by Ines Saint
The old neighborhood hangout was in top form. The scent of baked bread, ripe tomatoes, melting cheeses, and spicy beer took him back years, but the rustic furnishings and live music were new to him. A pretty waitress handed him a wet napkin as she walked by, saying, “I noticed you were hurt when you walked in.” Dan thanked her before swinging his attention back to his brothers.
Johnny was regarding him with some of the old hero worship in his eyes, and Sam’s unguarded look held a hint of nostalgia. Johnny was quick to slide his gaze up, as if he’d been watching the football game on the big screen behind him the entire time, and Sam cut his eyes to the table and reached for one of the darker beers.
Dan studied the different hues before choosing a lager. “You guys showing off the hometown selection?”
“Why, you impressed?” Sam raised an eyebrow and took a long pull of beer.
“Awww. Youtryingtoimpressbigbrother?”Johnnyteased.
“Hey, I was impressed a week ago, when I learned we finally have a genius in the family,” Dan cut in. Both Sam and Johnny looked at him as if that were an impossibility. “I’m talking about Jake. He’s only seven and he can already whiz without spraying the entire bathroom.”
Sam laughed. “Who told you that?”
Dan leaned back. “He called me to give me his new phone number, and I remembered you’d said you wouldn’t get him a phone till he learned to pee without spraying the entire bathroom. You and Johnny still haven’t mastered that feat, so I assumed you’d sired a genius.”
Sam’s smile wavered. “What can I say?”
Dan bit the inside of his cheek. “How’s Heather?” he asked. He hoped the fact that Sam had bought his son his own phone wasn’t a sign of major trouble between him and his soon-to-be ex-wife.
Sam looked him in the eye. “We’re still friends.”
Dan nodded, believing him. Sam and Heather had always acted more like a couple of friends than a couple of anything else. Holly’s comment kept buzzing around in his head, though, but he didn’t know how to bring up the subject of Sam’s business. “So, the Christmas Eve Festival,” he began, picking a painless topic.
Johnny took a pretentious bow. “You’re welcome.”
“How’d you convince them to book us? I thought the whole thing had become an even bigger deal ever since that cable channel on houses did that special on it.”
“I know someone who works with one of the major sponsors, and she knows we’re good enough to play an early set ’cause she was at that preppy prom we played.”
Dan shot him a look. “That was eight years ago.” “So? It’s not like Bruce Springsteen wants the gig. And they always have local acts play.” Johnny shrugged.
“Remember the year Dad and his buddies played?” Sam asked. “Man, they were good.” They paid tribute to the memory with a moment of silence.
“Anyway, I know we’re good enough, but now I know the woman you’re talking about is Landon’s daughter. He got us the gig at her prom. Tread carefully there, he and Dad were good friends,” Dan warned.
“We’re just friends. I keep telling you guys I’ve met the woman I’m spending the rest of my life with, and I’ve turned over a new leaf for her. She just doesn’t know it yet. ” Johnny’s eyes gleamed the way they did when he had something up his sleeve.
Dan and Sam rolled their eyes at him. The three of them had met up at Reds and Bengals games throughout the year and Johnny had been waxing on about his new leaf for a while, but it was always hard to tell when Johnny was being serious.
“So, how long are you staying and how often will you be up to rehearse?” Johnny asked. Sam looked away.
Dan spun the tray of beers. If Sam needed help, he’d never ask for it. He couldn’t tell them his original plan now. When Johnny had called to tell him about the Christmas Eve Festival, he’d told him to come up as early as possible to rehearse, because they were rusty. But before he’d hung up, he’d added, “It’ll be like old times. You can even contribute some muscle to Sam’s crusade while you’re here.”
He’d assumed Johnny was trying to get him to stick around awhile. Historic preservation had been their father’s calling, and he’d involved his sons in his work early on. They’d acquired the skills, but only Sam had inherited the artistry and craftsmanship. He’d made it his business to rescue their hometown from becoming another notch on the rust belt, a few structures at a time.
Not thirty-four in one shot. Leo hadn’t denied it when Holly mentioned it. Could it be true?
