened.
 
“Mr. Abbott?  This is Max Espan …I am calling to ask if my wife and I might drive down two weeks from today in order that she may see the property.”
 
 
MAXIMUS
We left home before nine, driving leisurely south and west to the land I had found as a possible site for our new home.  I harboured some concern regarding Cassandra’s ability to make the trip, fearing it would overtire her.  She was not yet back at work – on the orders of her physician – but seemed to feel quite well.  She tired easily and often took naps in the afternoon; our early departure today would insure returning home in time for her to rest before dinner. 
 
I had fallen into the habit of calling from the office several times daily to check on her, to be told each time that she was well and I need not worry.  I knew that Diana occasionally came to the house to check on Cassandra, using the excuse that she was ‘in the neighbourhood.’  On relating the ruse to me, Cassandra said she had commented to Diana that her so-called ‘neighbourhood’ appeared to have expanded exponentially. 
 
On turning off the highway onto the narrow private road that lead to the farm’s main gate and the house, Cassandra grew animated and looked round in delight.  A doe and her fawn rested not far from the road in one place, and several rabbits hopped across the lane ahead of the car as I drove slowly toward the house.  I had called Mr. Abbott when we left the main road, and he met us as we turned into the car park at the house.  Cassandra turned to me when she saw him approach.

“I’d pictured him as a frail, old man.  He looks about as vigourous as they come!”
 
“He is quite agile for his age, though he has told me he tires more easily now than a few years past.  He truly has no wish to leave his land but feels that move to be in the best interests of the property and resident livestock.  He owns a small house in the nearby town; I have told him that should we purchase the property, he is welcome to visit at any time he might wish.  I hope I have not misspoken.”  She shook her head.
 
“Of course you haven’t!  If we buy and build here, he’s welcome at any time.”  She looked round and seemed to only then have focused her attention on the farmhouse.  It was small, a wooden structure, painted white with a red roof.  She turned back to me.
 
“I hate to say this because it sounds condescending, but that farm house is absolutely charming.”  I helped her out of the car and introduced her to Mr. Abbott.  Within half an hour of arriving it was quite clear I had best contact my bankers on Monday morning and advise them that I would be seeing my local solicitor in the coming week to draw up the sale documents.  The three of us closed the deal to purchase the farm that afternoon; it was accomplished in the time-honoured Texas fashion with handshakes amongst the three of us.  Happy but sorely fatigued, Cassandra fell asleep in the car before we had reached the interstate.  To say that I was pleased would be an understatement.  Though denied me in my first life, this one had given me the land I wanted; I would now be able to farm as I had always wished.
 
 
Ten days later, my private line rang just after eleven; it was Cassandra. 
 
“I don’t see anything pressing on your calendar for the afternoon …if I drive in, can you get away for lunch?”  Though the cast was still on her arm, she had been given permission on Monday to resume driving.  We had replaced her car – though not with the same model destroyed in the crash – and she had resumed her normal activities but for going to bed shortly after eight each evening.
 
“Of course I can meet you for lunch.  Do you wish to come by the office, or shall I meet you somewhere?”
 
“I’ll come by the office.  I haven’t seen Sooze since shortly after coming home from Houston, and it would be great to talk to her for a few minutes.”
 
“Drive carefully.  I shall be waiting for you.”
 
 
REAGAN
“Hey, Sooze, how’ve you been?  How’s Dolores?”  She almost broke a heel getting round the desk to give me a gentle hug.
 
“We’re great, and you look wonderful.  The ribs holding up okay?”  I nodded; I’d been relieved of the vest at the same time I’d been given permission to drive, and all that was left was a bit of residual soreness.
 
“I think I’m back to normal, normal being a relative term …Max would probably never consider me normal.”  We laughed as Max walked into the lobby.  He must have heard me arrive and walked over to take my hand.
 
“Two women discussing men …I had best get my wife out of here before the two of you begin conspiring against us.  Three men against two women have no chance of victory.”  We were laughing as Terry and Dino came out of their offices to see me.  After chatting for a few minutes, Max and I left for lunch.  He spoke as we rode down in the lift.
 
“Where are we having lunch?”
 
“Avanti; I'm in the mood for Italian.  I’ve made reservations.”  As it was only a couple of blocks from the office to the restaurant, we walked and were seated only seconds after arriving.  Maximus looked over at me as the waiter put water in front of us.
 
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company for lunch?”
 
“I’ve spent the last few days checking out the architectural firms you mentioned, and I want to bounce a few specifics off you.”  He nodded, smiling as he spoke.
 
