The light was soft in the room, the windows covered by three lines of bookshelves that allowed the sunlight to come in but also diffused it. A long built-in wooden couch ran right below the bookshelves, with lime green cushions on the bottom and back with periodic splashes of orange pillows. Jacob lay sprawled on the couch, reading an art book that he’d pulled from the shelf above. His sister, Isabelle, wandered into the room and sat on one of the three steps that lead up to the couch. “Where is Mother?” Isabelle asked.
Jacob shrugged. “Out.”
Isabelle stood up and spun around, finally falling on the pumpkin colored carpet. “Don’t you wish we lived in an ordinary house instead of here?”
Jacob looked around the room, with its stylized furniture and the throw rug with its geometric design that covered part of the carpet. “Not everybody has a house designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. You should be proud.”
Isabelle stared up at the recessed lighting in the ceiling. “You sound like Daddy. I want to live in an old farm house with a barn out back with two horses that you and I can ride anytime we want.”
Jacob carefully closed the book he was reading, The History of Art, and came down to sit next to his sister on the floor. “A horse would be nice, that’s true, and a house with a little less design might be nice, but…”
Isabel shook her head. “But you love Frank Lloyd Wright’s architectural style and you want to grow up and build homes just like his. Right?”
Jacob looked sheepish. “You make that sound so boring! I think there could be nothing more exciting than designing beautiful spaces to live in.”
Isabel stood up and plopped down on one of the lime green cushions of the stools that edged the coffee table. “I think life is more of a mish-mash than all of this. I want my house to reflect the crazy parts of living, the unplanned aspects.” She pointed to an end table with a geometric design. “Do you know anywhere in nature where a space is so completely matched?”
Jacob tapped his fingers impatiently. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. This room is beautiful. It was designed by a master.”
Tossing her head, Isabel stood up. “I have a right to my opinion. That is part of life, thinking for yourself. That’s how it should be anyway, not just parroting what someone else calls beautiful.”
Jacob walked over and grabbed Isabel’s arm. “I am not a parrot. I love beauty. There’s no sin in that.”
Isabel jerked her arm away. “I just think it’s important to have independent thoughts. I didn’t say you were a parrot.”
Jacob walked back over the bookshelf and carefully slid the art book back into its place. “I happen to believe that order is part of beauty. You have a different opinion. I think we should just agree to disagree.”
Isabel shook her head. “I think it’s called a different approach to living. You want order and I want a wilder version of life. I expect our lives will reflect the difference.”
Sure enough, Jacob went on to become a famous architect and Isabel established herself as a painter of modern art. They both were happy and they loved each other. But Isabel lived out in the country in a farmhouse with a horse. Jacob visited her there often.
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