Page 63 of This Is How It Started
The Mystery Writers
I never realized how small the guest cottage was until I had to share it with Brooke. It’s not that she’s a space hog or anything. It’s just that we can no longer hide from each other. It’s impossible in nine hundred square feet.
The mystery writers are due to arrive any minute, and Campbell is cramming in as much hammering and drilling as he can before they get here.
I put away a week’s worth of clothes in the bedroom I’ll be using. It’s not much larger than a prison cell, not that I know much about prison cells. Just enough room for a full-sized bed, a nightstand, and a tiny closet. Brooke’s room is slightly larger and has a queen-sized bed and a dresser, in addition to a closet. We’ll share the bathroom, which is the cottage’s best feature because it has an antique clawfoot tub and an RV-sized stall shower.
The guest cottage was here before my parents bought the house. At one time, it was probably a carriage house for a nearby stable.
According to my mother, the cottage was stuffed with everything from old furniture to tens of dozens of empty wine bottles when she and my father moved in. The best she could figure was one of the previous tenants from the 1970s used the old bottles for their candle-making business. My parents cleaned out the place, updated the bathroom and tiny kitchen. Other than that, though, they left it pretty much as is.
Every summer, Aunt Barbara, Uncle Al and my cousin Arie would stay in the cottage when they came to visit from Brooklyn. When Arie moved to San Francisco after college, he lived in the cottage until he found a job and an apartment. For a short time, I remember one of my father’s medical partners staying here. I was too young at the time to get the full story, but on reflection, I’m pretty sure his wife threw him out of the house. In any event, the cottage was used on rare occasion and for the most part was where my mother sent discarded pieces of furniture to die.
Brooke “redecorated”—she painted, had the floors refinished, got rid of all the junk, added window treatments and a few rugs—so she could turn it into a Vrbo. The finished product is charming with a touch of old-world and a sprinkle of quirk (very San Francisco). And you couldn’t get a decent hotel room in this city for the price Brooke is charging. A whole apartment? Forget about it.
I’m secretly impressed with her entrepreneurial spirit. And in a weird way, I’m kind of looking forward to this week. I’ve never met a published author before. I Googled some of the guests, and a couple of them appear to be big deals. Not Gillian Flynn–level but bestsellers just the same.
Even though it’s still not warm enough to swim, I had Campbell help me open up the pool in case some of the writers want a pretty place to lounge outside. I also made sure all the twinkly lights strung in the trees are working.
Living in a place like this was never taken for granted by the Gold family. Every day, we counted having this estate as a blessing, which instilled a sense of pride as well as a certain kind of responsibility to share it with others. So in a way, Brooke is carrying on that tradition. And I feel it’s incumbent on me as one of the stewards to make the house and grounds as pretty and comfortable as possible for guests.
After I stash my toiletries in the bathroom, I wander over to the pool house to check on Campbell’s latest progress. In just a short time, he’s made significant headway. He’s gotten paper and siding up on the new addition and has roughed out the windows. It’s only him, and he’s still faster than Kyle and his crew. I don’t know what those guys were doing all that time. Probably updating their Tinder accounts.
“Hey.” Campbell gives me one of his signature head nods as he cuts a piece of wood. “Is Stephen King here yet?” His mouth curves up in a smile.
“Not yet. You’re good. Anything new to see?”
“I got half the siding on.” He walks me around to the addition.
“Wow, it looks great.” Now that I have a vision of the finished product, it’s more seamless than I thought it would be. I was afraid it would be out of proportion with the original footprint. Josh used to say that scale was the definer between success and failure, and Campbell nailed it. Though to be fair, it was Brooke’s design.
“Yeah, it looks pretty good. I know you’re pissed at those other guys, but they did a decent job framing it out...left me a clean slate to work on.”
“At least they were good for something.” I scoff. “You still think we’ll make the deadline?”
Campbell nods. “It would be better if I didn’t have to stop working. It’ll be tight, but yeah.”
“What about your place?” I ask. “Have you gotten any work done over there?”
“A little. Mostly demo. I’ll need to pull some permits, and that’ll take some time.”
“Have you guys moved in yet?” I’m not sure whether they are planning to fix the house up before giving up their rental.
“Nah, not yet,” Campbell says.
I detect something telling in his economy of words and am torn on whether to ask him about it. I hope he’s not having buyer’s remorse. A lot of clients do, especially when the purchase is as big a project as the house on Liberty is. And I’m taking him away from working on it with the pool house. It’s not clear whether he signed on because he needs the money or as a favor to me.
“It’s going to be the best purchase you ever make,” I say, and mean it. “There’s a reason there were fifteen offers. You’ll see.”
“You don’t have to sell me, Rach.” He winks. “I’m going to make it shine.”
“Is this keeping you from doing it?” I bob my head at the addition, guilt stabbing at me.
“Nope. I need to spend some time with it, let it speak to me.”
I presume he’s talking about the other house, his house. “Well, don’t let it talk to you for too long. Jess is probably anxious to get in.”
“Yep.” He pulls the trigger on the drill he’s holding in his hand, a subtle hint that he wants to get back to work. “Let me know when they show up.”