“Please, bounce as you will.”  His smile when he said that told me he was looking forward to our being able to bounce more than specifics …the springs on our bed come immediately to mind.  What I hadn’t told him on the phone earlier was that I’d seen Sharon Fletcher at nine this morning and had been given the all clear to resume a normal sex life, provided we didn’t get too vigourous.  I’d wait and give him that news when he got home tonight; if I told him now, he’d take the afternoon off work.  Maximus had been out of the office enough during my recovery; resumption of our sex life could wait another six hours.
 
“I’ve checked out architects with both firms, and while I’m impressed with both groups, what I’ve found about Bill Fry with Creative Architects is wonderful.  He specialises in homes for families who know what they want in the long-term.  He isn’t interested in working with couples who are building a ‘starter home,’ and as he has a large family of his own, he understands planning for children not yet born.”  We accepted the menus offered by the maitre d’, and Maximus looked across the table at me.
 
“And how do you come to have this very specific information?”
 
“I’ve talked with him three times in the last week.” 
 
“I see …and might I surmise you have made arrangements to meet with him?”  I nodded.
 
“I’ve made arrangements for us to meet with him Saturday at ten.  I’ve given him our specifications, and he’ll have a couple of quick sketches for us to go over at that time.  Are you willing to meet with him this soon?”
 
 
MAXIMUS
I was willing to meet with the man at any time but could not resist teasing Cassandra a bit before acknowledging that fact.
 
“You said he has a large family …do you know what he considers large?”
 
“He and his wife have five children …number six is on the way.”
 
“I see …and do they have one of those very large and most inappropriate cheek-by-jowl houses in Turtle Creek or University Park?”
 
“No, they do not!  They have a hundred acres just north of Denton.  They like living in the country as much as we do.  That’s another reason I like him …he doesn’t think we’re fools for wanting to live an hour’s drive from the city and commute every day.”  Perhaps I had taken my jest too far, as she seemed on the verge of annoyance with me.  I reached across the table to take her hand as I spoke. 
 
“Cara, I was in jest.  I, too, have spoken with Mr. Fry and am impressed with him.  I was unaware the two of you had been in contact.”  She relaxed visibly.
 
“I’m sorry, Maximus …while I’m feeling good enough now, I guess my disposition and powers of perception aren’t quite back in top form, are they?”  They were not, but her various physicians had assured us that might be a problem for a time.  She continued before I could respond.  “Did you swear him to silence at not telling me you’d spoken with him?”
 
“I did not wish to influence your opinion of him; I thought it best we reached a level of comfort with his skills independently of the influence of the other.”  She nodded as she spoke.
 
“I like what I’ve heard from his thus far – and what his references have to say – and I’m looking forward to meeting him in person.”
 
We met with Mr. Fry the following Saturday to discuss our requirements and wishes in our home.  He made suggestions, and when we left his office we had made an appointment to return in one month.  He would have several floor plans and designs for us to consider at that time.
 
 
“Is there one that appeals to you more than the others?”  Bill Fry was a most earnest man, taking his work very seriously and listening attentively to our comments and concerns as well as our questions regarding rearrangement of the rooms in the schematics he offered for our consideration.  I looked at Cassandra and our joint attention returned to the second schematic he had shown us.  I took my pen and wrote in ‘Nursery’ beside the bedroom across the hall from the Master Suite and looked up to see Cassandra’s smile.

 
Two hours later and having used highlighter pens of green and yellow, we had arrived at a plan we felt would suit our needs for as long as we might live.  We had used green to indicate the position of the original second floor and where it overlaid the ground floor.  The so-called ‘future space’ on the second floor had been expanded to provide the additional living space required and marked in yellow with the necessary annotations for additional bedrooms, a bath, and library clearly indicated.  Our annotations made Mr. Fry smile.

 
Before leaving Mr. Fry’s office, we had signed the contract authorising him to begin work on the architectural plans based on the schematic.  We were advised they would be ready within six weeks.  He would call when they were done, and we would set up a time to meet with him in order to finalise any further details.  Based on his recommendations, we would begin interviewing builders at that time.  In time and following numerous meetings, we settled on Ed Heitman as our builder.  We signed the final contract with Mr. Heitman’s firm on 21^st April, the six-month anniversary of our marriage.  The original schematic had accounted for 4,190 feet of floor space; the plan we finally approved consisted of 4,862 square feet of living space.  It was to be – in Dino’s words - ‘one big fucking house.’
 
 
 
 

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