Building Home

by Dee Ernst

  “Well, according to one of my more recently acquired sources, there’s an Amy McCann that’s about to make a very big play for a large parcel of land just north of here. If she gets it, the landscape could really change.”

  He must have been referring to the Coop. I wanted to question him further, but his cell phone rang.

  He glanced at it. “I really need to take this,” he muttered. He gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “Later, neighbor,” and walked away, across the street, cell phone to his ear.

  I went back to my lawn chair until lunchtime, waiting to see if Mike would appear. He didn’t, and I went home and ate two pints of ice cream for lunch.

  Tuesday morning I met my neighbor.

  I’d been curious about who lived in the tiny house next door, with a perfectly green lawn and carefully tended rose bushes. Tuesday morning, she was waiting for me at the end of my sidewalk, a small, gray-haired woman with very black skin and and eyes that glittered behind pink-framed glasses.

  She held out her hand. “I’m Ava Wilson. Most folks call me Miss Ava. Sorry it’s taken me so long to meet you, but I’ve been tending a sick grandchild. Welcome to Cape Edwards.”

  Her voice was clipped and precise, not at all the relaxed drawl I’d been hearing. I shook her hand, which was dry and firm and surprisingly strong for such a small woman. “Thank you. I’m Chris Polittano. You’re not from around here either, are you?”

  She smiled, showing teeth too perfect to be natural. She was dressed in a simple housedress of pale blue cotton and wore comfortable-looking shoes. “No. From Detroit. I’ve spent over thirty summers here and I never did pick up that accent.” She shook her head. “Not that I’d want to. Sometimes, I can hardly understand what these folks are saying. I’m living here year round now, so maybe I’ll finally start sounding like a native, but I doubt it.” She nodded toward the house. “I’m so glad you’re fixing the place up. It was quite lovely years ago. And an empty house is a bad neighbor.” She turned her head to look across the street. “I would have preferred that place stay empty, but more business will be good for the town. We need the dollars for our schools and roads, and I’ve been told it’s going to be quite nice when it’s all finished.”

  I smiled. “Yes. I’ve heard that too. I wonder, do you know who owns the lot on the other side of me? We’re trying to get permission to put some lumber and pallets of construction material on there. My back yard is tiny.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve never known who owned that, but you probably shouldn’t disturb anything over there. A Delmarva fox squirrel has made a nest in one of those trees, and I’m just hoping she stays.”

  “Aren’t squirrels kind of commonplace around here?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Not that squirrel. She’s special. I call her Bella. But please, don’t try to feed her.” She clasped her hands together and smiled gain. “Well, it was lovely meeting you. I’m not around much. I volunteer at the Nature Center and spend a lot of time with my church. But if you see me home, please come right up on the porch and we’ll have some tea. I’m not antisocial, I just forget myself sometimes. I’ll be eighty, and I can pretty much only think about one thing at a time.”

  I watched as she walked back around to her front gate and shut it behind her. She walked pretty quickly for someone going to be eighty.

  I looked over to the vacant lot in interest, expecting to see a flamboyant squirrel make an appearance, perhaps with a startling white stripe down it’s back. But the trees were silent. I set up my lawn chair, and I kept looking over to try to catch sight of my treasure of a squirrel, but no luck. The ones I did see looked pretty commonplace to me.

  Terri sent me a text on Wednesday telling me not to make any plans for the night, because it was Karen’s birthday, and all of her friends were going out to celebrate. I sighed as I read it. She and her friends were the only people in town I’d be making any plans with. Did she think I had a secret life somewhere, and that I’d be running off with anyone else?

  I’d been to the pier before. We usually drove there in Terri’s golf cart, which she’d been parking next to my car in her neighbor’s grassy yard. I took a quick shower when I got home, as did Terri, got the golf cart, picked up the birthday girl, Karen from her studio, and buzzed our way to the pier. It was barely a mile, so we were there plenty early, grabbed a long table, and bought beer and crabs. Karen was turning fifty-one. Her gray hair and wrinkled forehead had made me guess older. When I whispered my surprise to Terri, she nodded.

