Their Forever Home

by Syndi Powell

  John stood next to a metal table and put his hand on the surface. “And a kitchen island.”

  She scrutinized the piece. “No, looks too industrial for your idea. We need something that has more wood, less steel.”

  He put the table back. They walked around and found other items they could use in their house: a pedestal sink that had cracked enamel but could be reglazed, a gooseneck faucet for the kitchen sink with handles that had H and C printed in wavy script, and a matching pair of wall sconces to use in the master bedroom. But no island.

  When they checked out with the cashier, Cassie gulped at the total cost. They would have spent twice as much buying new. She had figured that they’d be saving money by going this route, rather than buying all new, but she hadn’t understood it would be this much. She paid and tucked the receipt safely in her wallet. At her truck, they put their finds in the bed and headed for a big-box home improvement store.

  John wasn’t on board with her choice in cabinets and counters for the kitchen, but he agreed to the type of tile for the kitchen and bathroom. They argued over the flooring options for the living room. She wanted to go darker with a maple while he insisted on a lighter choice. Thinking of the pine they’d seen at the salvage store, she agreed to a compromise in a honey-colored oak.

  As they stood at the register, waiting to pay, she watched John, who was flipping through an interior design magazine. “Are you determined to fight my choices the entire way?”

  He answered but kept his gaze on the magazine. “If, by that, you mean I’m insisting on my design concepts rather than your whims? Yes.”

  “The maple wasn’t a whim. You said you wanted things to have a warm tone, so I pointed out the obvious one.”

  “Hmm.” He pulled out his wallet and paid for the magazine separately. “It seems to me that you believe the only route for us to win is by doing whatever you say.”

  She winced. It sounded like something she’d accused her father of many times in the past. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Your attitude says it.” He glanced at her, then walked to her pickup.

  She trailed behind him. “I’m the one with experience fixing up houses, not you. I know what works.”

  John didn’t respond. Instead, he got in the passenger side of the truck and stared straight ahead.

  * * *

  CASSIE DROVE THEM toward the house but first made a detour. He took in the neighborhood street that looked so much like theirs but wasn’t. “You made a wrong turn.”

  “I need to go pick up Evie. I couldn’t bring her shopping with us.”

  So he would get a glimpse of her house. He skimmed over her appearance and wondered if where she lived would be similar to her personal style: practical and down-to-earth. Although she’d been wearing a dress when they first met, he’d only seen her ever since in super casual clothes that were meant for time spent working. Jeans. T-shirts. Steel-toed boots. None of it was bought for their high-end appearance but for what they could withstand. He’d never noticed her wearing any makeup, but she didn’t need to. Her big bourbon-colored eyes, the slight slant of her nose and her exquisite cheekbones gave her a beauty that didn’t require cosmetics to enhance. She usually kept her chestnut hair in a high ponytail that had its own natural wave.

  She parked the truck at a ranch-style house with beige siding that needed to be replaced. He made to follow her. She stopped and asked, “Where are you going? I’ll only be a sec.”

  “I’d like to see your house.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Because someone once told me that she wanted to get an idea of my aesthetic by seeing how I designed my home.”

  She swallowed but didn’t soften the tight set of her jaw. “Fine. But I haven’t come close to finishing it, so don’t expect too much.”

  The living room had no walls, only wooden studs. No furniture apart from two sawhorses supporting a long trestle on which a rolled blueprint had been left along with an empty coffee mug and several pencils. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been this. “You weren’t kidding when you said it wasn’t finished.”

  “I work on it when I have the time, which I had until recently.”

  Evie barked and started to jump on him. He held out his arms to catch her and rubbed her head. “Is anything finished?”

  She motioned him to the back of the house. “I’m inviting you into my bedroom.”

  Sand-colored carpet. Dark blue walls with a big-screen television. A huge bed took up most of the floor space. It had about a dozen pillows and a cream coverlet. It looked inviting. Soft. She opened a pair of doors that revealed a massive closet that had been specially crafted and very well organized. It held drawers and poles for her clothing as well as shelves for shoes and other personal items. In awe, he turned to her. “You built this?”

  “With some of my dad’s help before he disappeared.”

  He stepped forward and touched one of the shelves. “This is fantastic. I didn’t realize you did work like this.”

  “It’s not that hard.”

  He was surprised that she would dismiss such workmanship. “Do you think you could do this at our house? Create a custom closet?”

  “Really?” She sounded pleased by his suggestion.

  “What homeowner wouldn’t want something like this? Maybe we should plan this for all the bedroom closets.”

  “It’s an idea.” And just as suddenly, she had dismissed his praise. He couldn’t understand why she didn’t have more pride in her own work. She was obviously talented. Couldn’t she see that?

  “Is this the only room you’ve finished?”

  “It’s the one I spend most of my time in when I’m home.”

  “I can see why.”

  She cocked an eyebrow and looked him over. “So, now that you’ve seen my bedroom, will you show me yours?”

