“She’ll be fine.”
The dog rested her head on the dash, sent Naomi a soulful look.
“I like dogs. You can bring her if you want.”
“Thanks. She’s a good dog, used to job sites. Come on, Molly!”
The dog leaped straight out of the window, landed neat as a gymnast, then pranced over to sniff Naomi’s boots.
“Nice jump, pretty girl.” When Naomi stroked Molly’s head, the dog did a full-body wag.
“Maybe you can give me an idea what you’re looking to do.”
“Bring it into the twenty-first century. I don’t mean the look,” Naomi added. “But the plumbing, the lighting, the kitchen, bathrooms. I’m hoping a lot of it’s cosmetic,” she said as they started inside. “I can paint and handle simple DIY, but there’s a lot of clunking and hissing when you use the water. And I don’t know if it’s safe to use any of the fireplaces. I considered tackling the floors myself—refinishing—but realize that would probably take me two or three years.”
“Windows?”
“What about them?”
“Replacing them with double-paned, low-E glass, that’s going to be more energy efficient, and while it costs now, it saves you in utility bills. It gets drafty in here during the winter.”
“That can go on the list, and we’ll see.”
“I’m going to want to take a look at the wiring, make sure it’s safe and up to code. We can look at the chimneys, make sure you’re good there. You want to keep them wood burning?”
“I hadn’t thought about it.”
The dog wandered around, sniffing, exploring. It struck Naomi that Kevin did nearly the same.
“You’ve got some fireplaces upstairs, right? If you don’t want to haul wood upstairs, you could think about gas logs on the second floor.”
“That is a thought—cleaner.”
“You thinking of a B-and-B?”
“No, I’m not. Not right now.”
He nodded, made notes, muttered a little to himself as they toured the first floor. When they came to the kitchen, he took his cap off, scratched his head, fixed it back on again.
“I’m going to tell you straight, this kitchen’s a pure gut job.”
“If you’d said different, I’d wonder why everybody I asked recommended you.”
“All right then. Now I’m betting the hardwood runs right on through, under this ugly-ass linoleum.”
“Really? Do you think so?” The idea balanced out against the notion of needing to replace a zillion windows. “Can we check?”
“If you don’t mind me messing up a corner.”
“You can’t make ugly-ass more ugly.”
He chose a corner, pried it up with his own pocketknife. “Oh yeah, got your ponderosa pine.”
“Hot damn. Take this crap up, sand, refinish, seal, right?”
“That’s what I’d do.”
“That’s what I want.”
“All right then.” With his sunglasses hooked on the breast pocket of his T-shirt, Kevin ran steady hazel eyes over the space. “I can work up a couple designs for you in here.”
“I’ll take a stab at it. I haven’t designed a kitchen, but I’ve shot plenty of them. Photography,” she explained. “For catalogs, websites, stock photos.” Hands on hips, she walked the room, imagined it down to the bare walls and floor.
“It’s roomy, and that’s a plus. I’d want an island, good size, for prep and for eating. I don’t want sleek, but I don’t want country either. More contemporary rustic, so dark cabinets, glass-fronted, go light on the countertops, figure out an interesting backsplash, and have fun with the lighting. There’s room for double wall ovens there—I don’t know what I’ll do with double ovens, but my uncles swear by them. Gas cooktop and a snappy exhaust—like a focal point. Farm sink under that window, and that bathroom’s awkward anyway. Take that out, make it a walk-in pantry. And get rid of this poky little back door. Open it up to that deck, that view. Big-ass double doors—full glass, no panes.”
He’d been making notes, nodding, but looked up now.
“Ms. Carson?”
“Naomi.”
“Naomi. I love my wife.”
She sent him a careful smile as she turned. “That’s good.”
“I fell for her when I was sixteen, and didn’t get up the courage to ask her out for nearly a year. I might still be thinking about kissing her for the first time if she hadn’t taken that bull by the horns, so to speak. I was twenty-three when we got married—she took that over, too, or I’d be working up the nerve to ask her. We got two kids.”
“Congratulations.”
“I’m just saying I love my wife, and I tend to move slow in some areas. But if you and I had a longer acquaintance I’d kiss you right on the mouth.”
“Should I anticipate that for later?”
He grinned again. “It could happen if you keep realizing my hopes and dreams. It was taking out that skinny door there that did it. It needs the view. Why have that view, and keep it outside? If you let me take out that wall there, I’d give you open concept into the dining room. It would make it more of an entertaining space. Living room’s at the other end of the house, but you’d have this area here so people could gather when you’re cooking.”
“It could go on the list.”
They went through, bottom to top, and then Kevin went out for his tape measure and went through it again.
By the time he’d finished, she’d put her supplies away and poured them both Cokes. They drank them on the front porch, watching the sun burn its way down through the trees.
“I’ll work up an estimate. You might want to be sitting down when you read it over.”
“I already got that picture.”
“Once you do, we can talk about priorities, what you want done right off, what can maybe wait some. I can give you the name of a good landscaper while you’re reeling from estimates.”
“I’ll take it, but I’m going to tackle some of that myself.”
“All right. Thanks for the Coke.” He handed her the empty glass. “I appreciate the chance to look the place over. If you give me the job, I’ll do good work for you.”
“I believe you would.”
“I’ll be in touch. Let’s go, Molly.”
She watched him drive off, felt the silence fall just like the sun behind the trees.
She’d do good work here, too, she thought. And went inside to make herself a temporary nest and work space.
She spent mornings taking pictures: sunrises—all those holy colors blending—the water, trees, birds. In the afternoons she hunted up secondhand stores, flea markets. She bought a desk and chair, a couple of lamps, and the happy prize of an old metal glider and matching chair.
Evenings, she’d put together a sandwich or scramble some eggs, pour some wine, and work on the photos she’d taken that morning.
She could and did sell some fine photography through her website and through a gallery in New York, but her real bread and butter came from the royalties on stock photos.
She’d learned she could work anywhere—in her car, in a campground, in a motel room. But this, working in her own house, with the quiet everywhere and the light playing on the water, felt like a gift, one made possible by her grandparents and the trust funds they’d set up for her and Mason.
Grateful, she sent them regular emails with photos. Since college she’d called them every week, no matter where she’d been, what she’d been doing.
They’d lost their daughter—twice, to Naomi’s way of thinking. She’d made certain they never lost their granddaughter.
She took before photos of the glider and chair, playing up the texture of the rust, the peeling paint, the square lines—and the pop from the bucket of purple pansies she’d planted and set on the deck with them. She’d take after shots, too, send both home—but she’d play with the before shots on her computer, put them up on her website for sale.
It took nearly a week for Kevin to bring the estimate. This time he had his six-year-old son, Tyler, as well as Molly. The boy was a mini version of his father, and so cute Naomi wished she had cookies.
“We’re on our way to pick up pizza, and figured we’d drop this off. You might want to have a stiff drink and sit down before you read it over.”