the frame.” He pointed. “Then you can start cutting out the dry rot.”
“Got it,” said Larry, happy to have the advice.
“Don’t you want to know how long?” asked Nash.
“How long what?”
“How long to make the straps?”
Larry gave Nash a look of disbelief. “It’s three two-by-fours. Are you seriously asking if I’ll have trouble with the math?”
“My mistake,” said Nash.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Larry. “I’m still getting over the fact that Fibonacci seemed to have no role in the development of standard building materials.”
“Maybe not. But the golden ratio is everywhere in architecture.”
“Not in this house,” said Larry. Damn shame, that. From the Parthenon to Notre Dame to the United Nations Building, the ratio of 1.618 had been used to provide beauty and balance.
Then, Larry had an idea. A fabulous, exciting idea. “At least, not yet,” he added.
Nash glanced around. “We’re going to rebuild your house using Fibonacci numbers?”
“Why not?” The more Larry thought about it, the more he liked it. It would help him engage in the project in a more meaningful way. He could work on the plans while he was back in Charlotte, making his time at Myrtle Pond more efficient.
“Sounds like fun,” said Nash. “But first, can we make sure the wall doesn’t fall down?”
TALKING WITH NASH TODAY about the golden ratio had Larry analyzing Crystal’s face across the candlelit table at Rouladen’s. He could easily see why she had been picked as a model. Beauty and balance. Her lips, her nose, her chin her forehead. He was willing to bet she was a collection of one-point-six-one-eights.
He smiled.
“What?” she asked, pausing, her wineglass poised in midair.
“I was thinking you have phi all over your face.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Math humor,” he confessed.
“You think my face is funny?”
“I think your face is perfect. Mathematically speaking. The ratio of your nose to your lips, and your eyes to your chin, your pupils to your eyelashes, and the spiral of your ears.”
“My ears?”
“Yes.” He let his gaze rest on her perfect ears.
“This is a good thing?”
“It’s a very good thing. It means that not only me, but everybody in the world thinks you’re beautiful.”
She set down the glass of merlot, lips thinning, and a line forming between her eyebrows. “Is that what you’re looking for?”
It was his turn to squint in confusion.
“A mathematically perfect woman?” she asked.
“I’m not looking for anything,” he answered honestly. And he wasn’t. Crystal had breezed into his life that morning in the garage, and their connection was something he wanted to explore. But, beyond that, he had no expectations whatsoever.
“Maybe to give you mathematically perfect children?” she continued.
“Huh?” Larry had already raised his son. Grandchildren might be nice at some point, but they’d have nothing to do with mathematics-except that one and one sometimes made three.
“They talked about the golden ratio and perfect beauty, while I was modeling.”
“And you have it.” It was a simple fact.
“I don’t want it,” she responded sharply.
“If it helps, balanced facial features also tend to denote good health.”
“Lucky me.”
“Is there some reason you don’t want to be beautiful?” It hardly struck him as a severe handicap.
She gave a frustrated sigh. “It gets in the way.”
“Of what?”
“Of people, men in particular, having any interest in anything else.”
“We can talk about your IQ for a while. Or your cookbook. Or your niece and nephew. Or your dog. How is Rufus, anyway?”
She didn’t smile.
“Seriously,” said Larry. “How is he?”
She finally seemed to relax. “I think he’s still waiting for his owner to show up. But he was great last night. He woke me up when David was having a nightmare.”
Larry was assailed by memories of Steven as a little boy. His bad dreams were few and far between. But every once in a while, he’d show up in their bedroom, his scruffy, brown teddy bear dangling from one hand.
“Is David okay now?” Larry asked.
“He seemed fine this morning. But I’m a little worried…”
Larry waited, while Crystal focused on the tiny, yellow flame flickering between them. The soft sounds of a string quartet and muted conversation floated around the high-ceilinged room.
“I’m afraid the monster in his dreams might be Zane.”
Larry drew back. “Do you think Zane might harm the kids?”
“I asked Jennifer this morning, in an oblique sort of way. She said Zane yells a lot, but he doesn’t throw things and he’s never hurt David.”
“Do you believe her?”
Crystal nodded. “But he’s a loose cannon. He’s all sweetness and light when he wants something. But once he wrings Amber dry, he can get mean.”
“Did you talk to your sister about it?” Larry asked softly.
“She’s on the manic high of Zane being back in her life.”
“Anything I can do?”
Crystal shook her head. “I wish there was.”
Larry felt a strong urge to take the worry out of her eyes, even if it was only temporarily. “In that case,” he said, pulling his chair back and coming to his feet. “Would you like to dance?” He nodded to where a few other couples were swaying to the string quartet.
Crystal had worn her red dress, and she looked stunning. Even if she was shy of her beauty, Larry admitted he’d like nothing better than to hold her in his arms and be the envy of every man in the room.
She nodded and set her linen napkin on the table.
Larry moved forward to pull out her upholstered chair, watching with appreciation as she came to her feet.
“This music’s slower than I’m used to,” she told him, as he took her hand in his, leading her in a snaking pattern past a few occupied tables.
“Life’s an adventure,” he pointed out, taking her into his arms. She fit absolutely perfectly.
And she was a wonderful dancer, light on her feet, responsive, graceful. He caught the eyes of one gentleman watching from the sidelines, then another and another.
He couldn’t help but smile to himself and pull her that little bit closer, molding her curves to his body.
“You’re a great dancer,” she whispered.
“So are you.”
“I mean, really good,” she insisted. “I’m just following along.”
“Music is all math,” he told her. “It’s patterns and fractions, sound waves and Hertz frequencies. Ever wonder why C and G are consonant, while C and F sharp are discordant?”
“No,” she answered.
“Really?”
“Do you ever just listen?”
“To what?”
