It's Definitely Not All Mary Poppins

To Look Past What You See (2)

Once the door to the makeshift kitchen was empty, Liza shifted her chair around before looking at Matthew. "Good fucking riddance," she muttered, sitting back down. "I'll let you know, now, that seeing that bastard so undone is literally the highlight of my personal life right now."

"I think you said the same thing that one time Toby got locked out by accident in his bathrobe."

"That was funny. This is rewarding."

Matthew wasn't sure whether he felt the same or not. Certainly, there was a degree in pleasure taken from seeing this man – once so immaculate and poised and elegant – so undone, but he wondered why it wasn't enough to stop him from feeling so sorry at the same time.

He spared no extra thought on it; his phone started vibrating. Matthew pulled it, grimaced at the name flashed across the screen, and hung up. "It's just my mom."

Liza took in a breath. She rapped the end of her pen against the tabletop before she said, "Toby told them. What happened."

He blinked. Something anxious, angry, bubbled in him. "...why?"

"I don't know. It's Toby. Half the stuff he does confuses me." She paused, drawing in a breath. Grunting, she rolled her eyes and pursed her lips. "Ugh, fine. Fine. Because he thought that they should be kept in the loop. And..." Liza sighed. "...despite everything, they're trying."

"No, they're not."

"Just because you ignore them doesn't mean they aren't."

Matthew frowned. "Why are you advocating for Toby? You hate him."

"I do, but that doesn't mean we can't rally for your sake." Her expression softened. "I might not be good with the emotional stuff, but Toby and I can agree on one thing – that we both like you, dude."

"Ew."

"I know. It's so annoying." She met his eyes, offering a worn smirk as some kind of joking gesture. In the space between words, they understood. Then, inhaling deeply, she stood, reaching out for the box. "Now, enough emotional crap for tonight. I want to know what's in the box."

Matthew rolled his eyes.

Lifting off the lid, Liza grimaced and slapped the top down on the table. "Papers." She started digging. "God, this looks like evidence that hasn't been sorted through, yet. Oh my God."

"He said the Foundation reached out to share the history of the house," Matthew noted, standing. He glanced into the box and withdrew a manila folder wedged into the side, stuffed full of paperwork. Flipping it open revealed a hodgepodge of news articles and photographs and sketches scanned onto countless pages. "Holy shit." Matthew sat down in the nearest chair as his gray eyes scanned the pages. "I think I'm in love."

"Just because it's as intense as you are doesn't mean anything," Liza teased, moving back to her seat. Wiping her brow, she returned to her work. "So, Mr. Robinson, tell me about this place."

Matthew took in the news articles first, sensationalizing the architect, its design, the astonishing 155 acres of land, how the original owners opened it the first weekend it was completed for 10 cents in 1958, and then several weekends afterward to pay off the cost of construction. The estate was dubbed Windswept by Mr. Sullivan himself. "Built for Charles Kinney," he read, glancing down to the family of six. "He was a business owner, his wife was an actress. Took them five years to build, and went over budget twice."

"Nice."

"They had four kids."

"Gross."

Matthew ignored her. He started turning pages over – countless pictures of the house's interior before it had fallen apart. Family pictures of the Kinneys poorly xeroxed into a bad collage. They had two dogs at one point, and the back lawn was a great pool before being changed into a lawn when the kids had grown up and started their own families. Mrs. Kinney's parties were pictured across several pages, revealing where the projection room was. Where the built-in bar was. "Mrs. Kinney threw some great looking parties." He turned the pages towards her.