Renovating the Richardsons

by Virginia Smith

  “Well… ” The young man scrunched his features. “It’s not the best news. But it’s not as bad as mold in the walls.”

  She gave a humorless laugh. “I’m not sure many things are. What is it?”

  “It’s easiest to show you. Come on up to the attic.”

  The attic? Her mood dipped even lower as she followed Justin up the ornate staircase, down the hallway, and up a second set of stairs, these ones cramped and steep. Rufus trailed along, though he lagged behind as he hefted himself up the stairs. Justin opened the door at the top and Millie stepped into an oppressive heat. A line of sunlight from beneath the deep eaves on all sides did little to alleviate the heavy gloom in the space that ran the length of the house. Thick sheets of insulation that were once probably as pink as her Volkswagen were now gray and dust-covered. She followed him through a layer of dirt to the far end, stepping around the brick column of a chimney. A severe tickle began in her nose as the dust they kicked up rose in a fine cloud, and she sneezed. Goodness, this place needed a good cleaning. But the attic was way down toward the bottom of her list. At the rate the repairs were going, she might get to it in a few years.

  “I noticed some damage to the external wood when the guys and I were working on the roof,” Justin said as he led her to the back end of the space. “Not surprising, really. The wooden exterior on a house this old doesn’t hold up well against years of weather, wind, and sun exposure. But I was pretty sure those holes weren’t caused by normal wear and tear.”

  “Holes?”

  “Not huge, but big enough that they need to be repaired. Here, look.”

  They’d arrived at the end of the attic. Pulling on a pair of work gloves, he squatted down on his haunches and tugged a blanket of insulation away from the wall. Sunlight showed through a hole about a foot long and several inches high. “Oh my. What in the world caused that? Storm damage, maybe?”

  She couldn’t stop a hopeful tone from creeping into her voice. Her conversation with the insurance agent had revealed the depressing news that mold was considered “hidden and concealed,” which was not covered by their policy. Had the damage been as a result of an accident or natural disaster, the repair work would have been covered. No matter how convincingly Millie argued that there could be no bigger disaster, the man refused to budge.

  If this hole had been caused by a storm, perhaps the repairs would be paid for.

  But Justin shook his head. “No, ma’am. See how those edges are gnawed? This is the work of squirrels.”

  “Squirrels? Are you sure?”

  “’Fraid so. Look here.” He planted a boot on the insulation so he could reach a few feet beneath the sloping eaves and pulled back the fluffy stuff to reveal a wad of sticks, leaves, and gray fiberglass. “I found several other nests too, and a lot of damaged wood. A few more holes, but none as big as this one.”

  “Is the house unsafe?”

  “Not at all.”

  She took comfort from his confidence, but then he continued in a regretful tone.

  “But I wouldn’t recommend ignoring the problem or they’ll continue to cause damage. At the very least we’ll need to patch up all the holes and cover the vents with wire mesh. We also need to replace the chimney caps. They’re rusted out.”

  Millie turned and eyed the closest column of bricks. “It looks sturdy from here.”

  “Oh, it is,” he assured her. “A squirrel would be hard-put to chew through brick and mortar. But I found nests in two of the chimneys. Come winter when you want to build a fire, you’ll have a big problem on your hands.”

  With a sigh, she nodded. “I understand.” Millie cast a glance toward Rufus, who had refused to enter the attic but watched them from the doorway. They’d never had squirrels at their house on Mulberry Avenue. But the poor dog had been defeated by the bold squirrel population of this house. Or perhaps he was overwhelmed by the sheer number of the fuzzy-tailed rodents.

  “Well, do whatever you need to do. I’ll call Albert and let him know.”

  A task she did not relish. Her husband, who had become increasingly dour every day since they moved into this house, would be furious.

  He was.

  “Squirrels in the attic?”

  Albert’s shout resounded through the phone. Seated alone at the kitchen table, Millie pulled the receiver away from her ear and listened from a distance as he raged.

