The Renovation

by Terri Kraus

  “Well, dear Miss Dane, this is a predicament,” Paul said. “A woman alone. Normally, I would offer to drive you home. It is only a few hours, after all. But tonight, of all nights, is simply booked solid. There is this charity ball sort of thing at the Carnegie Museum. I would simply slough it off if I were only attending the boring event, but unfortunately, I am one of the sponsors of the gala. It would not do if I were absent. I am so, so sorry.”

  Cameron’s lips pursed in thought. If he’s not going to offer to hire a limo for me, I could spend the night, I guess. I could buy a toothbrush. I could …

  “I could take you back.”

  Everyone looked at Ethan.

  “Well, of course, my good man. You are heading back that way, are you not?” Paul said, now back to being chipper and happy.

  If he had been observant of anyone other than himself, Cameron thought, he would have noticed the scowl that slipped on and off Emily’s face.

  “Are you sure, Eth— I mean, Mr. Willis? I would hate to impose,” Cameron asked.

  “We are going to the same place, Cam— Miss Dane. Of course I can take you.”

  Cameron’s only discordant thought was, Then why didn’t you volunteer right away?

  “It might be a bit slower driving with the fog and all. But I’m sure it will be fine.”

  Everyone said good-bye and gave firm handshakes as Paul announced loudly to all that Cameron had done a marvelous, fabulous job and that the camera just adored her … a rare talent indeed.

  “You’ll come back to the studio in two weeks for the voiceovers, Miss Dane. Hopefully there will be no fog then. And no wardrobe and makeup worries, either.”

  Emily walked Ethan over toward his truck. “I want you back in a few weeks too. The same as today—I’ll pay you for time and travel. On a Saturday. Supervise what’s going on here. I need your help, Ethan. Maybe you could stay through till Sunday,” she said and slipped her arm through his.

  “I’ll … I’ll try to do it. If I can.”

  “That’s my dear man,” Emily said with enthusiasm. And before he could move, and just after Cameron began walking toward the truck, Emily grabbed Ethan and gave him an enthusiastic, firm hug that lasted much longer than he thought appropriate. And as she released him, she made sure she looked intently in Cameron’s direction, just to be sure she noticed.

  Clearly, Cameron had noticed. But once more, she remained sweet, professional, and—mostly, one would have thought—unaffected.

  How does one know if she has forgiven?

  You tend to feel sorrow

  over the circumstance instead of rage,

  you tend to feel sorry for the person

  rather than angry with him.

  You tend to have nothing left to say about it all.

  —Clarissa Pinkola Estés

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CAMERON REMAINED SILENT AS Ethan navigated his way down Mount Washington, across the bridge over the Monongahela River, and met up with Interstate 79.

  The roads were wet, though not snow-packed, and the fog was thick, but not that thick. Ethan drove slowly—a safe, sane fifty-five miles an hour. The headlights of the truck illuminated two long ovals of white light in the road ahead. The wipers clicked back and forth, intermittently, a few passes every half minute, slapping with finality, a sound of comfort, of safety.

  Nearly twenty miles had passed, and then thirty minutes slipped by, until either of them spoke.

  Cameron broke the ice. She pointed to the sign for the next exit: EXIT 12—MARS—11 MILES. “Mars? I thought Mars was farther away than that.”

  Ethan jumped right in. “No. The government moved it here last year. Said it would save money for NASA. Instead of a rocket, the astronauts can just take a Greyhound Bus.”

  Cameron laughed, in spite of the fact that she didn’t want to laugh or appear to enjoy this man’s company. But she did and it felt so good.

  Since the door had been opened, Cameron asked the question that had been hovering in her thoughts all day, distracting her, and keeping her slightly off balance. “Ethan … why were you in Pittsburgh today? How did you wind up in the same place I did? I was trying to calculate the odds of that happening, and had I not nearly flunked out of the only math course I took in college, I may have come up with an answer. But, obviously, I didn’t.”

  Ethan appeared to be expecting the question. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

  “I asked first.”

  Ethan laid out how he had met Emily—that she was working on the Carter Mansion, that she had purchased a house in desperate need of renovation, that she wanted an unbiased observer to look things over, and that she had begged him to come down this one particular Saturday.

  Cameron had turned to him as he related the story. She had loosened her seat belt a little so she could take in his profile, illuminated by the orange lights of the dashboard. She watched his mouth move as he spoke, observed his strong hands as he gripped the steering wheel, and drank in the scent of his truck—the earthiness of wood and coffee.

  “And you? Of all the people in the world I might think of seeing in Pittsburgh, you might not be at the top of the list. Well, I take that back. Odds of seeing you there weren’t astronomical, but seeing you as a television star—that made the odds a bit higher. So, how did all this come about?”

  And Cameron, still sideways in the seat, told Ethan of Paul Drake and his surprising visit and more surprising part-time job offer and how she resisted the idea at first but then figured that it wouldn’t hurt to try it and that’s what brought her to Pittsburgh that day.

