Turning slowly, I realize quickly that there is no development here. It must’ve been abandoned fairly early on. And from the look of the construction, featuring nicely designed all-brick townhomes and single-family homes arranged around what would probably have been parks and shared spaces, I figure construction couldn’t be more than four or five years old. Ten at the most. It must have taken a long time to get off the ground, only to fall right back into the ground after they built a few models and laid out the streets.
For somebody like me, who plans these developments for a living, this is a mixture of excitement and sadness. I can see what the designer was thinking. Lots of sidewalks, encouraging people to greet each other and walk places instead of being in a neighborhood where people only ever see each other through car windows. Open spaces to encourage sports, children, and exercise. Basically the height of a livable suburban environment.
“In the middle of nowhere,” I remark out loud. “No shopping, no jobs. Classic error.”
I’ve actually seen this kind of thing a lot. Before 2005, easy financing made construction of subdivisions seem like a great investment. They pushed farther and farther into farmland, dragging suburbanites with them. Shopping soon followed. People took over corn and alfalfa fields and turned them into uniform developments of slightly curving streets with nearly identical, brick-fronted, vinyl-clad hives for a fairly generic class of people.
But when the economy suddenly tanked, the money pulled out. Lots and lots of subdivisions got abandoned. Like everything else, it probably took a couple of years for the news to make it to southern Illinois. They were probably still building for a few more years, not realizing the subdivision was already dead.
“Zombie construction. Great name for a company,” I mutter wryly.
As I circle back through the subdivision and its predictable U-shaped design, I note the overall plan, building it in my mind like a movie set. Despite the inconvenient location, it really is pretty nice. That is, it would’ve been nice. Now it’s going to be just something that people forgot, something people can bicker about what should’ve been, maybe a place where teenagers will stash their drugs or learn graffiti or get impregnated.
It’s a bummer.
“Bummer Construction. That would be funny.”
An orange banner catches my eye just before I get back to the main road. Public notice. Auction.
Leaving the keys in the ignition, I get out and trudge through knee-high weeds, praying that I don’t get snake bit or covered in burrs.
“Wow, would you look at that,” I mutter to myself.
Public notice… Auction…
By order of Stinson County Clerk’s office, the Crosswind Estates development in its entirety will be auctioned on the courthouse steps to satisfy a tax lien.
There’s a bunch of other words on the sign, but they kind of dissolve into gibberish. Tax codes. Something about all materials, lands, improved and unimproved. A phone number. And a date and time: Sunday morning, nine a.m.
My heart begins to pound. I trudge back to the car and sit in the driver seat for a few minutes, staring at the sign while the engine vibrates the car slightly.
I can’t, I tell myself. I just couldn’t.
It’s impossible. There’s no way.
Of course, people buy things for practically nothing all the time.
Which is what I’ve got: practically nothing. Not a whole lot of money at all. Not nearly enough. And even if I got this place, what would I do with it?
It’s impossible. It’s crazy.
I definitely shouldn’t.
I should probably just go and see what happens though. My mom will want to know.
Yeah.
Chapter 9
Clay
I guess it is a good thing that I have only thought about Deborah twice today. Once, when I called to cancel the AMEX black card. And once, when I remembered I don’t have a date to this reunion.
It’s not even really a reunion. It’s just an excuse for a bunch of us who went to a small private college to get together fifteen years after the fact and compare notes. Network. See who got bald, and who got married. And who got divorced, and remarried. Who’s looking to hook up for old time’s sake. Stuff like that.
But Deborah is barely on my radar. Closed the book. Ended the chapter. Whatever kind of mixed metaphor there is for disappearing from my life without leaving a ripple, she is it.
I’ve spent a good deal of time on my own anyway. Dating Deborah for two years was actually kind of an aberration. Women have never seemed to fit in, somehow. Not that I am opposed to the idea, just that they never clicked. It should be effortless, I think. It should be like breathing. Not that I would make a case for soulmates or anything weird like that…