  He burst out laughing and shook his head. “It’s going to take a lot more than that for me to let you in there.”

  “It was worth a try.”

  He made to leave the room when he heard her ask softly, “Do you think I can do this?”

  He stopped in his tracks and turned back to look at her. She seemed so vulnerable and lost in that moment that it made him ache for her. He wanted to put his arms around her to reassure her that she could do this. That they both could. That not only could they do this, but that they would win this contest and show them all.

  But he had the same doubts that she did and didn’t know how to tell her any differently.

  Nonetheless, he slipped his hand in hers and held on tight. “We’ll both do our best.”

  * * *

  JOHN’S MOTHER WALKED slowly and cautiously around the living room of the contest house, careful not to step in the hole in the center of the floor. “Without walls it’s hard to tell what this place will look like when it’s finished.”

  “Close your eyes and imagine it though.” He did what he’d asked her to do. “Vaulted ceilings. Warm beige walls with white trim. A wall with family pictures. Sofa in front of the picture window.”

  His mother made a noise of agreement in the back of her throat. “What color sofa?”

  “I was thinking white.”

  “What if your family has children? You want a darker color that can either hide stains or wash them off easily.”

  He opened his eyes and looked at his mom. “You’re right. I need to be more practical in case there’s children, especially young ones.” Mentally, he changed the sofa from white to navy. No, too dark. Maybe one with a light colored background, but darker florals or even a plaid. “That’s why I wanted to bring you here. You have good ideas.”

  “What about this Cassie? What does she bring to the table?”

  John thought of the woman in question and couldn’t stop the smile from forming on his lips.
“She definitely has strong ideas, but then she’s got the experience to back them up. I wish she had a little more confidence in herself, though.”

  His mother raised an eyebrow at this. “She has strong opinions, but lacks confidence? Those two don’t usually go together.”

  “I think it has to do with her father. From the sounds of things, he either shot down her ideas outright or stole credit for them later on.” He’d been learning a lot of about how Cassie’s father built houses during his conversations with both her and the Buttucci brothers. Cassie might look up to her father, but John had his doubts about the man.

  His mother motioned to the kitchen. “Tell me what you’re going to be doing in here.”

  He followed her and pointed to the window where they would build a window seat with storage underneath. The island that would house the stove. The double door refrigerator that would take up most of one wall.

  His mother nodded in the right places. She had always encouraged him and his goals. After he’d been laid off, she had told him he’d find a new position that would make him happier. When he’d read about the contest in the newspaper, she’d been the first to hear about his plans to apply. She’d supported him through the entire interview process. She always thought he could do whatever he set his mind to.

  How different it was to Cassie’s experience when she was growing up? She’d share an idea, and her father would shoot it down. No wonder she had doubts about their chances to win the contest. While he had his mother telling him that he couldn’t lose, Cassie wondered how they could possibly win.

  Maybe he needed to encourage her more.

  He turned to find his mother watching him. “Sorry. Got lost in my thoughts there. What did you say?”

  His mother gave him a knowing smile. “Thinking of Cassie?”

  He stepped closer to his mom and put a hand on her shoulder. “I was thinking that I’m lucky to have you on my side.”

  “And you’re wondering who’s on Cassie’s.”

  He nodded. “She’s my partner. And I should be behind her and her ideas.”

  “Sounds like I raised a kind man.”

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “A smart one, too, I hope.”

  * * *

  THE FOLLOWING MONDAY MORNING, Cassie discovered the Buttucci brothers sitting on the porch. Something was wrong. She could tell. She parked the truck at the curb and headed up the sidewalk. “What’s up?”

  Biggie glanced at Tiny, who grimaced. “You don’t want to go inside.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Remember that time that someone vandalized the Carter house we were working on?” Tiny stood and shook his head. “It’s not as bad, but it’s not pretty.”

  Cassie brushed past him and all but sprinted into the living room, her jaw dropping and eyes bulging. Someone had used neon orange spray paint to write “Loserz” across the brand-new drywall and filled the hole in the floor with something that smelled like rotten fish. “Wh-why?” she sputtered.

  There was shouting from the front yard. “Where is she?”

  She followed the noise and found a crowd had gathered on the lawn. Nick pointed at her. “You!”

  Biggie stepped in front of her, so she had to peer around his bulky form. “Keep your distance if you know what’s good for you.”

  Different voices came at her from all directions and she took hold of Biggie’s arm.

  “Why did you sabotage our house?”

  “Once a Lowman, always a Lowman.”

  “Playing the dirty tricks your old man taught you?”

  “Stop!” John shouted, coming to stand at the bottom of the porch stairs. “What in the world is going on?”

  Nick glared at him. “Trying to protect your girlfriend?”

  “I’m trying to figure out what you’re talking about. So choose your words carefully and tell me what happened.”

  “Cassie put an ax through my kitchen countertops!”

  “She spray-painted a bunch of cuss words on my garage door!”

