“No one will think twice about you snapping pictures here and there if you say you’re using them for a design board. Or to create a before and after portfolio to present to the city when the renovations are complete. If they push, tell them your camera phone sucks. Most do.”
“Kay, has anyone ever told you you’re a goddamn genius?”
“Once or twice, but not nearly often enough. Although, you guys are slowly coming around to fully appreciating me in all of my wondrous glory.”
Seraphina rolled her eyes. “Forgive us our humanity.”
“I’ll consider it. Oh, and there’s Amos with my new rhododendron samples. Got to go. Thanks for offering to do this, Sera. If stuff gets weird or uncomfortable, or you feel your loyalties are becoming divided, Oliver and I will understand if you want to step back.”
They ended the call, and Seraphina shuffled to the bus stop, then left the line abruptly. The walk to Tanbee House would do her good, and give her some time to marshal her thoughts. She didn’t want to be left scrambling for explanations when she surprised Marc Curry. She hadn’t taken two steps when her phone buzzed, and Grant’s name sprung to life on the screen.
* * * *
Grant’s heart turned to ash and fell away as soon as he entered Kathleen’s room. He’d forgotten he’d sent along instructions late Sunday for the staff to put out an extra place setting at lunch, on the assumption Seraphina would be joining him.
Kathleen was dressed for company in one of her finest church outfits, a calf-length pink and purple floral dress she adored and saved for the most special of occasions. Her face lit up when she saw him, and her eyes darted past him, smiling nervously as she bobbed her head to see around him and catch a glimpse of a guest who wasn’t there. The smile faltered when she realized Grant stood alone in the doorway. She seemed a deflated child, giddy with anticipation, only to discover she’d been let down.
Grant stood frozen, immensely shamed that he’d forgotten to call ahead and cancel, and feeling like the biggest asshole on the planet. When had he last brought someone to meet his mom? Or given her a reason to take down her white-streaked gray hair from its bun and ask one of the nurses make a braid for her that ended in a small lavender bow draped across one stooping shoulder. And maybe he was crazy, but Kathleen’s pale flesh showed evidence of a slight application of rouge, a habit she hadn’t bothered with in two years or more. He remembered being a boy, watching her use a tube of peach-colored lipstick to draw dots onto her cheeks, then smoothing it for ages, blending, blending, and blending.
She was utterly charming and lovely, and he couldn’t stand to disappoint her, or to have had her don her most cherished dress for nothing. He smiled, hoping his anxiety didn’t show in the lines of his face, and waved a careless hand, the other fishing his cell phone from his pocket.
“She’s coming,” he assured her, in the blithest manner he could muster. “I’ll just call and make sure she’s not stuck in traffic.”
Kathleen met his smile with one of relief, and nodded, almost shooing him back out the door to make the call.
Grant paced in the hallway. Seraphina finally picked up, a hesitant question in her greeting. “Hi.”
“Seraphina. I’d forgotten I’d called ahead to Heritage Acres. Kathleen is—”
“Expecting me to have that lunch,” she finished softly.
He might’ve imagined the tinge of disappointment, but he thought not. Her unspoken favor grated against his pride, but he’d swallow it whole for Kathleen’s sake.
“I understand. I just left the office, actually. I can be there in ten.”
He couldn’t respond. He was glad when she hung up, unintentionally saving him from an awkward, bumbling reply. He stared at his phone for a beat, his estimation of Seraphina rising against his displeasure at her behavior that morning, and then cresting it like a wave breaking onto the beach.
As simply as that, he forgave her. He couldn’t help it. She owed him nothing, and still, she hadn’t wavered or hesitated, even though he was fairly certain she’d been on route to another errand. A petty person would’ve used this as an opportunity for a small measure of revenge. She could’ve hurt him, and chose not to. Not for the sake of brownie points, or because she was dying to meet an elderly mute. Just because she was decent, and so did the decent thing.
