“An estate sale at the Rockwell Mansion?” Betty said with enthusiasm. “How exciting. When do you think you’ll have it?”
“Well, I’m up here right now trying to organize, but it’s a bit chaotic. I’ve enlisted my kids to help. Hopefully for the next couple of days.”
“My granddaughter, Savannah, is staying with me this summer—and complaining of boredom. Perhaps she and I could come over to help. I know I’d love to get a peek at the place. I might even be in the market for a few things myself.”
Willow arranged for them to come on Tuesday afternoon. “That’ll give us a chance to bring some order to the place. It’s on the verge of dangerous right now.”
“When do you expect to be ready for the sale?” Betty asked.
“To be honest, I can’t devote a whole lot of time to this project,” Willow told her. “I’d sort of like to have the sale as soon as possible.”
“Next weekend?” Betty asked. “There are a number of sales in town. You could probably piggyback on the traffic. If you like, I could get you an ad in the newspaper and onto Craigslist and whatnot.”
“That’d be wonderful, Betty. And good motivation for us to get it all ready in time.” Willow glanced around the foyer, wondering if next weekend was too soon. Then she remembered the desperation on George’s face. Perhaps sooner was better.
As she began to sift and sort and move things about, she wondered if George was going to regret his decision to get rid of everything. Surely some of these things had sentimental value. She went into the living room, spying the Danish Modern furniture pushed way to the back of the room. George had appeared to like those pieces, even if they didn’t quite go with all the dark floors and woodwork and heavy drapes. If this house was lightened up some, they might possibly work well in it.
Willow made an executive decision. As George’s “trusted friend,” she would attempt to save the items that looked like they might still work in this house . . . as well as anything, like the family photos, that had sentimental value. She would find a large room where they could all be safely stored. Then if George didn’t want them, they wouldn’t be difficult to be rid of. In fact, Willow would happily purchase the Danish Modern pieces from him. She still had one apartment to restore and furnish as a rental.
By Sunday evening, after just one relatively short squabble, Collin and Josie had managed to get the rest of the attic emptied, and the “blueprint” that Willow had created for the estate sale was slowly shaping up. Although there was still much to be done, the place was beginning to show signs of order, and Willow knew it was quitting time.
“How about pizza?” Willow asked after Collin and Josie set a bureau in the large downstairs master bedroom where they were putting all the bedroom pieces.
“Sounds good to me.” Josie went over to the corner where George had started setting items aside for her. “Do I really get to keep all these?” she asked Willow.
“George said they were for you. You can take some now and more tomorrow.”
“Cool.” Josie picked up a small wooden chair. “I can’t wait to hit this with paint.”
“Does Mr. Emerson really want to get rid of everything?” Collin asked as Willow locked the front door.
“He said he does. But I think he’s stressed. I want us to go over everything carefully,” she told them. “If you see something that you think he might regret letting go, we’ll just set it in the conservatory for now.”
By the next morning, George felt guilty for having allowed Willow to take over for him at his grandparents’ house. But it was almost as if he had no choice. It felt as if someone had pulled the plug on him. Even as he ate a bowl of cold cereal, the simple weight of lifting his spoon felt exhausting. After he rinsed his bowl, leaving it unwashed in the sink, he sat down in his easy chair and, with Baxter snuggled in his lap, fell promptly asleep. He didn’t wake up until eleven.
As he puttered around his house, forcing himself to wash his breakfast things, George wondered if he was seriously ill . . . possibly dying. His last annual checkup hadn’t been quite a year ago, but there had been no concerns. The doctor had proclaimed George in “excellent health.” Even so, George called to schedule another checkup for as soon as possible. After the phone call, he felt exhausted again. So he went outside to his hammock. He picked up his self-help book and read, for what must’ve been the fourth time, the first chapter—then took another nap.
When George woke up, he considered calling Willow to see how things were going. But the truth was, he did not want to know. If she had changed her mind—realizing it was too much to take on—he didn’t even care. He would simply call in some sort of removal service to clear it all out. Maybe they’d do it in exchange for everything that needed to be taken away.
By the time George went to bed on Monday night, he told himself that he’d check on Willow the next day. After all, it was irresponsible of him to just abandon the process that he’d begun. Except that every step of the way had been excruciatingly painful. Seeing old pieces of his life—his brother’s life, his mother’s life, his grandparents’ lives, and even the ancestors that he’d never known—it had all taken its toll on him. As if it had drained him completely and now he was bone-dry and a summer wind could come along and just blow him away. He truly believed his only escape, the only way to survive this ordeal, was to get every last thing out of that house. Like an exorcism of sorts. But he hadn’t the strength to do it.
On Tuesday morning, George didn’t feel any different. He still felt drained and hopeless. In fact, it was almost as if he was now shackled to his house. To step out of his little bungalow would surely invite calamity. Perhaps his heart would give out completely. He picked up the phone several times throughout the day, thinking he would call Willow and ask how it was going. But then he would set the receiver back down again. It was just too much. Too hard. Too painful. Perhaps tomorrow would be better.
twenty-four
Although Willow was somewhat relieved that George continued to keep a low profile while they sifted and sorted through several generations of accumulation, she felt a bit of concern as well. It didn’t seem like him to just let this all go and not even show up and inquire how it was going. She’d known he was stressed and tired, but he’d had three days to recuperate by now. As she carried a cardboard box of smelly old clothes out to the Dumpster that Betty had suggested was necessary for those items that no one in their right mind could honestly want, Willow considered calling George and inviting him to come see their progress. Really, he should be relieved and impressed to see what they’d accomplished in just a few days.
