Page 21 of On the Line

“How will you live here until then?” She asks the question that’s been percolating in my mind since we stepped foot in the house.

“Hopefully, the contractor can give us a better idea of how long it’ll be until we have walls and a kitchen. I mean, people live in their houses while renovating all the time,” I say, more to reassure myself than anything.

“With two toddlers?”

“I don’t know,” I say, then let out a deep sigh. “We’ll figure it out the same way we’re figuring everything else out—as we go.”

One thing I’ve finally managed, now three months after Josh died, is getting through a day without needing the anxiety medication that got me through the first few weeks. Many days, I can even manage a whole day without crying. His sudden death, and all the unanswered questions surrounding it, still leave me choked up sometimes—though these days it’s out of frustration more than anything.

Remodeling a house, finding a job, finding childcare for the kids ... these are all things I’ll also figure out. And I’ll end up stronger for getting through this too.

“Let’s go see the upstairs before the contractor gets here. How’d Jameson find him again?”

“I’m not sure. He said he’d explain once I saw the house.” At the time, I was so wrapped up in selling my old house, getting this new one into my name, and arranging a cross-country move that I hadn’t even thought to push him for more details. I was just grateful he was here to do things I couldn’t take care of, like changing the locks and finding a contractor.

The stairs themselves are old and every tread squeaks under our feet as we make our way up. But the minute we hit the landing on the second floor, I feel like I’ve struck gold because the entire upstairs has already been remodeled.

All four bedrooms off the large landing area are pristine and new, plus it’s warm and cozy up here in a way that’s markedly different from the downstairs. And the view from the windows is all trees, everywhere you look—it feels like we’re moving into a treehouse.

The full bathroom in the hallway is gutted, but the one in the primary bedroom is finished, and it’s exactly my style—soft gray honed marble tiles for the walls of the shower with a gray riverstone shower floor, a white double sink vanity with a marble top, and a floor of gray slate tiles.

This couldn’t be more different from the style of our bathroom in Park City. It’s softer, more feminine, and I can’t help but be thrilled that Josh designed this with me in mind, because this bathroom was definitely not in the listing photos.

We’re just coming out of the primary bedroom when there’s a solid knock on the front door. Figuring it must be the contractor, since Jameson has the code and the only keys, we head downstairs. But when I swing open the door, there’s a woman standing there. And she looks as surprised to see me as I am to see her.

She’s got on a thermal T-shirt under a heavy flannel, leggings, and steel-toed work boots. Her shiny blond hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, and her face is bare except for some lip gloss and mascara. She’s a total knockout, and I’m confused about what she’s doing on my porch.

“You must be Lauren,” she says with a broad smile as she holds out her hand to me. “I’m Jules.”

“Um, hi?” I have no idea how she knows who I am, or what she’s doing here.

“I see my brother is late as always,” she says. “So you’re probably confused about who I am.”

I give her a little laugh, because that’s exactly how I’m feeling. “Oh, are you my contractor’s sister?” I ask.

She gives a small snort and rolls her eyes. “Okay, so Jameson has clearly told you nothing?”

“Wait, you’reJameson’ssisterJules?”

Years ago, he’d told me about his two little sisters, Audrey and Jules, who he’d raised after their father left. It had been one of the ways he’d opened up to me the night of our dinner—the one I’d thought had been a turning point for us, but in the end, hadn’t meant anything to him.

“Yep,” she says. “Can I come in and explain why I’m here?”

Jules steps into the entryway, and I introduce her to Paige. And that’s when I notice the tool belt hanging around her hips, mostly covered by the open flannel.

“Wait a second,” I say. “You’rethe contractor?”

She gives me a dazzling smile, the kind that must knock men right off their feet. She looks like someone who’d be a social media influencer, and I’m already wondering if I should search up herGet Ready With Mevideos so I can figure out how her skin glows like that. Then again, standing here with her flannel and her tool belt, she doesn’t strike me as the type that posts videos of her skincare and makeup routine.

“Yeah. My sister and I run one of the few all-female construction companies in Boston. Audrey’s the architect, and I’m the structural engineer and lead contractor, and we only hire female subcontractors.”

She’s so young; I want to ask how she can possibly already be qualified to do this. Five years ago she was a freshman in college.

“I’ve been doing this since I was a kid,” she says with a laugh, as though she can read my thoughts. “My dad owned this company, and I was raised doing this right alongside him since I was old enough to swing a hammer. I’ve had my contractor’s license for years, and got my degree in structural engineering more recently. Jameson thought you might prefer to have women working on this project, so that there aren’t men in and out of your house all day. I hope that’s okay?”

“That’s ...”Unbelievably thoughtful. “Perfect.”

“Great! Oh, I almost forgot,” she says, reaching under her flannel and pulling two plastic hammers out of the back of her tool belt. She hands one to each of the girls, and as they scramble to get down with their new toy, Jules says “They can’t do any damage with those, but it’s probably safest if they play in the finished room off the kitchen. Or upstairs?”

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