“Not my style.” The space will be filled with modern, whitewashed-wood base cabinets, white quartzite counters, and black-and-glass upper cabinets, all of which will be set off with polished brass fixtures and drawer pulls. The glass cabinets’ turquoise interiors will create an unexpected pop. “I’m sorry our living here will make finishing up a little harder on you, but I’m stubborn once my mind is set, so I’m sticking with my plan. Give me the weekend to unpack all the boxes; then your crew can come back on Monday and keep going.”
“Sure.” He shrugs and crosses his arms. “You realize that taping off areas with plastic sheeting will only keep so much of the dust down. And it won’t buffer any of the noise.”
“I’ll dust every day to keep up with it if need be.”
“Seems like a lot of extra work.” He mumbles that one, almost to himself.
“That won’t fall on your shoulders.” My tone should signal the end of this debate.
He sighs, ushering the return of another of our standard awkward silences.
“While I’m here, let’s take a quick look at the master bath and closet reconfigurations while that space is empty,” Dan finally says as he walks out the back side of the kitchen. “Oh, and I have a surprise for you, too.”
I shudder because “surprise” is usually a euphemism for unforeseen problems that increase the costs. “A good surprise?”
He glances over his shoulder while he walks. “Not sure. We found something when clearing out the crawl space behind the master closet.”
Intrigued, I follow him to the bathroom, where I’m caught off guard by the transformation of the emptied room. Spinning on my heel, I gasp. “Oh! This is even more spacious than I imagined.”
“Most women would prefer a huge closet to a bigger bathroom.” His brows rise to emphasize his point.
You would think he’s aware by now that I’m not most women. In fact, I’ve gladly downsized my humongous closet and wardrobe for something simpler. There’s no need for so many things when there won’t be balls and galas and client dinners to attend, or massive parties to throw for people I barely know.
A simple, quiet life in comfortable jeans, flip-flops, and cotton shirts suits me better. Most of my clothes had been paint stained until Katy hit kindergarten. “Been there, done that, and am all in on less laundry.”
When he chuckles, the rich sound tickles my chest. He, too, looks surprised at himself. It might be the first time I’ve made him laugh since we started working together. When did I become the dour thirtysomething?
He reaches for something from the corner, then, stepping closer, hands me a dusty white tin box with red letters that read RECIPES. “Here’s the surprise.”
I open it expecting to find handwritten notecards with some of Gram’s old favorites, including the delicious shortbread cookies she’d stocked in the cookie jar—the ones she’d always served with a side dish of strawberry ice cream. Nothing beat coming home from the beach to the buttery aroma they created in the kitchen.
Instead, the first thing I pull out is a man’s handkerchief embroidered with W. T. in one corner. The box also contains a rusty nail, a yellowed Polaroid of a slender young man with slicked-back hair and a dimpled chin, and a vintage red silk scarf with a faint hand-painted outline of a mountain and what looks like a cherry tree sprig.
“I wonder whose stuff this is.” The initials don’t match any of my known relatives, nor does the man in the photograph look familiar.
Dan shrugs. “Not sure, but I like a good mystery. Maybe Mrs. Sullivan can fill in the blanks.”
“Maybe,” I say absently. A memory of a whispered conversation between Gram and Grandpa on a hot summer night, when their voices had drifted up from the back patio through my open window, resurfaces. “You should tell Bobby what you went through, Marie. Maybe it could help him do better with Annie.”
I’d been mourning my mother—missing the way she’d brushed my hair, and played tea party, and cooked my favorite meals—so I hadn’t thought much about the significance of those words. A little shudder ripples through me as I finger the items in the box. Might they be clues to whatever Grandpa had been referring to? I’ll have to ask my dad the next time we talk.
My skin prickles with the sudden awareness of Dan’s scrutiny.
I close the lid and tuck the box under my arm, returning to the matter of the remodel. “This bathroom will be a fabulous retreat. I can’t wait for the soaker tub.”
“We’ve hit a little snag—a delay—with that.” Dan grimaces. “It’s on back order for another couple of weeks, but it shouldn’t hold up the rest of the rebuild.”
Everything about his expression tells me he’s bracing for me to complain or to blame him.
A few more weeks of this will be a long time to deal with each other if things between us don’t improve.
“That tub is worth any delay. I’m already counting the days until I can soak in it with a lit candle and a good audiobook.” Not the most romantic use for such a tub, but a true escape.
“Sounds nice.” He clears his throat, eyes on his work boots.
“Mom?” Katy’s voice from the other room interrupts us.
“Back here!” I make my way toward the living room, where I find my daughter.
Her puffy face doesn’t look much better than when she zoomed away from me this morning. Lunch mustn’t have gone as she’d planned. I’d hug her and ask if she’s okay, but she’d be embarrassed in front of Dan.
“Katy, this is Dan Foley, the contractor doing all the work on the house. Dan, this is my daughter, Katy.” I remove the tin box from under my arm and hold it at my side.
Katy’s gaze flicks toward it, but then Dan steps forward with his hand extended.
“Nice to meet you, Katy.”
She shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you, too. Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other for a while.”
“Yes, but you can hide out upstairs. I won’t be offended.” He winks. Dan’s apparently better with kids than with grown-ups.
Out of nowhere, I recall him treating a young boy who’d been stung by a jellyfish. He’d calmed the hysterical kid by asking a dozen questions about Pokémon, all the while using tweezers to remove tentacles with the steady hand of a surgeon, then washing the sting in a saline-vinegar solution.
Makes me wonder why he never had children. Questions form, but I keep mum. It’s not my business, although it seems a shame that an otherwise circumspect man like Dan never had a child, while a careless one like Richard takes his for granted.
Katy flashes a respectful smile similar to the ones she gives her dad’s friends and clients. Afterward, her gaze lands on me. “Looks like we’ll be eating out. Is there any good restaurant in this town?”
I bug my eyes from behind Dan’s back. “Of course there are nice restaurants, honey. In fact, it’s such a beautiful evening we should go to the East Beach Café. They have an outdoor seating area on a dock that extends over the bay. Good seafood, too.”
“Fine.” She makes a sort of raspberry sound. “What’s in that box?”
I hold it up. “Old memorabilia. Dan found it when breaking through the closet. We can ask Gram about it when we visit on Monday.”