“I’ve always got legal cases to analyze and opinions to write for my clients, but I thought I’d renovate a house while I was here.” Dan looked at Sam. “You know, join your revival crusade, which I’ve heard has turned into more of a war.”
Sam tossed Johnny a hard look and Johnny put his hands up, saying, “I swear I didn’t tell him.”
So it was true. “No, he didn’t tell me, but he should’ve. You didn’t have to get us a gig at the Christmas Eve Festival to get me to come home if you wanted me back.” Dan managed to keep his voice neutral, but he had to look away and pretend to watch the TV over the bar for a few seconds before he continued, “So, thirty-four houses . . .”
Sam picked up his beer and said, “Thirty-four,” before taking a swig.
“How’d you find out?” Johnny wanted to know.
“I bought the Craftsman on Rubicon and ran into a few people while checking it out.”
“You what?” Johnny sat up. Sam froze, beer bottle on mouth.
“Hey, if one of you would’ve told me Sam was up to his ears in fixer-uppers and needed help—”
Sam slammed his beer down. “I don’t need help.”
“Wait.” Johnny closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “There’s only one Craftsman on Rubicon.”
“Right.” Dan looked at him as if to say, So?
“A friend of ours just bought it. Are you sure you have the right street?” Johnny was as serious as Dan had ever seen him.
“Oh man, don’t tell me you’re talking about the crazy lady who broke into the house tonight. She’s a friend of yours?”
“A crazy lady broke into the Craftsman?” Sam repeated, looking confused.
“Her hair and face were covered in gunk and she was ranting and raving about the house belonging to her. She’s the one who gave me this.” Dan pointed to his eyebrow. “Her name is Holly, she’s Leo’s cousin.”
“That’s her.” Johnny stared at him for a few beats before shaking his head and getting up to go to the bar. Sam looked down and sighed.
Saying Holly’s name out loud and knowing she and his brothers were friends made the whole experience real. Up until that moment, it had felt like a strange, twisted nightmare. Dan wondered if he’d hurt her at any point. He cleared his throat and searched for a neutral subject. “When do I get to see my nephew?” he asked.
“Heather’s bringing him by tomorrow. Stop by and stay for dinner.”
“Hot wings?”
“Do I know how to make anything else?” Sam grinned.
“You really still friends with Heather?”
Sam turned serious. “Yes. If you want, I’ll ask her to stay, too.”
“It’s up to you, bro.” Dan didn’t want to stick his nose in Sam’s life, but he couldn’t help but worry about his nephew and Sam’s business. He looked up. “Was it over the houses?”
Sam gave him a reluctant look. “We’ve wanted different things for a while now. I didn’t want to drag her into my stuff, and she didn’t want to hold me back. It’s all good. I, uh, I just miss coming home to Jake every day. It’s why I got him the phone, even though he still sprays the entire bathroom wall and floor,” he added with a tired smile.
The next logical question should have been, “Why the hell did you up and buy thirty-four houses, Sam?” But he knew he’d gotten all he’d get out of his brother for the moment.
Johnny slid back into the booth and placed a basket full of steak fries in the middle of the table. “
So, how long are you staying? You never said.”
Dan again spun the tray of beer. Sam wouldn’t ask for help. “I haven’t worked on a house since I paid off my student loans, but I’m getting tired of sitting on my ass all day. I’ll stick around till the Christmas Eve Festival if Sam throws enough work my way.”
“I can supervise four projects. I’ve got some major student loans I’ll need to pay off when I’m done with my PhD. And Dan can sell the Craftsman back to Holly and take on four, too.” Johnny leveled a steady gaze at Dan.
“No. I’ll take on four on top of the Craftman.”
“Why—”
Dan slid a red ale Johnny’s way and interrupted him, saying, “Let’s not do this right now, okay? I’ve had a long day and I’m tired.” Johnny looked like he wasn’t ready to let it go, but to his credit, he simply nodded and accepted the beer. Tension between them was the last thing he wanted, but Dan wasn’t ready to explain about the Craftsman.