  “She’s into an all-natural lifestyle, which eliminates hair dye, wrinkle cream, and encourages long walks in the sun with minimal sunscreen.” Karen’s body, however, perfectly reflected that healthy lifestyle: she was toned and fit and looked amazing in everything I’d seen her wear. I felt a bit envious as I watched her devour cracked crab, corn on the cob, and a seemingly endless supply of biscuits. Maybe there was something to all that yoga after all?

  Karen put down her corn and jumped up, waving.

  “Here we are!” She called. I looked up and saw a couple coming toward us. The man looked familiar, as did the woman. Was that Jenna?

  “She looks stunning,” I whispered to Terri, who nodded, her eyes wide. Jenna wore a dark green slip dress that floated over her slender body. Her hair was down and fell in soft curls down her back, and her eyes sparkled.

  “Craig, wow, hi! Thanks for coming!” Karen hugged Jenna, then Craig “What’s the deal?” She teased him. “I never see you outside of Sam’s.”

  “Special occasion,” he said. “It’s not every day you have a birthday. How could I resist?”

  Karen looked surprised at his response, but before I could poke Terri for an explanation, he waved at us from across the table.

  “Ladies. How’s the house coming along?”

  I shook my head. “I hate the smells. Everything smells. Fresh-cut lumber, drywall goop, heavy-duty wood glue, that stuff they use when they’re soldering pipes…this experience has introduced me to an entirely new range of bad smells that I never knew existed.”

  Terri leaned toward Craig. “I love the smell of fresh-cut lumber.”

  He grinned. “Me too. What are you eating? It looks delicious.”

  Karen motioned with her hands. “No table service here. Just go up to the counter and order.”

  Craig turned to Jenna. “Come with? I have a feeling I’m going to need a pro.”

  I watched as they went up to the counter. “What gives?” I asked Terri.

  She shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. That’s the most I’ve heard him say at one time since he got here. He was practically charming.”

  Karen leaned over Terri to whisper. “And you cannot tell me that Jenna looks that good just because she likes the band.”

  I looked round. I’d noticed the stage, and now saw people fiddling with the equipment. “Music?”

  Terri nodded. “Oh, yeah. Michigan Zydeco. They are so good. I tried to invite Steve out here tonight, but he said he was working. What’s going on over there that he’s staying this late?”

  I shrugged. The crew left at six every day that I had stayed that late, and Steve had gone with the rest of them. “He’s not working at my house,” I told her.

  Across from us, at the end of the table, sat Stella Blount with a striking woman with hair in dreadlocks, wearing a bright coral shift that glowed against her black skin. I waved at Stella, and she grinned.

  Jenna and Craig came back, and Jenna went over to talk to Stella as Craig sat back on his stool, his eyes following Jenna.

  “How are your girls liking summer here on the peninsula?” Terri asked him.

  His face lit up. “They’re having a great time. That recreational program they have here for the kids is a lifesaver. And Jenna is great, just great with them. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  He glanced at me and smiled, but I suddenly knew that Terri had been right about him. This man was definitely taken.

  I nudged Kare
n. “Do you know the Coop?”

  She frowned. “That old place up of Rt. 31? What about it?”

  “Do you know if it’s for sale?”

  She shook her head.

  I looked at Terri, who shrugged. “That piece of gossip has not made it to the post office. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing, but Mike McCann’s ex-wife may be buying it.” I tried to keep my voice casual. “Do you know her?”

  Terri shook her head. “Not at all. But I do know her reputation. She’s very successful and depending on who you talk to, she’s successful because she’s a brilliant businesswoman, or because she’s a wicked viper who goes after her competitors with a machete and no conscience.”

  Karen snorted. “Men will always say that about a successful woman.”

  Craig shook his head, laughing. “Not all men. I, for instance, have only the utmost respect and appreciation for most of the working women I know. Jenna is competent to the extreme, Stella is a brilliant salesperson, and Glory Rambeau could, without a doubt, run this whole country with one hand tied behind her back.”

