“Can we go to the lake?” her daughter pleaded, as she hopped into the car.
“Sorry, honey, not today.”
“But, Mom, it’s beautiful out,” her daughter protested. “How many sunny days can we expect in April and on a weekend?”
What Amiee said was true. A glorious spring day in Seattle in the middle of the rainy season was rare. Blue skies and lush green foliage all around was an amazing combination. Unfortunately, Cassie had other commitments for this afternoon. “I need to put in my hours so we can get our house.”
Amiee slumped down in the car and crossed her arms in protest. “Do we even know where the house is going to be?”
“Not yet, but we will before long.” Megan had assured Cassie that there were several options opening up soon.
Options.
The word reverberated in her head like an echo against a canyon wall. How lovely it sounded. Options, options, options, options.
“Can I have my own bedroom?” Amiee asked, showing the first sign of enthusiasm for this project.
Cassie stopped at a red light and glanced over at her daughter. “You have your own bedroom now.”
“Mom, my friends have bigger closets than what you call my bedroom.”
That, sadly, was probably true. “Your new bedroom will be much bigger.”
“With real closets?”
“Oh yes, with room for all your shoes and books and a desk for you to sit at while you do your homework.”
“A real desk?”
“A real desk,” she echoed. Cassie didn’t want to make a promise she couldn’t keep. Her hope was that the very desk she’d used as a girl would be among the furniture her sister had mentioned. It would mean a great deal to her if she was able to give her daughter something that came from her own childhood.
“Can I help at the construction site?” Amiee asked.
“I don’t know, but my guess is probably not.” Cassie had asked Megan about Amiee and learned that no one could work on the project until age sixteen or over. However, Megan hadn’t said anything about not bringing Amiee to the construction site. It might be boring, but at least they’d be together and she would be able to keep an eye on her daughter. All she could do was hope that Steve Brody didn’t take exception to that along with everything else.
“Then what am I supposed to do while you’re working?” Amiee whined, clearly not excited about the prospect of hanging around with nothing to do.
“You’ll have to amuse yourself.”
“With what?”
“Did you bring a book?”
Amiee sent her a pathetic look. “You actually expect me to sit in the car and read when it’s beautiful outside?”
Cassie sympathized. “It won’t always be like this, Amiee, I promise. You can talk a walk and enjoy nature, or any number of things.”
Her daughter’s shoulders slumped forward as she went into her sulking posture.
“It won’t be so terrible.” Cassie wished it could be different. She felt bad about this, but there was no help for it.
Amiee crossed her arms over her chest and made a huffing, disgruntled sound.
Cassie arrived at the work site and parked behind Steve Brody’s truck. Her heart sank; she’d hoped to avoid him after their clash Friday evening. The night before, when she’d left the construction site, Cassie made sure there wasn’t a speck of anything that could be termed garbage anywhere close to the lot. If Steve noticed what an excellent job she’d done, he didn’t mention it. It went without saying Steve Brody was the kind of man who would be sure to point out the tiniest infraction but would be stingy with his praise. Just thinking about how critical and rude he’d been made Cassie tense.
“What’s wrong?”
Amiee read her like a McDonald’s menu. “See that truck,” she said, and gestured toward Steve’s truck.
“How could I miss it when it’s parked right in front of us?”
“I don’t get along with the man who owns it.”
“How come?”
Cassie wasn’t sure herself and didn’t know how best to explain the tension between the two of them. “All I know is that we seem to clash. Whatever you do this afternoon, stay out of Steve Brody’s way. Got it?”
Amiee nodded. She’d heard a similar warning often enough when they’d lived with Duke. Even as young as two and three, Amiee had learned the wisdom of staying away from her father when he was in a foul mood.
“Is he like Dad?” she asked, lowering her voice to a whisper.
“No,” Cassie said, regretting her choice of words now. “He’s just grumpy.”
“How come?”
Again Cassie was at a loss to explain what she had yet to understand herself. “The lady at Habitat said his wife died.”
“Then he’s sad.”
“Yes, and that makes him grumpy,” Cassie added. “Come and I’ll introduce you to Shelly and George. This house is going to be their home. We’re almost finished.”
Amiee’s eyes widened with absolute wonder as she stared at the four-bedroom house. “You mean to say this whole house will be theirs?”
Cassie struggled to hold back a smile. “Yes, the whole house.”
Amiee couldn’t take her eyes off the structure. “Will our home be this big?”
“Almost, only we’ll have one less bedroom.”
Her daughter regarded her with what could only be described as wide-eyed wonder. “Cool.”
“In the good sense, right?” After being updated earlier by her daughter, she wanted to be sure this was a positive reaction.
“Right.”
Cassie climbed out of the car and Amiee followed her, sticking close to her side. She wasn’t more than two feet onto the property when Steve stopped her. “That your daughter?” he asked, directing the question to Cassie.
“Yes, this is Amiee. Amiee, this is Steve.”
He nodded once in Amiee’s direction, then asked Cassie, “How old is she?”
“Twelve.”
“She can’t be here. No one under the age of sixteen is allowed to be on the construction site.”
“I … was going to stay out of the way,” Amiee assured him.
