Theo of Golden: A Novel by Allen Levi - 1

On his first full day in Golden, Theo woke early, pulled back the curtains of his hotel room, and looked out over the southern dawn. He had arrived the previous afternoon from his home in New York City, where winter, with a newsworthy late-season mixture of snow and ice, was in full fury. The flight to Atlanta (on a private jet) and the drive farther south to Golden (in a chauffeur-driven Lincoln Town Car) had transported him to a world of warmth, abloom in myriad shades of green, yellow, lavender, and pink.

Now, waking from a night of restful sleep, he stood inches from the window and breathed deeply, as if he might somehow inhale the freshness of morning through the panes of glass. He gazed admiringly at the first touches of springtime.

His eyes moved westward to the broad, meandering flow of the Oxbow River. A ribbon of fog hovered over the water.

From three stories up and through the dim light before sunrise, Theo recognized many of the landmarks he had studied in preparation for his trip: the cobblestone streets, the Iron Works, the old cotton warehouses, the antebellum oaks.

But three stories up was not nearly close enough for someone of his inquisitive disposition. He dressed comfortably, inspected himself in the mirror, straightened his collar and scarf, and turned off the lights. He hung a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door handle and took the stairs to the hotel lobby. He tipped his hat to the desk clerk and stepped out into the cool morning, eager to walk the streets before they became busy with foot traffic and automobiles.

Other than a coffee shop and a small diner, the businesses along Broadway were closed. Theo had the sidewalk almost entirely to himself as he began his walk.

He had no particular destination or goal in mind. Whenever he saw an object or sight that interested him — and he was a man very easily interested — he paused and lingered until his curiosity was satisfied.

He was, for instance, interested in the ornamental iron work on the facade of the corner building. Who made it? When? How?

He was interested in the composition of the bricks in the old but well-preserved building that now housed a college admissions office.

He was interested in the plaque that told the story of the median, called the Promenade, that ran down the middle of Broadway. (Wherever he lived or traveled, Theo made a habit of reading historic markers, something he was able to do proficiently in five languages.)

He was interested in a sculpture, of modern vintage, near the entrance of the university nursing school.

He took particular interest in a small bird that perched and begged for crumbs from a bench along the sidewalk.

Theo stopped, bent slightly at the waist with his hands clasped behind him, and whispered to the imploring creature. “I’m sorry, dear fellow, but I have nothing to give you this morning. Perhaps tomorrow? And stop complaining. Be glad you’re not in New York today.”

He picked up an empty beer bottle and put it in a nearby trash can.

At one point, he took out a small magnifying glass, a loupe, from his pocket to study a purplish azalea bloom.

And on and on.

Those punctuations of interest turned Theo’s walk into a crawl. By the time he had gone a mere two blocks, morning traffic was steady, the sidewalks were beginning to buzz with students and businesspeople, and the parking spaces on both sides of the Promenade, which had been vacant earlier, were almost full.

But not to worry.

On this day, and for the foreseeable future, Theo had no deadlines, no meetings, and no obligations. He was at liberty to enjoy the carefreeness of unfettered flexibility and complete anonymity. He was a mere tourist.

He did not know a soul in the town.

Well . . . perhaps one.

He was not yet certain how long he would be there — weeks, months, longer? — but in very short order, he was pleased with the feel of his new temporary home.

First impression: a very pleasant place to be, and appropriately named.

Golden.