  “Who’s Glory?” I asked.

  Terri grinned. “The chef at Sam’s on Main, and Craig here is right about her. And I hear nothing but good things about Dr. French down there,” she said, nodding to the other end of the table. “But when it comes to Amy…”

  “Commercial real estate is tough,” I said. “I know that Daniel had to work his ass off. He’s the one that mentioned Amy was going after something big, and I was just curious. I love the Coop.”

  Terri leaned in. “Chris here was practically adopted by those two old ladies.”

  Karen raised an eyebrow. “Connie and Celeste?”

  I shrugged. “It’s an Italian thing. They fed me and we bonded for life. They’re just so sweet, and Connie is in a nursing home now and I guess they really need the money.”

  Craig had been playing with his empty cup when a curvy blond, who looked older after a second look, grabbed his hand and pulled him on the dance floor. Craig may have been taken, but apparently not everyone had gotten the memo.

  Terri nudged me as I watched him go up to the dance floor. “Ask Marie about the Coop,” she said in my ear. “She hears all sorts of things.”

  I nodded, got up and moved to the other end of the table.

  Marie Wu was sitting with Stella Blount and Dara French. I crouched down beside her and tried to talk above the music.

  “Have you heard anything about a sale of the Coop?” I asked her.

  She frowned, then shook her head. “I know Celeste is probably hurting for money, but…” She pulled out her phone and hit a few keys. “I just gave myself a reminder. I’ll check with a friend of mine in the county office and see if there’s been any activity around the place. Usually, if someone is interested in a piece of property that’s not on the market, they check tax records, liens, that sort of stuff.”

  I smiled and tried to talk over the music. “Thanks.”

  I went back to my seat and watched the dancers. At one point, Craig and Jenna were dancing together, a sweet, slow dance, and there was no chance of even a sliver of moonlight slipping between them. How nice, I thought. They fit together so nice. I wished I had someone who I fit together that well with. I suddenly pictured Mike McCann and me, standing in the moonlight, arms around each other, our lips almost touching…

  I took a gulp of cold water. The picture was still there. Maybe if I dumped the whole thing, ice and all, over my head?

  I had a feeling it was going to take more than that to get Mike out of my head.

  Chapter Four

  The next morning on my way down to the house, I saw Jenna come flying out of Sam’s on Main. She knocked over a woman and her kids, sending beach toys across the sidewalk. She fumbled to pick them up and I hung back. She was obviously upset, and I didn’t feel like I knew her well enough to try to intervene. I hurried down the sidewalk as she crossed the street at a run and got into her Jeep.

  Maybe I’d been wrong about the night before. Maybe she and Craig didn’t fit so well together after all.

  It was a fun night, and I was careful to drink lots of water instead of beer, and completely stayed away from the tequila. I had given myself a bit of a pep talk at one point while in the ladies room, then made myself go on to the dance floor. Its not that I didn’t like to dance, I’d just always been afraid I’d make a fool of myself. But I told myself it was all part of my new take-a-chance outlook, and I’d had fun. I’d even learned to flatfoot, which didn’t require too much effort, just coordination.

  As I walked down to the house, I thought again about some kind of job. What, exactly, was I going to do with myself once the house was finished? I’d gotten my first job at sixteen and had been working ever since. I waited tables on the weekends during college, spent the summers back in Rehoboth as a lifeguard, and worked a few boring but educational office jobs before settling into real estate. Setting up another real estate office here looked like it would be difficult with all the competition. I hated the nine-to-five office drill. I wondered what the demand was for a fifty-year-old lifeguard.

  When I got to the house, the front porch was missing. Not the whole thing, but the steps, the floorboards and all the columns had been replaced by four-by-fours.

  I went through the empty lot around to the side of the house, looking, as I usually did, for the super-squirrel, Bella. This time, I saw her. She was larger than the other gray squirrels, and much lighter, her tail as long as her body. She was in the weeds and looked up at me. I swear she winked before scurrying up the trunk of a pine tree.