  “All that and a very small aircraft. I am so glad that the fog arrived and I’m not on it now. I’m pretty sure that the pilot was too young to drive a car, much less fly a plane, and that he was following the roads on his way down. Being on earth, being in a car—it’s a much better way to travel.”

  Both stories, once released, were followed with another few minutes of silence. But this silence was less tense than before. Words had been exchanged. There had been no apologies or explanations, but there was dialogue and any dialogue was good—a good place to start, at least.

  Cameron was the first to speak this time as well. “I saw your son at school a few weeks ago.”

  “Chase? For what? Why?”

  Cameron heard in Ethan’s words a certain edge, a particular tone, and she knew that Chase had never mentioned a word of their meeting to his father. She wondered, in that moment, how much of their story she should tell.

  And as that thought jumped into her thoughts, another image jumped in as well—just as clear, just as sharp, just as critical.

  She saw, in her mind, Pastor Johnson speaking … walking the platform, pointing, smiling, holding his arms open as if in supplication. But this time he wasn’t asking God for His attention; he was asking the church for their attention and telling them to pay attention to those moments when God and faith and human interaction coincide.

  “Hear with your hearts, friends. God brings people in need to you. Listen to them. Help them. Share God’s love with them. That’s what we do. That’s what true Christ followers do. That’s what you must seek to do each day. Don’t let another opportunity go by,” he’d said, and Cameron had imagined him staring directly at her and her alone.

  Cameron still wasn’t certain if she could be considered a card-carrying Christian—or “Christ follower” as the pastor called it. She didn’t really know if she qualified yet as a true believer, but she knew she was experiencing God’s love in many ways. She knew a lot more about Christ’s teachings than she did even as recently as last summer. Just about every day, she’d been reading the Bible that Paige had given her just about every day, finding herself oddly drawn to it. She looked forward to curling up with it in her turret, seeking and receiving
comfort and guidance.

  Some of the verses in Paige’s Bible had been highlighted. One she read many times was 1 John 1:9:

  If we admit our sins—make a clean breast of them—he won’t let us down; he’ll be true to himself. He’ll forgive our sins and purge us of all wrongdoing.

  While she still had a lot of questions, she was getting a lot of answers at church. Deep inside, she knew more about forgiveness than she had ever known because she herself had been forgiven. She felt hopeful that it could be true for Ethan and Chase as well. She wondered, in this sliver of a moment, if this was one of those God-and-me-and-a-needy-heart sort of moments she had been told to look for—and not let go by.

  Maybe it was, because she felt the hurt and anger with Ethan that she had harbored for so long begin to slip away.

  “I was a judge at the science fair. Apparently, I fulfilled the requirement for celebrity judge. I guess that’s in the bylaws.”

  Ethan hardly smiled. That’s when she knew she had been right. Chase had not said a word about meeting Cameron at the science fair.

  “I missed the whole event,” he said after a long pause. “He told me about it and how he was a finalist. I had made a note of it and just wound up at the Carter place doing some figuring. And by the time I realized it, the fair was over and Chase was home.”

  “Oh. I wondered why you weren’t there.”

  “I wish I had been.”

  “His project was so well done. It should have won something. I gave it good marks.”

  Ethan took one hand off the wheel to rub his cheek, as if rubbing dirt away. “I saw it. He did a really good job. But I guess it wasn’t scientific enough. That’s what he told me.”

  “I suppose. That’s what he mentioned to me as well. No hypothesis, apparently. His friend won third—Elliot … Elliot something. Chase said he helped him a little. He seemed really pleased about that for his friend.”

  Ethan finally smiled. His eyes softened, and Cameron watched his lips expose a bit of teeth as he did. She remembered how much she liked his smile.

  “Elliot is not the premier Franklin student, I guess, so it was a big win for him. Chase said Elliot’s mother was just beside herself. He said it made everything worth it to see how proud she was of her son that day. I guess Elliot was just beaming. And to get his picture in the paper? It was a good day,” Ethan said.

  “I enjoyed it more than I thought—especially seeing how happy Chase was for Elliot.”

  “They’re good boys,” Ethan answered rather softly.

  It was at that moment that Cameron wanted to forgive this man. He was sensitive and caring and insightful. But he had not asked for forgiveness, she thought, and if someone doesn’t ask, then how does that work?

  In her old way of thinking, it had seemed that any form of forgiveness that happens that way is cheap, perhaps unwanted, and most likely undeserved. But she didn’t believe that anymore. She knew her being forgiven by God was completely undeserved, an act of grace, and that made all the difference. The need to reach out to Ethan—and to Chase—with a kind of love that she never knew she could have was almost overwhelming. She wanted them to take the gift too.…

  A moment passed, then another mile. She longed to reach across the space between herself and Ethan.

  “I imagine that you’ll be wanting to finish as well.”

  Ethan spoke, but the words did not make sense to Cameron.

  “Finish?” she asked.

  “The article. On the Carter place. We’re almost done.”

  She took a breath. “Sure. Yes. I do want to finish. Yes. When? I mean … what would be a good day for you?”