Sam sat up straight and squared his shoulders. “You two forget I’m not asking you for help. I can handle it. I’m interviewing foremen this Monday, in fact.”
Dan shrugged one shoulder. “We know you can handle it. If I say I want to do it, it’s ’cause I want to do it.”
“And because we don’t mind making good money along the way,” Johnny added.
Dan lifted his beer to Johnny and grinned. “That’s always fun.”
Sam studied them for a long moment, his eyes keen. “If you guys really want in, I’ll take you.” He shifted in his seat and leaned in. “Here’s the deal. I need to get twelve out of the way over winter, sell them over spring, and I’ll be on my way. The salvaging side of the business is going well, and this’ll give me more inventory for that, too. And there’s another project I want to get my hands on, but I’ve still got some thinking to do on that one.”
Three months was enough time for Sam to find a way to juggle it all, with or without their help. But, different as they were, the three of them had always worked and played well together, and Dan knew their support would help erase some of the worry lines around Sam’s mouth and the tired look in his eyes. Between his business and his personal life, his brother had made some huge decisions lately and it couldn’t have been easy.
A screeching sound cut through the air, and they looked up to see Johnny’s oldest friend, Marty, onstage, holding a microphone.
“Okay everyone, give it up for Dark Monday!” he said. The crowd cheered.
“Marty plays?” Dan asked, wondering how he could’ve missed that growing up.
“No, Marty’s just introducing the band. He bought Huffy’s,” Johnny explained. “Thought you knew that.”
“I guess it never came up. Do you guys ever play here?” he asked next.
“Yeah, we do. Saturday night is open mic night, and Sam and I play about once every other month.”
“Open mic?” Dan looked around. The dim, rustic tavern had a warm and inviting atmosphere. There was a decent crowd, the band onstage was good, and the acoustics were excellent.
“Something always seems to be missing, though.” Johnny’s eyes lit up.
“Yeah, like what?” Dan raised an eyebrow.
A smile spread across Sam’s stubbled face. “Like a mean bass and a good set of vocals. Johnny can’t sing worth a damn. You know that.”
An old feeling worked its way through Dan. The idea of playing with his brothers again pumped a familiar buzz through his veins. “Hey, it’s why I’m here. Are we still going by Cursed Amadors?”
“The girls seem to like it.” Johnny grinned.
“I thought you were turning over a new leaf for this mystery girl of yours.” Sam smirked.
“I am. It doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy some harmless female attention now and then.”
“He’s so clueless, it would be funny if it weren’t so sad.” Dan shot Sam a telling look before turning to Johnny. “Doesn’t that psychology doctorate of yours offer any classes on the female psyche?”
“Why take the class when I can teach it?” Johnny winked. Dan shook his head and laughed before getting up to leave. Sam got up, too, and Johnny slid his apartment key over to Dan. “Make yourself at home. I’m gonna stick around till the end of this set.”
Dan took the key and dug his wallet out of his back pocket. It had been a long day, punctuated by a bizarre encounter and unexpected plans.
“Before I forget, let’s get back to the house you bought. I’m assuming you want to get it right?” Johnny looked up at him.
“Don’t we always get it right?”
“But you’re taking on a lot, on top of your day job, and I can save you some time.”
Dan looked up from his wallet.
“There’s this shop on Lower Hillside called Uncommon Scents. It’s next to the library. The owner’s name is Ms. Bell.” Johnny paused when Sam coughed up his beer. “Anyway,” he continued. “She’s a history buff and she digs up information on houses here during her free time. She mentioned she learned a few things about the Craftsman a while back, including its original colors. She might be able to tell you a lot about the home’s history. You know how potential buyers love hearing all that stuff.”
They did. And Dan had enough research to do for his real job. He didn’t know the shop, though. Probably hadn’t been around last time he’d been up. “Ms. Bell. Doesn’t ring a . . . bell.” He shook his head at the lame and unintended pun.