She arrived in less time than promised. Grant had joined Kathleen at the table, assuring his happily anticipating mother that their guest was on her way. She gripped her walker—she steadfastly refused to use the wheelchair with company—and rose at the same time Seraphina’s head poked through the doorway and she knocked tentatively, then stepped inside. Seraphina wore an uncertain smile, but her eyes were kind as she greeted Kathleen. Kathleen smiled wide, her head bobbing in lieu of a spoken greeting.
Grant expected the hour to pass in agonizingly slow awkwardness, but again, Seraphina surprised him, confidently and adeptly taking charge of the conversation. She didn’t talk about herself, which was Grant’s way of communicating with Kathleen. Instead, she asked his mom a million questions. What did she like most about Heritage Acres? Did she really enjoy playing bridge? Did she have a best friend or a favorite nurse? To his surprise, Kathleen’s smile widened each time she picked up her pad and pen to reply. Seraphina reacted to each note as if they were words said aloud, creating a cohesion and flow as natural as any spoken exchange. Halfway through the meal, Grant began to feel like a second centerpiece. There because it was expected and a nice addition, but without offering much tangible substance.
Every time Kathleen set her mug of tea or fork aside to respond to one of Seraphina’s queries, Grant realized how little he himself offered Kathleen. All this time, he’d thought he’d been doing her a favor. But now it seemed uncomfortably clear he’d stifled the poor old woman, robbing her of an opportunity to express herself. He seldom asked questions, assuming she’d rather not be reminded that she couldn’t easily reply. But reply she did, happily and near constant, beaming at Seraphina’s interest and curiosity.
His introspection drifted apart like breaking clouds as he came to realize they were talking about him. His gaze swung from one to the other. Seraphina covered her mouth, and mischief danced in her pale blue eyes as they alighted on him. Kathleen’s wide grin threatened to split her face in half, and she had her pad tucked toward her chest, hiding the last thing she’d written from view.
He narrowed his gaze. “What?”
Without so much as a speck of guilt, Kathleen slowly turned the paper around. There were no words, but a stick figure wearing a skirt.
Grant covered his eyes and groaned. “Oh, no. You told her the story.” While he’d been daydreaming, Kathleen had been diligently writing out one of the most trying moments of his young adult life, in bits and pieces as her small writing pad allowed. The story, he called it. The one he wished would’ve died a quick death. Even so, he couldn’t help an answering grin, because no matter how embarrassing the tale behind the drawing was, he could see the humor all too easily.
“It was for drama club. Did she explain that, at least?” He offered his pained expression to Seraphina. “The club was basically an all-girl club. And me. Even the drama teacher was a woman, and it was her grand idea to gender swap the whole play, have all the girls be men, and the one guy dress as the only lady. A character, mind you, fond of short skirts and sequin festooned blouses. As a comedy, casting me as a bedazzled female only heightened the farce.” He shrugged. At least Kathleen had only given up an unflattering stick figure. Somewhere, actual photographic evidence existed. “I fought and argued, but in the end, it was too perfect. I didn’t mind until the play ended. I was last in the train of girls, bowing and waving as I followed them off the stage. Some jock kid snuck up onto the stage on the other side, creeping behind me as the audience giggled. The giggling became one collective gasp when he yanked down the pink flimsy skirt.”
Seraphina’s eyes widened, mirth so evident he still couldn’t wipe the grin from his own face. He felt the flush start from his neck and brush up his face like a spreading wildfire. Even now, all these years later.
He sighed. “You know, the little costume was designed for…well, the little undie things that were supposed to go beneath the skirt, they were obviously made for a girl. Too small for me by half, and I’d worn a loose, flowy pair of boxer shorts that day that came to mid-thigh and would’ve been visible beneath my costume. I didn’t have time to run back to the drama classroom and dig through wardrobe for something suitable before my time on stage, so I improvised.”
Seraphina dropped her hand, and her smile went from ardently amused to shocked. “You didn’t…”
Kathleen chuckled silently, her hand tapping the table in time to her breathy laugh. She nodded vigorously, and Grant decided it was worth the mortification to see such glee in her wrinkled face. Her eyes were bright, and her skin flushed. The rouge was almost redundant.