Steve sighed. “Sorry. It’s the rules. No one under sixteen can be here.”
Shelly stood in the background, and being in close proximity, she couldn’t help but overhear. “Amiee, I have a daughter around your age. I could take you over to our place and the two of you could hang. Would you like that?”
Amiee glanced at Steve and nodded.
“Thank you,” Cassie told the other woman. This was by far preferable to having her daughter alone in the house or sitting in the car for the next several hours.
Cassie tagged along with Shelly to where the family was currently housed. Once she was assured Amiee was at ease with Shelly’s daughter, the two women returned to the job site. “I wonder if Steve will let me do more than pick up trash today,” Cassie muttered.
“He’ll have to,” Shelly said. “There’d be nothing for you to collect, seeing what a great job you did yesterday.”
Shelly was right. When they returned, Steve met them with a gallon bucket of paint in each hand. “You’re both going to paint today.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me on garbage detail?” Cassie asked ever-so-sweetly.
Steve responded by handing her a paint can. Cassie took it from him and was surprised by how heavy it was.
“Cassie, you’re cutting out around the windows and archway in the living room,” he said, and then looked to Shelly. “You can start in the dining room with the roller.”
Cassie waited until he was out of the room before she snapped her heels together and saluted him, as if he were a member of the Third Reich.
Shelly broke into giggles. “What is with you two?” Shelly asked, as she slowly shook her head.
Cassie shrugged. “For whatever reason, he doesn’t like me.” She couldn’t imagine what she’d said or done to get on his bad side, but
she was solidly placed there now. It wasn’t a big deal. His dislike wasn’t a concern. He didn’t have to like her and she didn’t need to like him, either. Cassie was determined that no matter what he said, she wouldn’t allow him to intimidate her. She had faced off with the master of intimidation and survived. Compared to Duke, Steve was an amateur.
Shelly had a radio, which she placed on the floor between the living room and the dining room and put it on a Top 40 station. The two women started work, singing to the music. Soon they were dancing, too, paintbrushes in hand, enjoying themselves and making the most of the song.
“Hey, you two,” George said, coming inside the house and heading toward the Styrofoam cooler. “You’re having way too much fun in here.”
“That’s because we’re singing along with Uncle Kracker and you’re stuck with Mr. Potato Head,” Cassie said.
Shelly’s eyes widened as she slid her finger sideways across her throat, telling Cassie to cut it. That was when she realized Steve had come inside with George and stood directly behind her.
Well, she hadn’t said anything he didn’t deserve.
“Here,” George said, breaking the tension. He handed Steve a bottle of water as if nothing had happened. Then he looked toward Shelly and Cassie. “You two need water?”
“I don’t,” Shelly said.
“Me, neither.”
The two men drank their water. Determined to prove her worth, Cassie returned to painting, using the paintbrush to cut in around the windows just like Steve had instructed. Another song came on the radio, and while Shelly didn’t sing, Cassie’s feet refused to hold still. At first she simply tapped her foot as she continued to paint. But all too soon her legs and hips started to sway, as it was impossible to stand still. At one point she whirled around in a complete circle and discovered Steve. He stood no more than a few feet behind her. His dark, disapproving look stopped her cold.
“Did you need something?” she asked, refusing to flinch.
“You’re not using the right brush,” he said, his words devoid of emotion.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The paintbrush,” he reiterated, pointing to the one in her hand. “It’s the wrong size. It will take you twice as much time to cover the same area with that smaller brush. Use the other one, the bigger brush, but be sure and give that one a thorough cleaning first.”
Did he seriously think she’d just leave it thick with paint? Cassie’s back was as straight as a telephone pole. “I happen to like this smaller brush. It fits perfectly in my hand and applies the paint smoothly and evenly.”
Steve stared her down, but Cassie refused to blink. The truth was she really didn’t have a preference, but she refused to let him think he had the upper hand.
“Have it your way, then.”
“I will,” she said, making her voice as sweet and accommodating as humanly possible. She held the same ramrod-straight pose until Steve left and returned to the roof with George.
As soon as he vacated the house, Shelly came over to Cassie. “He really doesn’t like you,” she whispered, as if she was afraid he would hear her.
“I told you.”
“Calling him a Mr. Potato Head probably didn’t help.”
Cassie disagreed. “He was being a jerk, just the way Amiee said.” Her daughter had the electrical contractor pegged after less than five minutes.
“He isn’t always like this. Deep down, I think he must like you.”
That was so far from the truth it was almost funny. “If so, he has an odd way of showing it.”
“I’m serious. Try being nice to him,” Shelly advised, “and see what happens.”
“The thing you’re forgetting,” Cassie said, as she reached for the paint bucket, “is that I really don’t care if Steve likes me or not.”
“You’re going to be working together for a long time. Those sweat-equity hours don’t fly by as quickly as some people think. It’s a lot of time and effort, and if you’re going to be working with Steve, then you should at least make an attempt to try to get along, don’t you think?”
This was quite a speech for Shelly. The other woman was shy and quiet, but she’d opened up a little bit more over the last couple days. Cassie felt that she had at least one ally.
