Page 34 of This Is How It Started
Okay, not what I anticipated. I want to say that I don’t think he’d be particularly thrilled that she was turning it into a youth hostel either but hold my tongue.
“What are your plans for the pool house, then?”
“Add a bedroom and expand the bathroom, make it more luxurious. Maybe modernize the kitchenette, add a small stove, and a dishwasher. That way I can do longer-term rentals. I know a few traveling nurses who are always looking for something inexpensive...safe.”
It sounds as if she’s given it a lot of thought. I can’t say it doesn’t make sense, though the whole thing gives me the creeps. But the cottage and the pool house are just sitting here, empty, I rationalize.
Still, I can’t help believing there’s something Brooke isn’t saying. Obviously, Dad didn’t leave her as much money as we thought he did.
“I’ve got to go to work.” Brooke gets up, puts her cup in the dishwasher, and swivels around to face me. “I would love it if you could run the project for me.”
At first, I have no idea what she’s talking about. Then I realize she means the conversion of the pool house to an efficiency apartment.
“My hours are crazy in the ER, and if you don’t ride these guys, they’ll run roughshod over you. Would you be willing to take it on?”
I know absolutely zero about remodeling. While my mother isn’t happy unless she has a major construction project going on in her home, the sound of power tools sends me into a homicidal rage. Furthermore, I like the pool house just the way it is. The idea of changing it makes me sad. And nostalgic. But Brooke is letting me live here free. And there is the minor detail that I’m here all day long—until I get my act together—without making any real contribution. So, how do I say no?
“Sure,” I tell her. “If you trust me to do it. It’s not like I have any experience, though.”
“All you have to do is make sure the contractors show up every day and do the work. I’ll send you inspiration photos of what I have in mind. You can use those to guide you. The sooner I get this done, the sooner I can get a tenant in here.”
I don’t see the rush, but I’ll do my part. Perhaps having some purpose will motivate me. I really should be focusing on selling real estate and finding a permanent place to live. At least for the first time since Josh died, I’ve been sleeping through the night and eating better. I credit being home in my happy place for making the difference. It’s probably why I’m gripped by paralysis every time I start to scroll through the rental ads on craigslist. I could let Janney at Windham know that I’m looking. She would put out the word to the office in case any of the agents have a lease listing. But I can’t seem to launch.
Same goes with work.
Campbell has called a few times about picking up his and Jess’s house search again. My response has been radio silence. Deep down inside, I can’t help but question whether it’s my lack of ambition or if I’m simply resistant to helping Campbell find his happily ever after. It’s not that I don’t want him to be happy. I do. But maybe not with Jess...or anyone.It would be different if Josh were still alive,I tell myself. Ugh, this makes me the worst kind of person.
I empty my half-filled cup of tea into the sink and wander to the living room. The house creaks, which ordinarily, alone, would scare the hell out of me. But the sounds of this old house’s squeaky bones are so familiar to me that I find comfort in them. My untouched laptop sits on the coffee table. I reach over it for the remote control and flick on the television, surfing through the channels, looking for something to watch. Josh and I used to love snuggling on the sofa after a long day and binge watching a series—usually a crime show—on Netflix.
My heart is not really into anything that takes real commitment, so I settle on a network sitcom. After a few minutes, though, the annoying laugh track forces me to switch it off. I consider checking in with Hannah, then remember that she and Stephen took a few days off and rented a house in Sea Ranch. I suspect she’s ovulating and they’re using the time to get busy.
Josie’s on a date with one of her clients—a tech guy she’s had a thing for going on more than a year. I’m keeping my fingers crossed for her. No one deserves to find love more than Josie. We’ve been with each other through every crush, every breakup, and every ugly cry over a guy. She knew Josh was the one even before I did.
In the end, I settle for Adam, but he doesn’t pick up his phone. I mentally shuffle through my Rolodex of friends but am too embarrassed to call any of them after ignoring their repeated attempts to reach out to me over the last five months. I’ve basically alienated everyone I know, becoming one of those sad sacks who walks around her apartment all day in a stained housecoat that once belonged to her grandmother.
The good news, I suppose, is that I have any desire to call them at all. And that’s when it hits me. I may in fact be slowly returning to the land of the living.
Chapter 15
Company Is Coming
It’s eight o’clock in the morning, and there’s a buzz saw running loose through my head. At first, I think I’m dreaming, and then I remember the contractors are here. It’s their first day on the pool house job.
It took the portly man from Bleu Construction three weeks to finally send his bid. I had to prod him, which I’m not terribly good at. But Brooke is relying on me, and I would very much like to continue living here. As it turns out, every construction company west of the Mississippi is booked out for years thanks to California’s four summers of wildfires. We’re lucky to have Bleu, though the fact that the company is the only builder available isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement. Then again, the pool house isn’t what you would call the Great Mosque of Djenné. How bad can they screw it up?
I take a quick shower and dress, figuring I should probably show my face. Act like an overseer or whatever I’m supposed to be. The crew, five guys in hard hats and steel-toed boots, are ripping out what used to be the kitchenette and bathroom. One of the men introduces himself. He’s Kyle Wright, the foreman. Apparently, the portly man I’ve been dealing with only does the bids. Kyle, who is about my age, is anything but portly. I slip a covert look at his ring finger. Naked. I’m thinking about Josie and if things don’t work out with the tech dude.
“How long do you think this will take?” I ask. We’re already behind Brooke’s schedule, and it’s my job to make the trains run on time.
“The demo or the whole project?”
“The whole project.”
“Five weeks if we don’t run into problems.”
“Problems? Like what kind of problems?” It’s a freaking square box that we’re expanding by three-hundred square feet. I’m no builder, but it seems like something that could be knocked out in a few days.
“Dry rot, structural integrity, hang-ups with the city permitting folks.”
