“I do love her,” Jack whispered.
Edith took her son-in-law’s hand. And she wondered how she could have had a daughter with dreams so big that even the whole of Biltmore Estate couldn’t hold them.
JULIA Love and Luck
I studied myself in the mirror again. Black pants, white blouse, leopard flats, thin leather belt around my waist. Straight hair. No jewelry except the small clover studs that Babs had left on her dresser, pinned to a postcard that said, These have always brought me luck. And the beautiful thing is, you don’t even need it, my brilliant girl.
I touched the earrings for courage and studied myself again. I wanted to look professional and grown up. No fuss, no frills. I thought I had pulled it off. Or maybe I looked like a restaurant hostess. I wasn’t sure. Maybe that was better, though. I was about to stand off with my toughest adversary, something I’d had to do quite a few times during my college years with entitled customers demanding a table.
Sarah popped her head in. It was only seven in the morning, but she was already up, showered, dressed, and ready.
“I thought you didn’t have to be at work until nine,” I said.
“I don’t. But I’m going with you.”
I laughed. “You are my best friend in the world, but you can’t go with me.”
She nodded. “I know I can’t go in with you, but I’m going to wait outside. Then if you get nervous, you’ll know I’m right there.” She paused. “And if you change your mind and have to make a run for it, I’ll be ready with the getaway car.”
I wanted to protest. She was already working such long hours at her new law firm. I didn’t want to add anything to her very full plate. But the thought of my best friend being right outside was too wonderful to turn down. And, well, it wouldn’t be the first time in recent history I’d needed a quick getaway.
“How do I look?”
She studied me. “Like you’re applying for a job at Outback.”
“Perfect.”
I grabbed my portfolio. I had printed out my plans complete with most of Conner’s suggestions—but not all of them. It was still my project, after all.
Sarah dropped me off at the front door, and I took a deep breath as I walked up the steps into the imposing brick building of NC State’s architecture school. Sun streamed through the glass panes in the ceiling, giving me a brief flashback to the moment at Biltmore, inside the conservatory, before my entire life had changed. But I steeled myself. My life was going to change again. This time for the better.
My flats tapped rhythmically as I walked down the hall, trying to avoid the fact that all that stood between me and my reentry to school was this meeting and Professor Winchester’s approval. The door opened and there she was in her black pencil dress and spiky black heels, her black hair pulled into a severe bun. The precision of her took my breath away. She looked like one of the straight lines she loved so much. Suddenly, everything about me seemed wrong.
“Welcome back, Ms. Baxter,” she said, gesturing for me to come in. I walked past her, gathering all my nerve, and slowly began taking my drawings out, one by one, and pinning them to the corkboard wall, which was completely empty.
When I finished, I turned to her.
“Might I ask you a question?” she asked, studying the board, her arms crossed.
“Anything.”
“These drawings look familiar—you knew that I was going to fail this project before. Why not start over with something new? Why not play it a little safer? Why design an entire community when just a building would do?”
I could feel myself shrinking under her gaze, remembering that horrible day when I felt like my entire future had vanished right in front of me. “Well…” I hated how small my voice sounded. My heart was pounding, and suddenly, I felt like I had made the wrong choice. Why hadn’t I undertaken something smaller? Something that didn’t push the envelope quite so much?
“I’m just wondering why you would embark on something of this magnitude for your final project,” Professor Winchester continued. “Why not stick to what you know?”
I would have said I didn’t know the answer until I heard it come out of my mouth. “You taught me that in architecture we always have to push the envelope, to extend our boundaries, to test the limits. Affordable senior living is one of the most pressing issues facing our country today, and I think I can help solve some of its problems. I can’t draw a community and plan a life around the ways we’ve always lived because that hasn’t always worked. Plus, we can’t know what the future holds.”
I had proven that handily this year. I had ditched my career, abandoned my fiancé. My entire future that I had planned so seamlessly had fallen apart, burst at the seams. I had to build something new. I was determined. I might be blowing my shot at a second chance here, but I had told the truth. I had pursued my passion, and I was honoring what I wanted. The more I did it, the better I was becoming at it.
“All right then,” she replied, smiling with a dazzling row of white teeth, which like her dress, were perfectly straight. “Let’s see what you’ve done here.”
I explained my senior living community model, which featured a health and rehabilitation facility at the center, and, around the edges, a robust fitness center, large community garden, three separate dining facilities, and a Google-style lounge for employees. In between, pods that each contained six bedrooms and bathrooms with a common living area, kitchen, and preparation space for one caregiver, who would be responsible for that pod’s residents.
I paused. “Professor? I have a confession.”
She moved her hand in a gesture that told me to proceed.
“I didn’t fix this all on my own. I had a friend who’s an architect help me.” I smiled thinking of Conner, loving the way even the thought of his name sounded in my head. “I have detailed in an attachment which parts were his ideas in the name of transparency.”
“Architecture is a team sport, Ms. Baxter. We have to be able to rely on each other at so many points along the way. Being able to work together is a fundamental strength. Not a weakness.”
“Good to know.” I pointed up and said, “You’ll see on these revised plans how every ADA guideline has been met.” I paused, deciding that a building should tell a story and so should I. “But, Professor, my grandmother, Babs, moved to a graduated living facility a month ago, similar to this one. And, well, I know a thing or two about southern ladies and how much they pride themselves on the aesthetics of their homes. So she and I put our heads together to make some of these features a little more pleasing to the eye.”
“When in doubt, ask the client.” She paused, pointing. “Tell me about these choices for the common spaces.”
And so I did, noting the focus on utilizing technology to increase self-reliance. As I’d learned in my research, the over-sixty-five age group is largely willing to adapt to new technology.
An hour later, I could feel myself starting to sweat. I had truly enjoyed presenting my project, but Professor Winchester was impossible to read. Now the verdict would be laid down. “Ms. Baxter,” she began, “it’s clear that you have worked very, very hard on these drawings, that you have not only studied but also put your heart into them.” She crossed her arms, a smile playing on her lips. “I knew you were up to the challenge. I have to admit, when you didn’t come back right away, I felt like perhaps I’d been too harsh on you.”