Page 192 of By A Thread
I pulled my keys out of my bag, but the key didn’t fit the lock.
“Try this one.” He held up a shiny new key.
“Dominic Russo.” I had a lot of feelings sliding around in my guts. All I knew for sure was that he was in huge trouble. And so was I.
I took the key from him and inserted it into the lock. The knob was new too. Oil rubbed bronze. It matched the new porch lights flanking the door.
“Oh, God. What did you do?” I moaned.
It smelled of new paint and fresh carpet. The bare plywood and those carpet tacks were gone. In its place was a pretty cherry hardwood that looked as if it could have been original. The ceiling was patched to perfection. I couldn’t even tell where the hole had been. The wall was repaired. Pristine drywall painted a warm gold.
The ruined piano was gone. In its place were two overstuffed chairs tucked into the alcove.
I brought my fingers to my mouth and did a slow circle.
It was like home again, only better. Cleaner. Brighter. Updated. Like the memories and pain of the past year had been erased from the bones of the house.
“There are new countertops and a new sink in the kitchen,” Dominic said, his thumb tapping out a beat against his thigh. “They put in a new water heater too.”
Speechless, I looked up the stairs. They’d been recovered in a soft beige carpet.
“Go on.” He nodded toward the second floor.
I took the stairs slowly, reveling in the smooth banister under my hand. The spindles that no longer wobbled. Nothing squeaked, and the landing no longer felt spongy under my feet. More fresh carpet here.
The bathroom looked like it was straight out of a magazine with a reclaimed wood vanity, large circular mirror, and a glass tile tub surround. The walls were a pretty gray that played off the new tile floor.
I couldn’t breathe. My chest hurt.
The bedrooms were empty, and for a second, I felt dizzy with the realization that soon, very soon, my childhood home would be gone. Its walls would absorb someone else’s memories. Host someone else’s Christmas mornings.
My father and I no longer lived here. And only one of us would get to keep the memories.
“I had everything up here moved into storage so you could go through it and decide what you want to keep,” Dominic said behind me. “They also made some cosmetic updates to the master bathroom.”
“How?” I whispered.
“I called in a crew. It took them four days.”
It would have taken me four hundred. And he knew it.
I turned to him, and his face softened. “Don’t do that, baby,” he said, thumbing away the tears that rolled hot down my cheeks. “Please don’t cry. If I’d asked, you would have said no.”
He was damn right I would have said no. I’d have clung to my plan. My timeline. My budget. And in doing so, I would have continued to endanger my father’s future.
“I know you’re behind on your dad’s bills again. This moves up your timeline and gets you out of the red now rather than a few months down the road.”
“I don’t even know what to say.”
“If you’re mad, say it. I can take it,” he said, dragging me into his chest and holding me hard against him. “I have several well-thought-out arguments planned.”
I pulled back and cupped his face in my hands. “I’ll pay you back. Every dime,” I croaked.
He rolled his eyes, letting me know exactly what he thought of that idea.
“Shut up,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
“You really did this for me?” I asked, my voice so tight the words came out as a squeak.
