Yeah, he made it damn hard. “When I came out here to sit, I told myself it was just a house. I’ve put a lot of myself into other houses-it’s what makes the rehab worthwhile-and I’ve let them go. It’s just a house, wood and glass and pipes and wire, on a piece of ground.”
She looked down when he laid his hand over hers, when the gesture told her he understood. “Of course it’s not just a house, not to me. I don’t want to let it go, Ford. I’d never get it back, never get back what I’ve found if I let it go.”
She turned her hand over, laced her fingers with his. “Plus, I like the sex.”
“It can’t be overstated.”
“Okay then.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve got to get back. Get ready. Get started.”
“Let me get some shoes on. I’ll walk you home.”
MATT STOOD in the center of the master bath, hands on his hips, face grim. “I’m awful damn sorry about this, Cilla. I don’t know what gets into people, I swear I don’t. We’re going to fix that wall for you, don’t worry. And Stan’ll come back and do the tile. I can get one of my men to chip out what’s damaged in place, but it’d be better to leave the glass block for Stan. I’ll give him a call for you.”
“I’d appreciate that. I need to go pick up the replacement tile and block, some supplies. Arrange for a security system.”
“I hear that. People didn’t lock their doors half the time around here when I was a kid. Times change. Another damn shame when it comes to things like this. You said they busted out a pane in the back door? I’ll get somebody to replace that for you.”
“I’m going to order a new door, and a lock set for that and the front. The plywood’s okay for now. You’ll need to take down that drywall rather than try to repair it. There’s enough on site.”
“Sure there is. Anything else I can do, Cilla, you just let me know. Got the other bathroom up here, too?”
“Yeah. Got it good.”
“I guess we’d better take a look.”
They assessed damage, talked repairs. As she gathered her lists and checked on other areas of the project, crew offered sympathy, asked questions, expressed outrage and disgust. By the time she left, her ears were ringing from it, and with the more comforting sound of whirling drills and buzzing saws.
INEVITABLY, SHE HAD to explain to her usual consultant at the flooring center why she needed to buy considerable square footage of tile she’d already bought, as well as grout. It slowed the process, but Cilla supposed that, too, was inevitable. Even in L.A. she’d formed relationships with specific tile guys, lumber guys, appliance guys. It went with the trade, and good relationships paid off the time spent.
She ran into the same situation at the home supply store when she stopped in to buy the replacement sink and other items on her list. While she waited for the clerk to check stock, she cruised the faucets. Chrome, nickel, brass, copper. Brushed, satin, antiqued. Single handles, vessel style. Matching towel bars, robe hooks.
All the shapes, the textures, the tones, gave her the same rush of pleasure others might find browsing the glittery offerings in Tiffany’s.
Copper. Maybe she’d go with copper on her office bath. With a stone vessel-style sink and-
“Cilla?”
She broke off from her visualization to see Tom Morrow and Buddy coming down the aisle. “I thought that was you,” Tom said. “Buying or deciding?”
“Both, actually.”
“Same for me. I’m outfitting a spec out. Usually my bath and kitchen designer takes care of this, but she’s out on maternity leave. Plus, I like to get my hand in occasionally. You know how it is.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Got my consultant here,” he said with a wink. “Buddy’ll make sure I don’t go buying a center set when I need a wide, or vice versa.”
“You’ve done it before,” Buddy pointed out.
"And you never let me forget. I heard you ladies had a fine time on Saturday.”
“We did.”
“Cathy always says shopping’s her hobby. I’ve got golf, she’s got the mall and the outlets.”
“Don’t see the point in either.” Buddy shook his head. “Fishing’s got a point.”
“Excuse me.” The clerk strode up. “Everything’s in stock, Ms. McGowan. You got the last we have of the wall-hung sink.”
“What wall-hung?” Buddy wanted to know. “I’m plumbing for a pedestal in the third bath.”
“It’s a replacement. The sink you installed in the second-floor guest bath was damaged.”
If he’d been a rooster, Cilla thought, Buddy’s cockscomb would have quivered.
“How the hell did that happen? Nothing wrong with it when I put it in.”
Okay, Cilla thought, one more time. “I had a break-in Saturday. Some vandalism.”
“My God! Were you hurt?” Tom demanded.
“No, I wasn’t home. I was out with your wife and Patty and Angie.”
“They busted up a sink?” Buddy pulled off his cap to scratch his head. “What the hell for?”
“I couldn’t say. But both second-floor baths we’d finished took a hit. They used my sledge and pickax from the look of it, smashed a lot of tile, one of the walls, the sink, some glass block.”
“This is terrible. It’s not the sort of thing that happens around here. The police-”
“Are doing what they can,” she said to Tom. “So they tell me, anyway.” Since she wanted the word spread, she kept going. “I’ll be installing a security system.”
“Can’t blame you. I’m so sorry to hear this, Cilla.”
“Wouldn’t want my daughter living out that far on her own.” Buddy shrugged. “Just saying. Especially after what happened to Steve.”
“Bad things happen everywhere. I’ve got to get my supplies and finish my run. Good luck with the spec.”
“Cilla, if there’s anything we can do, Cathy or I, you just give a call. We’re a growing area, but that doesn’t mean we don’t take care of our own.”
“Thank you.”
It warmed her, and stayed warm inside her, even as her supplies were loaded, even as she drove away.
Our own.
EIGHTEEN
Cilla gave herself the pleasure of removing the old, battered doors with their worn or missing weather stripping, and installing their replacements. She salvaged the old, stored them in the barn.
You just never knew, to her mind, when you might need an old door.
She’d opted for mahogany-damn the budget-in an elegantly simple Craftman style. The three-over-three seeded glass panes on the entrance door would let in the light, and still afford some privacy.
Sucker fit, she thought with pleasure after one of the laborers helped her haul it into position. Fit like a fricking dream. She waited until she was alone to stroke her hands over the wood and purr, “Hello, gorgeous. You’re all mine now.” Humming under her breath, she went to work on the lock set.
She’d gone with the oil-rubbed bronze she’d chosen for other areas of the house and, as she began the install on the lock set, decided she’d made the perfect choice. The dark tones of the bronze showed off well against the subtle red hues in the mahogany.
“That’s a nice-looking door.”
She looked over her shoulder to see her father stepping out of his car. Cilla was so used to seeing him in what she thought of as his teacher clothes, it took her a minute to adjust her brain to the jeans, T-shirt and ball cap he wore.
“Curb appeal,” she called back.
“You’re certainly getting that.” He paused to look over the front lawns. The grass had been neatly mowed, with its bare patches resowed and the tender new shoots protected by a thin layer of straw. The plantings had begun there, too, with young azaleas and rhododendrons, a clutch of hydrangeas already heading up, a slim red maple with its leaves glowing in the sunlight.
“Still got some work, and I won’t put in the flower beds until next spring, unless I manage to put in some fall stuff. But it’s coming along.”