  “I told you this would happen, Millie. Dollar by dollar, dime by dime, that house is bleeding us dry. It’s like a giant, hulking vampire, sucking our blood. Not only money, but the never-ending list of chores is exhausting. I work all day and then I come home and work all night too. I’m telling you, we’ll end up a couple of empty shells, exhausted and broke.”

  Normally she would have cajoled him out of his anger, but just then she didn’t have the energy. “Don’t be dramatic, Albert.”

  “If there was ever a time for drama, it’s now. Those squirrels are ruining my life. They empty the birdfeeders as fast as I can fill them and swarm all over the property. It’s not enough that our yard is overrun by squirrels. Now they’re infesting our house too? And what about that dog of yours? Why isn’t he keeping them under control?”

  Millie looked at Rufus, who lay sleeping on his cushion in the corner. “I’m a little worried about him. Do you suppose he’s depressed about something?”

  “He’s a dog.”

  “Dogs can get depressed,” she told him. “I read it in a magazine at the clinic. Maybe I’ll ask Susan. She might have a medication to recommend.”

  The spluttering on the other end of the phone continued for some minutes before coherent words formed. When Albert continued, he’d managed to achieve a semblance of control. She had to put the phone up to her ear in order to hear him.

  “I want you to call the inspector as soon as we hang up. Ask him why he missed that damage. Tell him we expect him to cover the cost of the repairs.”

  “Now you’re just being silly.” She did not bother to filter her annoyance. “Justin said the hole was obscured by the ornamental trim on the outside and by insulation on the inside. If he hadn’t seen it when he was crawling all over the roof, he wouldn’t have caught it either.”

  She might as well not have spoken.

  “We’ll sue the inspector, that’s what we’ll do.”

  A crash from the front parlor jerked Millie upright. Now what?

  “Can we talk about this when you get home? I need to run. Love you. Bye.”

  Tossing the phone onto the table, she dashed toward the parlor with Rufus at her heels. When she rounded the corner she found the two workmen standing in a sea of broken glass, their expressions remorseful. A large mirror, which they’d removed from the wall before they started, lay in shards at their feet. Jagged fragments still clung to the inside edges of the gilded frame like razor-sharp teeth, reminiscent of Albert’s imaginary vampires.

  The shorter man ducked his head in her direction without meeting her eye. “I’m right sorry ’bout that, ma’am. I guess I wasn’t paying close enough attention to where I tossed my hammer.”

  A dozen replies pinged in her head. A sharp reprimand about taking care seemed entirely appropriate. But rebuking strangers went against her nature. She was more inclined to dismiss the incident and tell the poor man not to worry.

  Did this constitute an accident? Of course their deductible was so high it wouldn’t be worth filing an insurance claim, even though the mirror would probably cost several hundred dollars to replace. Mold Man’s advertisement boasted that he was bonded and insured, so perhaps he would cover the cost of the replacement. If he balked, she could threaten a lawsuit.

  The thought brought her up short. Goodness, what was becoming of her? Albert’s cynicism was rubbing off on her. Richardsons were not people who sued.

  She arranged a smile on her face. “Accidents happen. I wasn’t crazy about that mirror anyway. Please don’t give it another thought.”

  His tense posture relaxed. “That�
��s real nice of you, ma’am. Thank you.”

  Oddly, some of her tension dissipated at his obvious relief. What good would it do to rant and rave like Albert? None, and it would raise her blood pressure besides. If she obsessed about every little thing that happened with this house, she’d end up a raving maniac or depressed like Rufus.

  “I’ll get the broom and dust bin,” she told them, and left the room.

  Thomas parked his car on the street in front of Tuesday Love’s house. For a moment after he turned off the key, he didn’t move. If anyone spotted his car here he’d be mortified. But who would see at two in the afternoon? Susan was at work the next street over. The only other person in town who might recognize his Lexus was Hinkle, and he was working at the Richardsons’ three miles away.

