The house on 2550 Jefferson Trail seemed like anything but a cottage. It rose two stories high, with rustic dark shingles and ornate woodwork framing the roof edges. A covered, redwood deck wrapped around the front of it. The wide, asphalt driveway led to a garage with a shiny, older model Ford Thunderbird parked in front of it, like the 1959, baby blue one that Steve McCaffery drove back in high school (eight of them could fit inside of it; four in the front and four in the back).
Not knowing what else to do, Linda knocked on the door. A stocky, balding man who reminded her of Alfred Hitchcock answered the door. He gazed down at Linda appraisingly. "May I help you, young lady?"
"Hi, I'm Linda. I'm here about the cottage?"
The gentleman squinted, then his eyes shifted from side to side, as if he was searching his mind for something to say. "Are you a student?"
"Yes."
"Oh." He stood up resoundingly. "Well I'm sorry for the misunderstanding, but we're not prepared to rent the property on a semester-by-semester basis."
Linda envisioned herself bundled up against the freezing cold in a mobile home while raucous music played loudly from another nearby trailer. She had to think quickly. "Well I do have a job, and I plan to stay through the summer. I could commit to nearly two years. I'm just starting my junior year."
The gentleman paused, stroking his chin. "Tell me, Linda, what course of study are you pursuing?"
"I'm in the nursing program."
He gazed down at the floor, deep in thought, before finally shrugging. "Well it's against my better judgment, but let me show you the property. By the way, my name is George Glienke." He ushered her into the house, where she met his wife, a small, wistfully smiling woman who had been doing needlepoint in an easy chair.
Linda wondered where they were headed. The listing specifically stated "cottage," not sleeping room. Two hundred dollars was quite a lot to pay for a sleeping room, no matter how good the house privileges were. George led her through a doorway on the other side of the den and down a staircase to another door leading to the back yard.
When he opened the door and she looked at the back yard, she blinked twice, wondering if she was in a lucid dream. Stately oak and willow trees swayed gracefully in the breeze over a beautiful, sparkling blue pool. Beyond the pool, looking like a picture from a lavish fairy tale book, rested a small, Victorian style cottage. Linda gushed "I can't believe it! It's beautiful!"