  She reached into her purse for her PDA. She clicked the pen that was wedged into the pocket of the cover and brought up her calendar.

  “Maybe in two weeks?” Ethan answered. “You could begin the story now. There are only a few things left to be done.”

  She wrote a line. “I could call you when I get back to the office on Monday and we can put it on our calendars. Would that be okay?”

  “Sure. Monday is fine. Just so it doesn’t interfere with any of Chase’s hockey practices. That starts in a week.”

  “Hockey? Chase is going to play hockey? Really?”

  “Sure. The Oilers. Original name, huh? You sound surprised.”

  Cameron was silent.

  Should I be listening—or talking? What do I do, God? she prayed.

  “Ethan … Chase and I had a Coke together at the science fair. He was such a little gentleman. I asked him about sports. I knew about baseball …”

  The word seemed to cause Ethan to stiffen, just a bit. At least that’s what Cameron imagined.

  “… and he said that you wanted him to play hockey, that you were a real good hockey player when you were a boy his age.”

  “I guess I was. I loved hockey. And Chase’s mother—she loved watching him play hockey. You could hear her cheer even outside the rink.”

  Cameron waited … for inspiration, for guidance, for a nudge in one direction or another—but she felt as if she were on her own here. She decided to trust her heart.

  “Ethan,” she said softly, “Chase told me that he wasn’t going to play hockey this year … that he didn’t like it and was only doing it to please you.”

  Ethan didn’t speak for several minutes. A month ago, Cameron might have prattled on, expanding the discussion, trying to make it more understandable. But this evening she simply sat, silent and still, feeling a certain peace, watching Ethan process the information.

  “He never mentioned that to me.”

  “There was a lot I never told my parents, either. Things I wish I would have said. Things that would have saved all of us a lot of grief and hurt and guilt,” Cameron said. About my little brother. About daring him. About holding his hand. About never having the chance to say good-bye.

  She wanted to reach over and take Ethan’s hand, offer some reassurance, but she thought it unsafe because he was driving.

  “He’s such a great kid. I don’t want to get him in trouble with you about this, Ethan. I know raising your son is your job—a hard job, alone—but I felt … I felt like I should say something about this.”

  “No.” Ethan waited a long, uncomfortable moment before continuing. “No … I mean, you did the right thing. I won’t say anything to Chase about this … that you told me you talked to him. That wouldn’t be right, I know. But I should ask him about it—I mean, about playing hockey—if he really wants to do it or not. I don’t think I ever asked him what he wants. I should talk to him. We need to talk more.”

  Silence returned.

  “My car’s at the airport,” she said. “We just passed the first sign for the exit. You can just drop me off, if that’s okay with you.”

  She sat alone in her car and watched as he drove away, wishing for something else, wondering if she had said too little or not enough. Yet she was satisfied—slightly satisfied—that she had taken a small step and said something that showed she cared.

  To understand

  is to forgive,

  even oneself.

  —Alexander Chase

  To forgive is

  to set a prisoner free

  and discover

  that the prisoner was you.

  —Philip Yancey

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ON SUNDAY EVENING, CAMERON reached for her PDA calendar. She knew she had made an appointment for early Monday with someone at some restaurant for a breakfast meeting but recalled nothing more specific than those cryptic details. Her purse yielded no calendar, nor did her briefcase, or second purse, or desk, or junk drawer in the kitchen. She then checked the front seat of her car, and the backseat, and her very cluttered trunk, which she seldom, if ever, opened.


  She stood outside in the growing dark, in the biting wind, frustrated and angry. She really, really needed that calendar.

  It’s in his truck! It’s in Ethan’s truck.

  She remembered taking it out of her purse there and thought she remembered putting it back in her purse, but it could have slipped out.

  I’ve looked everywhere else. It has to be there.

  And then she realized that she would have to go to Ethan’s house and retrieve it. She could call him but thought it would be simpler and easier just to go in person.

  I don’t think a phone call is what I want with him right now.

  She ran back up to her apartment and threw a gray sweatshirt over her head, then ran back down and jumped into her car. She first drove by the Carter house, thinking he might be there doing work. But the house was dark, and there was not a single vehicle in the driveway.

  He must be at home.

  She hurried over toward Otter. As she slowed, she noted lights on in the Willis house. She didn’t see Ethan’s truck on the street.

  Maybe he parked it in the garage, though it’s usually outside.

  She took a deep breath before she opened the door of her car. She offered up a quick prayer as well. It wasn’t something she had been in the practice of doing before, but since starting up with this “church thing” again, prayer felt like the right thing to do—even if she didn’t think she was always doing it the right way.

  Maybe I should get a book on this or ask Paige or Pastor Johnson. Maybe there’s a better way to do this … like an approved version or something that I don’t get yet.

  She could only shut her eyes. Bowing her head would have made her feel too obvious or too pretend pious.

  Dear God. I think I’m supposed to be here tonight. Help me with the right words to say. And help me find my calendar.

  She blinked her eyes twice, then shut them again.