“Steve is one of those people who takes awhile to warm to someone,” Shelly added, returning to the dining room and resuming painting.
“You mean he actually has a warm side?” Cassie mumbled sarcastically.
“Both George and I were unsure when we first met him,” Shelly explained, peeking around the corner.
Cassie had the feeling her newfound friend was exaggerating. “He was like this with both of you?”
Shelly hesitated.
Cassie thought so. “Not really,” she answered on Shelly’s behalf, returning to her own painting.
“It took him awhile to warm to us, too. It’s like he’s hiding inside a fort or something and won’t come out until he’s sure it’s safe. George and I think he’s really great now. Give him a chance, Cassie.”
“Okay, I’ll give it another try,” she said, taking Shelly’s words to heart, although she didn’t hold out much hope.
In a gesture toward peace, Cassie switched paintbrushes and discovered Steve was right. The bigger brush spread the paint just as smoothly as the smaller one and covered twice the area. Her stubbornness, complicated by pride, had cost her a lot of extra work.
She waited until George and Shelly were ready to leave before she approached Steve. “I’ll be right behind you,” Cassie told Shelly. “Tell Amiee I’ll be there in five minutes, okay? And if you’ve got a few extra minutes I’ll cut your hair for you.”
Shelly’s eyes widened with appreciation. “You will?”
“It’ll be my pleasure.” Cassie felt like she owed the other woman for giving Amiee someplace to go. It looked like the two girls were going to be fast friends.
“Are you going to talk to Steve?” Shelly asked, lowering her voice.
“I’m going to try,” she responded, in the same low tones.
The other woman offered her an encouraging smile. “Good luck.”
Cassie was fairly certain she was going to need it.
George and Shelly drove off and Steve was picking up the last of his tools when Cassie approached him.
He pretended not to notice her until she said his name. “Steve.”
Turning around, he looked at her. His face was blank, giving her no indication of his feelings.
“Do you have a minute?”
He didn’t answer but waited.
“I changed brushes the way you suggested and you were right. The painting did go faster.”
It would be a whole lot easier if he’d smile or give some indication that he appreciated the effort it took for her to admit this. It looked like he wasn’t willing to give an inch.
“I think it would make for a better working atmosphere if the two of us could get along.”
He acted as if he didn’t know what she was talking about. “I don’t have a problem with you. Show up on time, do the work, and we’ll get along just fine.”
Cassie wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it wasn’t this. Well, she’d tried. She’d given it her best shot. “Just FYI, I don’t have a problem with you, either.”
“Good. Glad we’ve got that settled. See you next week.”
Cassie sincerely hoped matters between them would even out. She’d do as Shelly suggested, but she had the distinct feeling that next week, and all the weeks that followed, nothing was going to change.
Chapter 7
A day with her best friend was a rare treat for Nichole Patterson. With a one-year-old underfoot, she was on duty 24/7. She needed this break and lunch out with Laurie, her BFF from college. A day for herself was the perfect antidote to the new-mother blahs.
“Have a great day,” Jake told her, as he kissed her on his way out the door to work. As a salesman for a growing Willamette Valley winery, he o
ften worked long hours. They were blessed that Nichole could stay at home with their son.
Nichole stood in the doorway and watched as her husband backed the car out of the garage. Jake paused halfway down the driveway, rolled down his window, and called out, “What time will you be home?”
“I won’t be too late. Five at the absolute latest. That okay?” She felt a bit silly asking her husband such a question.
His smile was warm. “Honey, of course, and buy yourself a pair of those fancy jeans you saw online.”
“Jake—”
“You deserve them,” he said, cutting off her protest. “Be sure and thank Mom for me.”
“I’ll buy her something for watching Owen.”
“No need. Mom loves it that you asked her to babysit.”
It was also a blessing that Jake’s parents lived close enough to watch their only grandchild on the rare occasions when Nichole and Jake went out. Unlike some of her friends, Nichole got along famously with Leanne, her mother-in-law. Having Jake’s family nearby was especially important, seeing that both her parents had passed. It hurt to think that her parents would never know Owen.
Nichole met Laurie at Nordstrom at ten just when the department store was opening. They linked arms, excited to see each other. “I feel like we’re teenagers again, skipping school,” Laurie said.
Nichole understood—she felt the same way. It had been at least a year, since before Owen was born, that she’d taken an entire day to herself.
At one time Nichole had done all her school shopping with her two older sisters. Her parents had given her a budget of a hundred dollars for the school year. Her sisters’ clothing allowance was slightly higher, based on the idea that she had hand-me-downs and they didn’t.
Their mother wasn’t a shopper. In fact, Nichole could remember only a handful of times that she’d gone to the mall just north of town with her mother. Mom had seemed relieved when Karen was old enough to drive so she wouldn’t have to take her three daughters school shopping.
For weeks in advance of August, Nichole and Cassie read through fashion magazines and department-store fliers, making lists of what they wanted to buy, where, and at what price. Cassie was great when it came to accessorizing. She could do amazing things with a scarf, changing the look of an entire outfit. Karen was much better with makeup. Although it’d been more years now than she could remember, Nichole missed those days, missed those special times with her sisters.
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