Betty and Savannah arrived by ten, so Willow busied herself with tidying things up and rearranging. It was impressive how many things had already been sold. Hopefully they’d have the place nearly cleared out by the end of this sale—and hopefully with enough money to make a good dint in the cost of the improvements needed. Willow had already started to list her ideas for George’s house in a little notebook.
When her designer friend arrived, Willow was ready for her. She started by giving her a full tour of the house. “The kitchen is the biggest challenge.” She explained her vision for it. “And beyond that it’ll mostly be painting—light neutral tones to brighten and freshen the place up.”
“What about the woodwork? Will we be painting that?”
Willow considered this. “I think some of the worn pieces—like baseboard and window trim—might look fresher with some paint. But I think the stair banister and the doors and a few other carved pieces should remain natural wood.”
“A lot of people are painting all the woodwork in these old homes. It really gives them a more contemporary look.”
“I know.” Willow ran her hand over the dining room doors. “But I think these are too beautiful to cover.”
“So are you in charge of this project?” Donna removed her glasses to peer curiously at Willow.
“Well, yes.” Willow felt uncertain. Perhaps she’d been mistaken to ask Donna to consult on this.
“Are you and Mr. Emerson, uh, involved?”
“We are very good friends,” Willow said. “He asked me to handle this for him. He’s been a little under the weather.”
“So, if I agreed to take this on, I’d report to you? Does this mean you’ll oversee everything? The bathrooms, the finishing choices, the furnishings, everything?”
Willow frowned. “To be honest, I’m not sure that George is ready to redo everything in here, Donna. I’m afraid we could be jumping the gun. I only asked you up here as a friend . . . to talk about ideas.”
“It sounds like you already have your ideas.” Donna looked disappointed. “This house could be so beautiful—done right. If you just want to do it piecemeal, well, at least it will be an improvement. But nothing like it could be.”
“I know.” Willow nodded. “But, you see, George is very easily overwhelmed. And like I said, he’s not feeling too well right now. I think the best plan might be to proceed slowly.”
“Well, you’re a friend.” Donna smiled. “So how about if I give you the number of my favorite contractor. Cliff Grant has more than twenty years’ experience in this town.” She elbowed Willow. “And he’s single.”
“And he’s good at kitchen remodels?”
“The best. Anyway, you get the wheels rolling, and if George decides to take it to the next level, you give me a call. Okay?”
Willow smiled. “Yes. That sounds perfect. Thank you.”
“I’ve heard that George Emerson is a bit of a character.” Donna winked. “He’s been sitting on this gorgeous property for years. I’m impressed that you’ve gotten him to budge on it at all, Willow. Good luck.”
Willow thanked her, and then, feeling overwhelmed, she put Cliff Grant’s number in her phone while she walked Donna to the front door. Even though George had asked her to handle these improvements, Willow felt uneasy. Yet as she looked at the big old house, which was steadily emptying—and she knew the profits from sales were adding up—she felt eager to see this place taken to the next stage. Perhaps it would be just what George needed to begin feeling better. Maybe he’d wanted to do it himself, but had become overwhelmed while emptying the attic. To be honest, she felt her interest in working on the Rockwell Mansion was somewhat selfish too. It would be just plain fun! As an artist, Willow had always entertained an interest in interior design. She’d taken charge of all the improvements in their Sausalito home—and it had been a pure delight. Plus, knowing that the gallery was in good shape . . . well, why not?
So Willow went out in the front yard and called the contractor, explaining the project and asking for him to stop by at his convenience. But like Donna, when he heard it was the Rockwell Mansion, he was eager to come see it. “How about Monday morning?” he asked.
“That’d be great. Hopefully, we’ll have everything cleared out by then.” She explained about the estate sale, and he reassured her he could see past that. As she hung up, she decided that he sounded like a very nice man. And if he was as good as Donna had insinuated, this should be a piece of cake.
By late in the day Saturday, Willow could hardly believe how cleared out the Rockwell house had become. “It almost seems a waste of time to have the sale tomorrow,” she told Savannah as they were closing it down.
“But some people said they’re coming back,” Savannah said. “They expect everything to be half off.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Willow turned off the lights. “I forgot that your grandmother put that in the ad.”
“So I plan to be here,” Savannah assured her. “Collin said he was coming over to help too. Don’t tell him, but I’m going to ask him to go out with me afterward.”
Willow smiled. “Good for you.” She waved as Savannah got onto her bike, thanking her again for her help. Even though Savannah had been “paid” in the form of some collectibles, Willow felt like the girl’s contribution was probably worth more than the secondhand items she’d chosen. But she appeared to be enjoying herself. Not only that, she’d impressed Willow enough to secure a part-time job in the gallery this summer. Hopefully it wouldn’t go south the way it had with Marissa.
Willow wasn’t going to worry about that. Right now, she was more concerned about George. She hadn’t heard anything from Josie and hoped that didn’t mean that George had rejected her offer to help. Willow planned to drop by on her way home. If George had refused Josie’s assistance, Willow wasn’t opposed to forcing her way in and taking over. But when she got there, she was surprised to see that Josie was lounging on the sofa and George and Baxter were in his chair—watching a black-and-white movie on the old-fashioned television. And the house was a wreck.