Johnny shot him a pained look. “Anyway, you wouldn’t know her. She set up shop a few years ago. Hangs out with Ruby, Rosa, and Sherry,” he went on, mentioning the elderly businesswomen who owned and ran the Gypsy Café and Bakery.
“I’ll stop by the shop first thing on Monday. Thanks,” Dan said, picturing an older woman who’d likely want to talk his ear off about her grandkids in exchange for the info. Still, if a history buff with too much time on her hands wanted to share what she’d found, he’d take it.
Sam walked him out, saying, “Speaking of Rosa, she said if you don’t let her read you those tarot cards of hers, she’ll whip your butt.” Dan laughed.
Moments later, he rolled out of the paved parking lot and onto the cobblestone street. He hit the right turn signal when he got to the corner of Main and Hillside. The mature oaks, maples, and catalpas lining the street had been there forever, but the sidewalks they’d lifted and cracked had been repaired. The rusted and peeling old-fashioned lampposts had been sanded and painted black.
A myriad of streams and creeks ran through town, and the many small bridges that crossed them had been painted bright red. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Fresh paint, old charm.
A white gazebo and a few wrought-iron benches now overlooked the five streams that cut through Star Springs Park. He, his brothers, and their friends used to compete to see who could jump the farthest across those streams.
Sam’s office was directly in front of the park, with Johnny’s living area on the second floor. Both had left a light on, but he drove on, wanting to see what else had changed in the town.
He made his way out of the downtown area and had to look twice when he caught sight of the old water tower. It had been painted in black and white spirals, with the words, WELCOME TO SPINNING HILLS, printed in red. His eyes widened. It looked good, but it could probably bring on a seizure if a person stared at it too long.
He drove south through the sloping, softly winding roads and rolling hills that had earned the town its name, surprised to see a few major Realtors had set up shop on outlying streets.
Spinning Hills was made up almost entirely of storybook-style homes. The Miami Valley gypsies brought the style over from Cotswold, England, over a hundred years before, when they’d chosen the area as their wintering place. Every schoolkid learned the drill in third grade. The town grew and the style persisted during the nineteen twenties, after the infamous Great Dayton Flood led people to look for higher ground.
French country, Tudor, Normandy, and Mediterranean bungalows and cotta
ges, both big and small, that looked as if they’d come out of a children’s fairy tale, lined most of the streets, though some streets looked more like a Grimm fairy tale brought to life.
Interesting architecture and a colorful history made Spinning Hills a magnet for tourists and a great place for niche businesses. But wanting to visit didn’t always equate with wanting to live there. The schools were good, but not great, and the houses were interesting, but old.
His brothers had told him things were looking up for both the Dayton region and Spinning Hills, though, and it seemed it wasn’t just hometown pride talking.
Even when the small town had been heading downhill, Dan had been intrigued by the blend of practicality and fantasy in each structure. He’d moved around and traveled the country a lot after law school, but he’d never seen a place quite like Spinning Hills.
He lowered his visor to peek at the old picture he kept there. It had been taken when Dan was eight, Sam six, and Johnny four. They were catapulting into the river and an old friend had taken the picture when all three of them were in midair.
Dan snapped the visor up and reviewed his new plan. He’d spend the weekend hanging out with his brothers and a few old friends. Monday morning he’d see Ms. Bell to review her research. He’d have a vision for the house by noon and full-fledged plans by evening. On Tuesday and Wednesday, he’d do the same for the other four houses. Despite the change in plans, the immediate future looked busy and uncomplicated enough to suit his needs.
CHAPTER 3
Holly climbed the steps of the steep-roofed, yellow- and green-trimmed stucco cottage that housed the studio portion of her business, opened the door, and breathed in. Stanley trotted in behind her and settled into his bed behind the counter. “Not all dreams are meant to come true, Stanley, but this one did.” His soft puppy gaze told her he was happy as long as she was.
She began arranging a new shipment of crystal bottles of all shapes and sizes along the glass bookshelves that lined the walls. Next, she rearranged her signature perfume oils. She’d had a fickle client come in last Friday and everything was out of place, but the combination of soft, pleasant scents filled her with peace and serenity.