  “She punched holes in the drywall I was about to hang!”

  Cassie stepped around Biggie. “I didn’t do any of those things. Our house was sabotaged, same as yours.”

  John’s jaw dropped. “Our house?” He swept past her.

  Cassie kept her focus on the crowd gathered below her. “Why would you think that I would damage your houses?”

  “Like father, like daughter,” Nick raged. “Why wouldn’t you sabotage us to give yourself a leg up on the competition?”

  It didn’t make sense. None of this was making any sense. “And ruin my house at the same time?”

  “It would get the attention off you as the guilty party.”

  John joined her on the porch. “Someone needs to call the police.”

  Tiny held up his phone. “Already done. They’re on their way.”

  Cassie turned to John. “I didn’t do this.”

  “I know.” He put a hand on her arm. “You believe too much in what we’re doing to risk it all.” To the crowd, he said, “You’re pointing your finger at the wrong person.”

  “Obviously you’d stand up for her.” Nick approached them, but Biggie put his arm out to stop his progress. “You can’t win this contest through dirty dealings!”

  “I’m not dirty, Nick,” she shot back.

  The man sneered at her. “No one believes you.”

  That the crowd seemed to agree with him made her heart stutter. Were they going to paint her with the same brush that they’d used to condemn her father, and again, without any evidence? Had she already been counted out of the contest when it had only just started?

  A police cruiser drove down the street toward them and stopped in front of Nick’s house. Two uniformed officers waded through the crowd as more accusations about her were yelled out. One of the officers put his fingers in his mouth and gave a sharp whistle. Quiet descended, and his partner, a female officer, shouted, “Everyone to their own house. We will interview you one at a time.”

  When Nick started to protest, she gave him a steely-eyed glare until he nodded and moved along to his house. The group slowly dispersed. John put a hand on her elbow. “Are you okay?” he asked, concern in his eyes.

  “Fine. But who would do this?”

  “It’s probably some kids who think they’re being funny.” He turned to the Buttucci brothers. “We should probably go inside and wait for the detectives.”

  Tiny shook his head. “Did you smell how bad it is in there? I don’t think I could last five minutes.”

  “Then maybe we should remove whatever’s in that hole.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it until I’ve had a chance to photograph it,” said the male officer approaching them. “Ben Novakowski, with the Detroit Police. Can you show me what happened to your house?”

  John led the way. Cassie could see the officer wince as he took in the sight of what was piles of trash. He pulled his phone out and took pictures of the mess as well as the spray-painted message and other damage. “When was the last time one of you was here?”

  “Saturday afternoon,” Cassie answered. “We left about four.” The Buttucci brothers nodded their agreement.

  John held up his finger. “I stopped by yesterday afternoon to take measurements in the bedrooms. I wanted to double-check figures that I had written down earlier in the week.”

  “What time yesterday?”

  “About one.” He turned to Cassie. “I had my mom with me. She wanted to see what we were working on.”

  For some reason, this felt like a betrayal. He’d shown an outsider what they had been doing here? “You showed her the house?”

  “It’s not exactly a secret.”

  “My family hasn’t stopped by to take a peek.” When Biggie cleared his throat behind her, she had to concede. �
��They probably wouldn’t, but still. It’s not ready for public eyes.”

  “Even as the Belvedere Foundation sends photographers to take pictures for their before and after articles?”

  “That’s the foundation. Not family.”

  “Which should make them even more welcome.”

  The officer held up his hand. “Can we hold off on that argument until after my partner and I are finished here?” He snapped a few more pictures and squeezed his nostrils together. “Let’s finish this interview outside.”

  After Officer Novakowski was satisfied with their answers to his questions, he took his leave and they began the process of removing the trash and opening windows to air out the house. Tiny put a hand to the neon spray paint and shook his head. “Fixing all this damage puts us behind a day.”

  “It’s early. We still have time to catch up.” Cassie put a finger through a hole in a sheet of drywall stacked against one wall. “They used a hammer for these holes. What group of kids is hanging out with a hammer?”

  “Or an ax to smash through countertops?” John grimaced. “I might have been hasty with that suggestion as to the guilty party. But it made the most sense at the time.” His cell phone rang, and he took his call outside.

  Cassie addressed the Buttucci brothers. “He’s right. The tools those creeps used to damage the houses seem more like what we would use in the construction business.”

  Tiny positioned an empty bin next to the hole. “You’re right, though, about the weapons of choice,” he said. “What if one of the contractors who didn’t get picked is causing trouble? Maybe a hothead with anger issues.”

  “You think Bill?” she asked. She thought about how the blustery contractor had said he’d keep an eye on her at the launch event. Maybe he’d taken the threat to the next level and sabotaged their work?

  Tiny shrugged. “He once got arrested for hitting an employee with a two-by-four.”

  “Over twenty years ago, maybe.” She shook her head. “He might not like that he didn’t get chosen, but he’s too busy with his own projects to ruin ours.”