  I saw the new side door had been roughed in, with a makeshift ramp going up. I gingerly stepped up and went in.

  Through the forest of beams and uprights, I could see Steve and a half-dozen men crowded in a corner where I knew my kitchen was going to be. Now that there was a floor, I quietly made my way over.

  I cleared my throat. “Hey, guys. I thought today I’d start helping out a bit. You know…a little nailing, a bit of carrying stuff around, just helping.”

  Tyler, Steve’s foreman, made a very rude noise, then stopped abruptly as Steve shot him a look.

  “Well, ma’am we could sure use the help.” Tyler said. He was young. In fact, he was about fourteen in my mind, but I knew that couldn’t be his real age.

  Steve’s mouth twitched. “We’re still at a stage where there’s a lot of heavy lifting. But these boys have it all under control. How about a road trip? Have you picked out your countertop yet?”

  I shook my head. I had looked forward to doing some actual work, but given the option of shopping… “Nope. But don’t we need to match it to the cabinets?”

  Steve nodded and took me by the arm, leading me away from his crew. “I have a cabinet sample. They sent it over as soon as the order was placed, so we can take it with us.”

  I twisted around to try to get one last look at the crew. “Are you sure I can’t help?”

  We went down the ramp and he opened the passenger-side door of his truck. “We’re good. Hop in.”

  We went north, and after the first three minutes, Steve started talking. A lot. He talked about what was going on with the house, a problem with the porch foundation, what was going on across the street. He was a good storyteller, I’ll give him that, but it was very much a monologue. I managed to get in a few questions, but that was it.

  Picking out a countertop was just as excruciating as picking out the cabinets, and when the salesperson then directed us to the backsplash, I almost burst into tears. Steve smoothly took control, pulled out three options, briefly gave me the pros and cons of each, and five minutes later, we were done. I deliberately chose something a little bit different from the other samples, a quirky hexagonal tile with a bit of metallic shimmer. I was still making the conscious effort to step out of my comfort zone, and I found this decision didn’t leave me feeling a though I’d made some dreadful mistake. I was getting better at this, I thought as we drov
e back down to Cape Edwards.

  “How about lunch?” Steve suddenly suggested. It was barely noon, but I nodded.

  “Sure. That would be nice.”

  We drove past Cape Edwards to the very tip of the peninsula, and he turned the truck in to a tiny place, right on the water. It looked like the kind of place local talent met to discuss the best place to bury a body.

  “It’s not crowded,” I said. The tourists were probably afraid to enter.

  Steve held open the door. “Never is. It’s a local place.”

  I walked into a blast of freezing air. It was a simple setup: a long bar and a dozen tables by the window. Outside, I could see a deck and more tables.

  “Drink?” Steve asked.

  “No, thanks. Just water.”

  Steve nodded at the bartender. “Water and a Bud.” He reached across the bar and grabbed a few laminated menus, then motioned for me to go outside.

  The sun was hot, so we settled under a faded umbrella. The menus leaned heavily toward fried fish. A young kid, probably barely old enough to be serving beer, brought our drinks.

  “Steve,” he muttered in greeting.

  “Hey Chuck,” Steve said back. “I’ll have the platter. Blue cheese. Tartar.” He handed the menu to the kid, who didn’t write anything down, just looked at me.

  “Ah,” I scanned the menu again. Was everything fried? “Crab cake sandwich, please.”

  He took my menu. “Salad?”

  “Ah, sure.”

  Pause. “Dressing?”

  “Oh. French.”

  Another pause. “Tartar sauce or cocktail?”

  “Tarter. Thanks.” Anything else I was supposed to automatically know?

  Chuck moved away.

  “So, I guess you’re a regular?” I asked Steve.

  He nodded and took a long pull on his bottle of beer. Apparently, mugs were not an option. “Yeah. Been coming here since I was a kid.” He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head and stared at me for a moment. “I kinda monopolized the conversation on the way down here,” he said. “Sorry about that. I like to talk about my work.”