Betty’s granddaughter, Savannah, was a real godsend. Energetic and smart about antiques and collectibles, the nineteen-year-old girl had even managed to turn Collin’s head with her good-natured teasing and flirting. Or at least she’d distracted him from his disturbing obsession over Marissa. Savannah had spent most of Monday and Tuesday here. Willow wondered if it was due to Collin. But he was working at the bookstore on Wednesday and Savannah still showed up.
“I want to have my own resale business someday,” she told Willow as they cleaned and priced miscellaneous kitchen items, setting them out on tables and counters for the sale. “If I thought I was closer to setting up my own shop, I’d probably want to keep a lot of this stuff. But I have to finish school first.” She held up a seventies Corning Ware casserole. “Besides, I know that you can find this stuff at estate sales all over the country—and who knows what will be hot by then?”
“You’re a wise young woman.”
“But I did have some good finds,” Savannah reminded her. “You’re sure that Mr. Emerson won’t mind?”
“He said he wanted everything gone,” Willow told her. “And for the work you’ve done, it sounds like a fair payment. But just to be safe, I plan to check with him this evening.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re saving a few things for him.” Savannah set an old Crock-Pot on the kitchen table. “Just in case he c
hanges his mind. All that Scandinavian furniture you stashed in the conservatory is so cool. I’d love to keep that myself. Well, if I had a place to store it.”
“Where do these go?” Josie came into the kitchen with a box of the photographs from the stairway wall. “Just so you know, the conservatory is pretty full.”
“Put them in my SUV,” Willow told her. “I’m hoping George will want to hang some in his bungalow. He’s got a lot of bare walls.” Willow had already stashed some of the more personal items from George’s and Alex’s childhood bedrooms in the attic, including an old violin they’d found in George’s room and a guitar in Alex’s. Then, worried that some treasures could’ve still been missed, she’d asked Collin to carefully go through both rooms, salvaging any items that he felt that George might want saved. From what she could see, Collin had done an excellent job too. Several interesting boxes were stored in the attic with “save for George” written on them. All in all, they were in good shape for the estate sale, which would run Friday through the weekend. But first, Willow wanted to speak to George.
After Savannah and Josie left, and Willow was turning off the lights and locking the doors, she decided it was time to pay George a little visit. She felt slightly irked that he’d remained away for this long. And slightly guilty that she hadn’t attempted to call him before now. Anyway, it was time to talk. She would use the delivery of the photographs as her excuse to invade his space.
George looked somewhat pale as he opened his front door. Willow studied him for a moment, then, while carrying the box of photos inside, she inquired about his health.
“The truth is I’ve been a little under the weather,” he said quietly.
She set down the box and turned to look more closely at him. He really did have a wan look about him. “Have you been to the doctor?”
“I have an appointment on Friday afternoon.”
“Oh?” She pushed a loose strand of hair away from her forehead.
He looked down at the box. “What’s that?”
“Those old black-and-white photos that your grandmother took. You know, from the stairway.” She pulled out a photo of Alex and George. “I thought you might like these here in your bungalow.”
He took the photo from her, gazing at it with a hard-to-read expression. “Thank you.” He set it on the coffee table next to the vase and some rather wilted-looking sunflowers.
“I think these are ready to toss.” She picked up the vase, carrying it to the kitchen where she tossed the flowers into the trash, but she was surprised to see the sink full of dirty dishes. Without commenting on this, she rinsed the vase and set it aside.
“I—uh—I’ve gotten behind on my daily chores,” George said with obvious embarrassment.
“Well, you’re not feeling well.” She resisted the urge to touch his forehead. “I’m glad you’re going to the doctor.” She gave him a weak smile. “I also wanted to let you know that we’re almost ready for the estate sale. Now, don’t worry, you don’t need to lift a finger. It’s all organized and I’ve got people set up to help and—”
“I’ll gladly pay them.”
“That’s not necessary, George. But I do want to be sure you’re on board with the way you can recompense them.” She quickly explained how Savannah and Betty had picked out a few things for compensation and George readily agreed. “Josie is delighted with the pieces you saved for her. And Collin has set aside a bunch of Audubon and nature books that he’d like to keep. But if you don’t agree—”
“He’s welcome to any of the books,” George said quickly. “I already have all the books I want here.” He nodded to his cabinet.
“So you’re really certain that you want the house completely cleared out?” she asked.
He simply nodded.
Willow wanted to ask him if he was dying, but couldn’t think of a polite way to say it. “Do you think you’ll sell the house?”
He shrugged. “I really don’t know.”