  He sat with his hands on the steering wheel and peered at the house. The roof of a tiny covered porch sagged at one end, held in place by a square beam with a vertical crack near the top. White paint peeled on the siding and porch railing. The black shutters on either side of the front door were in desperate need of attention, large sections of paint chipped away to reveal areas of exposed wood. Yet frilly curtains showed in the windows, and a pair of rosebushes bloomed with furious glory on either side of the porch steps.

  What was he doing here? The question had revolved in his mind like a merry-go-round during the drive from Lexington. Saturday’s massage, necessitated by his injury, had been spur-of-the-moment. When he bid Tuesday farewell he had expected that would be the last time he stepped foot in her house. That night, sitting in the armchair in his hotel room with a bag of ice at his back, he’d acknowledged the accuracy of the woman’s advice. Lots of water and repeating sessions with ice did alleviate some of the pain. That the massage had helped to loosen the twisted muscle he had no doubt. But neither had he any intention of returning.

  And yet, here he was.

  Part of the reason was the unbelievably restful sleep he’d enjoyed Saturday night. He couldn’t remember ever sleeping so well. And though Sunday morning her prediction of sore muscles was proven true, he dreaded the gradual return of tension in his shoulders. And his feet. Now that he’d been made aware of his tendency to clench his toes, relaxing them had become a near obsession. At that very moment they were drawn up tighter than a prize fighter’s fists. With an effort, he forced them to straighten as far as they could within the confines of his shoes.

  The front door on the house opened. Tuesday emerged wearing a pair of shorts and a tank top, her hair piled on her head. She ducked down to peer through the car window, and Thomas fought the urge to slink down in the seat.

  Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted, “Is that you, Thomas?”

  Drat the woman. Why not paint a sign and hang it on the front door? Thomas Jeffries is here.

  Since he’d been spotted there was no dignified way to back out. Resigned to going through with his impulsive decision, he exited the car.

  “Figured it must be you.” Her smile broadened. “I don’t know anybody else who drives a fancy car like that.”

  He hurried down the cracked and uneven sidewalk, glancing right and left to see if they were being observed. Relieved when he saw no one, he mounted the porch steps. “I’m taking my daughter to dinner tonight, and I’m early. But if you’re busy, I’ll understand.”

  “I’m never too busy for my favorite client.” She hooked her arm through his and pulled him into the house.

  The front room held fewer boxes, and she’d hung pictures on the wall. A half-dozen photographs in inexpensive black frames had been arranged on the wall facing the sofa. While she shut the door he examined them. Outdoor scenes depicting fields of wildflowers, a flock of geese floating on a pond, a barn with sunlight slanting through the uneven slats. His attention drawn to a photo of a covered bridge, he admired the artistic angle the photographer had chosen.

  “That’s quite lovely,” he commented.

  She stood beside him, her head tilted as she inspected the photo. “Isn’t it? One of my sisters has a real knack for taking pictures.”

  He glanced at her. “One of your sisters? How many do you have?”

  “Seven for sure, but probably more. New ones crop up every now and then. Nobody’s really sure who Daisy’s daddy was, but we claim her anyway.”

  Though he knew it was rude, he couldn’t stop his jaw from dangling.

  She laughed. “Crazy, huh? You’d have to know my father to understand.”

  I’ll pass, thank you. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he bit them back.

  Apparently his opinion showed on his face. Hands planted on her generous hips, she twisted her lips. “Don’t go judging my daddy. That was just his nature. He couldn’t help himself. Not everybody lives by your standards.”

  No safe response came to mind, so Thomas held his tongue.

  “So tell me how you’re feeling.” She stepped in front of him and placed a hand on either shoulder, and then clucked her tongue. “Still all tensed up, I see. Well, come on back and we’ll take care of that.”

  Shedding his shirt and shoes wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable this time. The music and the trickle of water began their relaxing work even before Tuesday touched him. When she ran her hands across his back and immediately zeroed in on a bunched-up muscle, a sigh escaped his lips.