“I did. I’d gone commando. And thus, showed everything I’ve got to the entire assembly at Cary Johnson High. I actually think it would’ve been worse if I’d managed to stuff myself into those small pink underwear, personally.”
For a solid minute—he counted each passing second as they crawled by—Seraphina laughed. And laughed. She laughed until tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, and she brushed them away with a delicate swipe of her pinky. Kathleen glowed with pride at having entertained their guest, completely unabashed as she met Grant’s gaze across the table. Despite the heat still lingering on his face, he had no regrets. He’d gladly let Kathleen dredge up and rehash every last one of his worst childhood escapades to see her light up like she did now.
Seraphina gamely offered an embarrassing story of her own, about a boy in junior high who’d displayed his ardent love for her the only way a young boy knows how—by torturing her with a Whoopee cushion for an entire semester. He managed to slip it beneath her at pep rallies, in the cafeteria, as she gathered with other students in a classroom, and once just as she sat down adjacent from him in a starkly silent library. She’d confronted him, finally, with a sucker punch to his jaw, and he left her alone after that. Only years later did he confess to the crush.
She rolled her eyes at Kathleen. “Men,” she said, wearily. “They claim we want them to read our minds. But at least we don’t act in direct opposition of what we feel. It never once crossed my mind to show I liked a boy by pulling his hair or throwing rocks at him. Or, God forbid, keeping up nine weeks of systematic public humiliation.”
To this, Kathleen pulled a face and nodded in agreement, then batted away imaginary gnats as if to say to hell with them all.
Grant’s hour with Kathleen passed more quickly than it ever had, and he surprised himself by feeling reluctant to put an end to the gathering and head back to the office. In the hallway, after saying their good-byes, he shrewdly assessed Seraphina. “Her birthday is next week,” he offered. “I don’t take her out very often, but I thought she might like a few hours away from this place. Maybe a meal not taken in a cafeteria or next to her bed.”
Seraphina’s smile was something less than what she’d given to Kathleen. Still, there was some strain between them. “I’d love to be there, if you’re inviting me.”
He nodded. “I think Kathleen would like to have you there.” He paused, cleared his throat. “I haven’t seen her that relaxed, happy even, in a long time.”
Seraphina was pensively silent. “She’s sweet. I wouldn’t mind getting to know her better.”
Grant held back a smile, because Seraphina didn’t offer one. He didn’t know if she’d see it as him misunderstanding the undercurrents between them, or pretending they weren’t there. “She’s certainly worth getting to know.”
“Well, thanks for having me, but I have to go. I was on my way to…” Her blue eyes were hooded and refused to meet his as she dipped her chin in a small gesture of farewell. “Somewhere else,” she finished, in a forced light tone. “I’ll see you back at the office this afternoon.”
Grant watched her go. He didn’t know why his gut suddenly felt heavy with apprehension, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with Seraphina’s secretive errand. Instead of following her, he dug his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Ophelia. She’d know the next move.
Chapter 11
Marc Curry didn’t seem all that surprised when Seraphina let herself into the chain link enclosure that surrounded Tanbee House. He strode toward her in long, purposeful strides with an easy smile on his face and a yellow tool belt swinging in time with his hips. She swallowed. Some men wore their sexuality like an accessory, and some, like Marc, managed to do it and remain completely unaware of the fact.
He grinned good-naturedly, briefly nodding an affirmative to some question posed to him by a passing fellow workman, and waved, “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon. We just started busting up the place this morning. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but you might be surprised at how much we’ve accomplished in a handful of hours.”
She peered at the old house, then pulled a yellow notepad from her satchel. “I want to take notes, see for myself what’s been claimed reusable or a complete loss.”