“If you were to sell it,” she said tentatively, “do you think it would be worthwhile to freshen it up some? Perhaps some lighter paint? Remove some of the old, dark wallpaper? After spending so much time there these past few days, I think there are some ways the place could really be brought back to life. And I’m sure you’d get a better price for it.”
“It is very dark, isn’t it?” He frowned. “My grandmother used to always say that very thing. But my grandfather grew up in the house and didn’t see the need to change anything.”
“I have a designer friend—a customer at the gallery,” Willow said. “Donna’s got excellent taste. She might be able to give you some suggestions. I could give her a call if you like.”
“Sure. That’s a good idea.” George sat down on the sofa with a deep sigh.
“Well, I can see you’re not feeling too well.” Willow bent down to give Baxter a couple of good strokes. “Baxter, you take good care of your master now.” She glanced up at George. “Is there anything I can do to help? Wash your dishes or—”
“No, no, you’ve done enough, Willow.” He waved a hand. “I think I just need to rest some . . . for the time being. I’ll see what the doctor says on Friday.”
“Let me know how that goes.” She went to the door. “And don’t worry about the estate sale.” She smiled. “Maybe we’ll make enough to cover the expenses for some renovations at your grandparents’ house.”
George looked doubtful. “Just getting things cleared out is worth a lot.”
Willow told him to take it easy then let herself out. But as she drove home, she felt concerned. George did not look well. And having seen Asher going downhill after his pancreatic cancer diagnosis, Willow wondered if she was about to go through something like that again. Could she take it? She felt unsure. And yet . . . George was so alone.
twenty-five
Willow didn’t get a chance to talk to George again until Friday evening. Instead of just popping in on him, she decided to call. That would probably be less stressful for him. “How was your doctor’s appointment?” she asked gently.
“I’m not sure,” he said in a weary tone. “He didn’t find anything specifically wrong with me, but he took a lot of blood tests and whatnot. I suppose I won’t hear about the results for a week or so.”
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“About the same.” He let out a low sigh that reminded her of Eeyore.
“I was thinking of sending Josie over to give you a hand.”
“No need for that.”
“Well, she might like to. Anyway, I wanted to let you know the estate sale went very well today. I honestly think you’ll make enough to cover some of the renovations at the house. Also, I spoke to my friend Donna—the designer I told you about. She would absolutely love to get her hands on your house. She wants to pop in tomorrow to look around. During the sale. Do you mind?”
“No, no . . . that’s probably a good plan. It’s sensible to have some improvements made. I’m afraid I’ve been negligent.”
“Not really. The house is in good, solid shape, George. You’ve maintained it well. It simply needs some updates to bring it into the current millennium.”
“Well, I did like your suggestions for the kitchen renovation. Perhaps you could tell your friend Donna your ideas. And I agree it needs some lightening up in the other rooms. Perhaps you could communicate that to Donna for me. If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Not at all,” she assured him. “I’m happy to help.”
“You’re a good friend.” He sounded weary . . . and sad.
“Well, I won’t keep you. I hope you’re eating healthy and taking good care of yourself.”
“The doctor suggested some vitamin supplements. I picked them up on my way home.”
“Well, let me know if you need anything. And take care to get better,” she said brightly. But as she hung up, she wondered. Was George seriously ill? She wanted to be a good friend to him . . . but it scared her too. What if whatever he had was ter
minal? It was painful to help someone who was dying. She wasn’t sure she could take it again. But she was helping him with his house. And it hadn’t been easy neglecting the gallery this week. At least she had a full crew of employees now—and sales were picking up. And Savannah, who had shown excellent people skills at the estate sale, had even expressed interest in some part-time work at the gallery. Naturally, it had made Josie a bit jealous. But like Willow had reassured her, Josie was an artist, not a salesperson.
On Saturday morning as they drove over to the estate sale, Willow tried to convince Josie that the best way to help George might be to pay him a visit. “He sounded very down last night,” Willow explained. “And he might even need help with his housework.”
“Is he really sick?” Josie frowned. “Like contagious?”
“I’m not sure what’s wrong exactly, but he’s definitely not himself. I doubt that it’s contagious. But I thought maybe you could pick him up some chicken stock at the natural food store. It’s made the old-fashioned way and is supposed to be really good for whatever ails you.” She parked her car then handed Josie some money. “You go ahead and heat up the stock and insist he have some.”
“You really think he’ll do what I say?” Josie looked doubtful as they got out of the car. “He can be pretty stubborn.”
“If he’s feeling as bad as he sounds, I think it’s worth a try.”
“Okay.” Josie pocketed the cash.
“Try to cheer him up,” Willow said as she unlocked the front door of the Rockwell house. “You know, he’s got a bunch of really good old movies. Maybe you could ask to watch some with him.”
“That’s a lot to expect, Mom. It’s not like I’m a miracle worker.”
Willow smiled. “Just do your best.” As Willow went inside the house, she wondered about George’s recent disconnect with this place. It was as if he’d handed it over to her to manage. But if he was seriously ill, that probably made sense. He might be concerned about wrapping up his affairs. Of course, the thought of this simply filled her with fresh dread. But customers began to trickle in and, since she was the only one there to assist them, she had little time to fret about George.
Courting Mr. Emerson Page 22