“Sorry to barge in.” Willow tried not to stare at George’s wrinkled and stained shirt—or the pile of junk food wrappers splayed across the coffee table. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
George shrugged, but remained slouched in his chair. “I think I’m better. We’re watching Bright Eyes.”
Willow blinked at the old-fashioned TV. “Is that Shirley Temple?”
“Shhh!” Josie scowled at them.
“She’d never seen Shirley Temple before,” George whispered. “This is our third one. Do you want to sit down? It’s barely begun.”
“No, no, that’s okay.” Willow remained by the door. “I’m tired and in need of a good long shower.”
Josie shushed them again, so Willow gave a little finger wave and slipped out. But as she went out to her car, she felt dumbfounded. Not that Josie and George were watching Shirley Temple films together. That was rather sweet. But seeing George in those dirty clothes with messes all over the place . . . well, that was pretty concerning. Especially since she’d sent her daughter over there to help out. To be fair, Josie would never earn a Good Housekeeping Seal. Still, it was somewhat disturbing. It was almost as if George had simply given up.
But why?
Willow was just sweeping the worn wood floors in the spacious Rockwell living room when she heard someone at the front door. “It’s me—Cliff Grant,” a man called out. “The door was open so—”
“Yes, yes, please come in.” Willow hurried to the foyer and introduced herself. As she shook his hand, she felt pleasantly surprised to see that Cliff Grant was quite good-looking—tall, dark, and handsome. And hadn’t Donna mentioned that he was single? Willow guessed that he was probably in his forties—not that age differences had ever concerned her much.
“This is quite a place.” He gazed around the foyer.
“I really appreciate you coming on such short notice.”
&
nbsp; “No problem.” He gave the banister a firm shake, but it didn’t budge. “I’ve never been inside before, but I’ve always admired this house.”
“They call it the Rockwell Mansion,” she said. “But it’s not the largest house on the hill anymore. I think it’s just a little over four thousand square feet.”
He ran a hand along the wood wainscoting by the stairs. “Do you know when it was built?”
“Late 1800s.” She led him to the living room. “By the same family that started the Rockwell lumber mill.”
He looked at the dark wallpaper. “This looks almost as old as the house.”
“Yes, it’s pretty bad. We’re thinking it should be removed and the walls painted. And this baseboard too. And the wood floors need refinishing.” She explained her idea to preserve some of the original woodwork and doors, and he agreed it was a good plan, making notes as she led him to the dining room.
“I don’t like seeing the original character stripped from some of these old beauties,” he told her. “I understand the need for livability, but history should be respected. By the way, is this on the historic register?”
“No, although I’m sure it could be.”
“Well, that’s actually a relief when it comes to renovating. Less hoops for everyone to jump through.”
“Even though it’s not registered, it seems wise not to do the sorts of changes that would prohibit that in the future. Just one more reason to give it a light touch.”
“Yes, I’ve seen old homes that have been modernized to create great rooms, and then they’re listed for sale and the buyer wants everything back to the historic blueprint.”
She briefly described her vision for brightening up the dining room, then led him to the kitchen—where Cliff broke into laughter. “What the heck happened in here?”
She explained about George’s grandmother. “Apparently she wanted to lighten up and modernize the whole house, but her husband put his foot down. Except for in here. Mrs. Rockwell really went to town in this room.”
He picked up the blue wall phone. “Hello? The eighties are calling—they want their kitchen back.”
Willow chuckled. “I guess her husband was right to rein her in.”
Cliff opened a cupboard door, letting it close with a bang. “I have a cabinet guy who can make something that’s both functional and respectful of the era.”
“That sounds wonderful.” Willow explained her ideas for tall cabinets and soapstone or marble countertops. “And I think some sort of stone floor would be nice.”
“Nicer than this vinyl.” Cliff made more notes then turned to her. “So are you handling all the design decisions? Or hiring Donna for that?”
“Well, we don’t want to go all out at first,” she explained. “George Emerson is the owner and he’s, well, rather frugal. But I have an art background and some design experience, so he’s entrusted me with the decisions.”
Cliff looked more closely at her now. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but are you and George a couple?”
“No, no, we’re just good friends. I’m helping him with the house.”
“And I assume you own that new art gallery in town?”
“Yes. That’s mine.”
“Nice.” He nodded with appreciation. “Show me more of this place.”
She gave him the full tour, telling him generally what needed to be done, and he continued to take notes. Finally they were back in the foyer. “I’ll work up an estimate for you,” he told her. “In the meantime, you can select your cabinets and finishes and paint colors and all that. And it would help my painters if you came in here and actually marked, with painter’s tape, which wood surfaces you want left alone. Be very specific so there’s no chance for confusion.”