  “It’s amazing how you know exactly where the tight spots are,” he said.

  “Not really. A lot of people get knots in the rhomboids. And the trapezius too, of course.”

  “I don’t know what those are, but I’m glad you do.”

  “I aced shoulder anatomy in massage school.” He heard the smile in her voice. “It was my favorite course.”

  He lifted his head from the face cradle to peer over his shoulder at her. “I had no idea there were schools that teach massage.”

  “You thought we just put our hands on somebody and squeeze?” Her laughter filled the room. “Took me two years of hard work and a lot of money to get my certification as a massage therapist.”

  Her fingers slid upward and began working on his neck. Tension seeped away as the muscles beneath the base of his skull responded to her skilled touch.

  “Do you have a degree?”

  “Nah. I could have gone to a school where you earn an associate’s degree, but what do I need with English and Algebra?”

  Though he could have listed any number of reasons why a university education was helpful, at that moment she located a particularly sore knot in the place where his neck met his shoulder and the only sound he could manage was a sigh.

  The conversation ceased as she continued to work. More relaxed than he could remember being, Thomas could easily have fallen asleep. In fact, his breathing became slow and deep, and a delicious drowsiness settled on him.

  A loud clatter startled him fully awake. His eyes flew open and he looked over his shoulder to find Tuesday seated on her rolling stool, rubbing her knee.

  “Doggone it. This room’s so cramped I crashed into the table.” With a final rub she reached for his foot. “I’ll be so glad when I can get into my building and have room to spread out.”

  He settled himself again. “When will that be?”

  “It’s gonna be a while.” She plied his foot with both hands and ordered, “Relax your toes.”

  With an effort, he did. “Why so long?”

  “I have a lot to do. The building’s real old. Needs painting and flooring and I have to put up a couple of partitions. Stuff like that. Plus the bathroom needs some work, and I don’t know how to put in a toilet. Have to look it up on the Internet. I figure the whole thing will take me six months at least.”

  “You don’t mean to say you intend to do the work yourself?”

  “I have to. I can’t afford to hire anyone.” She finished with that foot and rolled sideways, her warm hands grasping the other. “That’s okay. I’m not afraid of work. I just hope I can get clients to come here in the meantime.”

  Though Thomas a
pplauded her attitude, the idea of a woman like Tuesday—who didn’t look as though she would be particularly handy at renovations—doing major repair work struck him as ludicrous.

  “Wouldn’t it be more cost-effective to hire someone? A business location would hold far more appeal to your clientele than—a house.” He started to say than a run-down house, but that would hardly be polite.

  “Maybe, but I don’t have the money. It took almost every cent my granny left me to make the down payment for the building. I have to save the little bit that’s left so I have something to live on until I start getting customers.”

  “What about increasing your loan? Perhaps the bank would be willing to extend your line of credit.”

  “I asked, but they turned me down. Apparently they don’t think a massage therapy business in Goose Creek has much potential. And I have such a great name, too.” Her fingers deserted his foot, and he looked down to see her sketch a sign in the air. “A Touch of Love.” She smiled broadly. “Isn’t that great?”

  Thomas tried to imagine himself entering an establishment by that name. His lack of enthusiasm must have showed, because her smile faded.

  “You don’t like it.”

  “I am probably not your target audience.”

  “Sure you are. Everybody’s my target audience.” A grin appeared. “A man’s money is as green as a woman’s.”

  Obviously she had not spent a lot of time considering her business strategy. He could… but no. He had a big enough task ahead of him in switching jobs at the bank, selling his house, moving, and figuring out how to stop Susan from making a mistake that would have a disastrous impact on her future. Tuesday Love would have to make or break her business on her own.

  “A good point,” he answered. “And I insist that you let me pay you for today. You’re selling a service. You’ll never be successful if you give that service away for free.”

  “I totally agree, honey.” She cocked her head sideways and awarded him a saucy wink. “And I won’t turn down a tip, either.”