“He’s a librarian?”
“He’s the town librarian, he’s an archivist, and he’s the head of the local historical society. He knows a lot about the town, a lot about the house too. He even helped Aunt Maude get it listed on the historical register. That’s the only reason he’s so involved with this project—he needs to make sure that the changes that we make are within the time period of the home.”
“Hmmm.”
“He’s a total pain in the ass, but kind of—I don’t know, in a good way? I hate to admit it, but he’s had some good ideas.” God, he would just looooove to know I was saying such good things about him. “Oh, and you should see what we came up with for the front porch! Remember how I told you the floor was all rotted, how I went through it the first night? And then again another night?”
“You went through the front porch twice?” my father asked, looking surprised as he shot a glance toward my mother. She shushed him and waved for me to go on.
“Didn’t I tell you about the second time? Yeah—after Clark had to pull me up through the floorboards, he agreed that we needed to start with the porch. And he suggested restoring the old porch swing. Remember that, Mom?” I asked, grabbing for my phone.
“I think so, off to the left?” she asked, watching me carefully.
“Yep. Aunt Maude seemed to have used an entire roll of duct tape to hold it together. I’ve got a picture here somewhere,” I said, scrolling through my camera roll on my phone. “Yes, here we go! Can you believe how wretched this thing looks? But Clark knows a carpenter who does a lot of restoration work. He thinks that—”
“Clark again? Who is this guy?” my father asked, looking between the two of us.
“I have a pretty good idea,” my mom said, looking at the picture I was showing her. “Is that him?” she asked me.
“Huh? Oh yeah, that’s him.” The porch swing was in the center of the picture, but without realizing it I’d included Clark in the shot. Standing next to it, elbow patches large and in charge, hands on his hips as he wore an assured half grin. He’d thought he’d just won an argument about the status of the baluhwhozit. Little did he know that the longer I was in the house, the more inclined I was to keep it as original as I could. But what would be the fun in letting him know that?
I smiled in spite of myself, noticing the way the late-afternoon sun caught the planes of his face, how strong the jaw, how tousled the tie. Clark let loose a bit later in the day, literally loosening his tie as the day crept on.
“He’s a good-looking man,” my mom said, bringing me back from the little town of Mendocino, where the late-afternoon sun could be very illuminating.
“Yeah, I suppose he is. So annoying, but a pretty good guy.”
She nodded and patted my father’s hand. “Let’s let Vivvie worry about what’s happening with the house. Sounds like she’s got a pretty good handle on it.”
“If you need some help, Peanut, just let us know. Or maybe we should just plan on coming out there—don’t you think this is a lot to take on?” my father said, looking to my mother for support.
I braced myself, knowing I was going to have to fend them both off, but she surprised me when she shook her head.
“Vivvie’s got this. We’ll come out when everything is how you want it,” she told me with a wink.
“Wow. Okay, sounds good,” I said, eyes wide and disbelieving.
“Now, let’s talk about helping you pack up and move out of that apartment. If you don’t think you’re going to take much of your furniture, I was thinking that we could donate some of your things to the church. They need a couch for the Sunday school downstairs, and the women’s shelter is always looking for kitchenware. How about we start sorting through those things tomorrow?” My mom had that look on her face whenever she was starting a new project. That look always made me nervous.
“Sure. Let’s start tomorrow.” I nodded, sipping my coffee and looking at my father. He knew that look also, and to not mess with her. So a packing we will go . . .
My phone rang at 1:17 in the morning. One guess who was on the other end . . .
“Explain to me why no one in California can tell time. Is it the laid-back attitude? The sun shining too brightly to see your watch?” I growled.
“Vivian?”
“You called me, Clark. You don’t know who you’re talking to?”
“Let’s see . . . aggressive, sarcastic, an all-around pleasure to be with . . . Yeah, I know exactly who I called,” he said with a low chuckle.
“I’m sound asleep and you’re picking apart my delivery?” I yawned, sinking back and scrunching up my pillow under my head.
“Impossible woman,” he said, almost under his breath. “I was calling about the Legless Knight.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Do I sound like I’m kidding?”