“Right. I can do that.” She pointed to some leftover piles of stuff. “And we’ll get all this cleared out—”
“I can have my demolition guys haul that out when they demo the kitchen. They’ll send anything worth recycling to the Habitat thrift store.”
“That’s wonderful.” She opened the doors to the conservatory. “This is the only room that probably doesn’t need anything done. All the glass in here is in fabulous shape. As far as I can see it’s never leaked. I’m using the space to store furnishings that I think can be reused after the house is updated.”
“Looks like a nice space.”
She closed the doors then led him to the second and third floors. “As you can see, it’s mostly about paint up here. The wood floors are in good shape.”
“Any updates in the bathrooms?” he asked.
“I know the tile and fixtures are old-fashioned, but they’re handsome and seem to work. For now, I think we just lighten the rooms with paint.”
She led him back down, wrapping up the tour.
“How about the exterior?” he asked as they went outside.
“Well, I’m not sure,” she confessed. “I do think the trim could use some paint. It looks like it’s crackling in spots.” As they went around the perimeter of the house, Cliff tested the bricks and a few other things, finally deciding that the wood trim was probably the only thing that really needed help right now. Willow expressed relief, admitting that George would probably be overwhelmed when he saw the bid.
“We’ll just stick to the basics,” he assured her. “I can probably get back to you in a couple of days.” He smiled. “Want me to drop it by your gallery?”
“Thank you.” She shook his hand again. “Any idea of when you can start?”
He scratched his head. “Well, if I thought the place was going to get really fixed up—I’d probably ask you about putting it in the Tour of Homes. That’s the second week of August. It’d be amazing to have a house like this on the tour.”
Willow was surprised. “You could have it done that soon?”
“Well, you’re not doing a whole lot here. I could probably move some things around in my schedule—I mean if we were going to include this on the tour. But the place would have to be really fixed up.”
“What do you mean by really fixed up?”
“You know, like a showplace. Furnishings and everything. I’ve never had a house of this caliber on the tour before. And I’d gladly pull out all the stops just to have my name on it.”
“What if I got it all staged and looking great?” Willow asked. “I could bring in art from my gallery, save back some interesting furnishings. And maybe a few other tricks to make it sparkle and shine.”
“Well, if you can do that, I’ll put it into full gear to get it done on time.” He frowned. “As long as my cabinet guy comes through. You better go talk to him ASAP.” He pulled a business card from his wallet and handed it to her. “If Ross knows it’s the Rockwell Mansion, and that it would be on the tour, he might make it happen.”
“This is exciting,” she told him. “I’ll do my best . . . if you will.”
“And if you folks are considering selling this place, it’d be a great opportunity to show it off.” He nodded toward the yard. “But the outdoor space should be spiffed up some too.”
Willow promised to discuss it with George, and Cliff promised to get back to her within twenty-four hours. This was all going much faster than she’d anticipated. But it would be worth the effort. The question was, how would George react? As she dialed George’s phone number, she prepared her speech.
It took a few minutes to convey the information, but to her relief—as well as her concern—George still sounded rather detached from the whole thing. “I trust you, Willow. Whatever it takes to get it fixed up and ready to sell. That’s fine. I appreciate the help.”
“But it might take more than the estate-sale money to cover the expenses. I don’t have the bid yet. I asked him to keep it minimal.”
“I have the funds needed for renovations,” he assured her in a somewhat flat tone. “And I want to pay you for your time too, Willow. This isn’t charity.”
“I understand, but I’m actually enjoying this, George. And I agree with
the contractor—it’d be fun to have your house on the Tour of Homes. And it could help if you decide to sell it.”
“Well, I suppose that’s a prudent plan. The house has sat idle for too long. As you mentioned, it’s been sad.”
Willow felt a bit guilty. She had called it sad. And now it appeared George was sad too. “How are you doing?” she asked quietly.
“I, uh, I’m not sure.”
“I suppose you haven’t heard back from the doctor yet?”
“No, nothing yet. He said the end of the week.”
“Well, don’t worry about your house, George. It’s getting the best help possible. I think you’re going to be impressed.”
“Yes . . . I’m sure.”
She talked a bit longer, but George sounded tired . . . or bored . . . or maybe just plain sick. She told him to take it easy, then hung up. Poor George.
twenty-six
Willow got thoroughly into the thick of renovations at the Rockwell Mansion. Not only did she love making the design decisions and putting together a plan with Ross, the cabinet maker, she was not opposed to rolling up her sleeves and helping with the manual labor. By the end of the week, she’d successfully removed wallpaper from the living room and foyer. “If I were to have a second career, I think it would be something like this,” she told Cliff as she turned off the steam machine. “It’s so fun watching this house coming back to life.” She pointed to the bare wall. “Even without paint, it looks so much lighter and brighter. Like the house is getting happier.”
He chuckled. “That’d be a good slogan for your new restoration company. Making homes happier.”
She nodded. “I like it.”
“I just stopped by to check on a couple of things. Are you taking a lunch break today?” He looked at his watch. “It’s past one.”
Courting Mr. Emerson Page 23