Marc’s face grew serious as he turned his attention the house. “To be honest, I’m in favor of gutting every inch of the place. We’re finding decent bones. Structure just needs to be brought up to code and reinforced where it’s load-bearing. But walls, flooring, even the ceilings”—his voice ended on a disparaging note—“pretty much anything you’d have to look at every day, I’d toss.”
She nodded when he turned to meet her gaze again. “I’ll likely agree with you.” She’d only seen the place in pitch darkness, but she’d gotten a pretty good feel for the degree of dilapidation they were dealing with.
Another crew member, laboring over a sawhorse in thick coveralls and a thin red plaid shirt, hollered for Marc.
“I don’t need an escort,” she assured him. “You can get back to your guys. I’ve got on close-toed shoes, and I’ll grab a hard hat before I go in.”
He grinned swiftly, taking her measure so quickly she hardly noticed the sweep of his eyes, down and back up. The appreciation in the curve of his mouth was less subtle, but she could tell it was respect for her sensibility, not for how well she stacked up in her neat office clothes. “I guess I’ll leave you to it, then. Should be a stack of hats near the door. Watch your footing, especially in the south wing. It’s cordoned off, but no one will stop you if you want to look around. Just be careful. The floor was so bad, we tore it up first thing and made walkways from planks set across foundation beams.”
The south wing; these rooms were the old kitchens, where they’d ordered plumbing installed during the seventies. Here, she hoped to create two large restrooms, to serve both the staff and the public, since the plumbing was already there. It would only need to be updated. “Thanks. I’ll be most diligent.” She rolled her eyes at herself as she walked away. Sometimes, things inside her head didn’t sound stupid until they passed her teeth.
She snatched up a hardhat and plopped it on her head before ducking inside. With sunlight filtering into the windows and open doors, chasing shadows from the corners, Seraphina noticed a degree of disrepair she hadn’t last night. She’d known the place was a mess, ill-used for too many years. But she hadn’t been able to see how the remains of the walls were eaten and rotted in so many places, the questionable slope and discoloration of the ceiling inside the main parlor that spoke of an ancient roof leak, or the poor state of the cheap materials they’d used back in the renovations during the seventies.
It almost wasn’t worth saving; a traitorous thought for any born and bred Southerner. Oh, how they revered their history. Seraphina clucked her tongue. She’d come to investigate the bedroom, where the window had been busted out, but she wouldn’t turn
down an opportunity for an in-depth survey.
The parlor where she stood held the giant fireplace, a sorrier thing than it had appeared in the wash of a flashlight. The room was a nice size, though, wider than both the kitchens and the library, perhaps longer, too, and large enough to house a comfortable reception area, waiting lounge, and maybe a set of low-walled cubicles.
Off to the right, two large mirrored arches led into the old kitchens. She could see the patchwork catwalks the crew had erected to get around, and had no desire to test her balancing skills. Time enough to have a look when new flooring was laid down.
It still didn’t make sense. Cupper Cottage, the property originally slated for the project, had larger rooms and more square footage overall, despite the misnomer, plus a second floor, and also sat closer to the Governor’s Mansion. Why the sudden switch to Tanbee House, a less suitable location, and how, she couldn’t quite understand. The city could takes months, years even, to greenlight renovations on historical sites. Yet the switch from Cupper Cottage to Tanbee House had been almost instantaneous. A mystery for another time.
She made her way back through the parlor, and entered the library. The room almost appeared vandalized, even though what little she could see last night appeared in those same places and positions today. She didn’t spend much time here. All said, the walls in this one room seemed to her almost salvageable, but it would take closer scrutiny to decide for sure. She intended the old library to serve as the private office of whatever city official would reign here, as well as their personal staff.
She paused at the door at the end of the room, recalling the silhouette of Grant’s tall, broad-shouldered form as he’d stood there and barked at her. She glanced down at the yellow lined paper she still gripped and pressed her lips together. So much for taking notes. A sigh escaped her when she finally entered the small room. There were built-in wooden shelves in surprisingly good condition lining the far wall that she hadn’t noticed last night. The window was off to her left.
From the Top Page 13
