by Betty Bolte
The calico replied with a low purring rumble. Grizabella nudged her hand with a warm nose and then butted her head into Meredith’s palm. She scratched the cat in her favorite places behind her right ear and under her chin. Slowly the tense cat relaxed enough that she could put her back on the floor.
“Perhaps some dinner would help you settle better. You can’t be so scared of nothing around this old place, or neither one of us will get any rest.”
Grizabella wound about Meredith’s ankles until she reached down to scritch her again. When the cat sat down to lick one delicate paw, Meredith retrieved a can of cat food from the pantry. After locating a small saucer in the cupboard, she dumped the food on the plate and placed it on the floor by the carrier. Grizabella stared at it for a long moment prior to picking her way across the tiled floor to sniff disdainfully at the flat spherical lump.
“I know it’s not your usual, but it’s all they had.” Meredith turned away from her companion’s silent accusation to pull her metallic-cased notebook from her purse.
She slipped the pen from the two side loops that kept the case closed, opened to a blank page, and began jotting down a list of tasks. Having Meg and Sean help would facilitate many of the items. Not all, of course, but the majority. She’d have to contact the auction houses to arrange for appraisals, as well as the antique architecture firms to determine what they’d offer for the more unique decorative and structural appointments. The columns and the cornice pieces would be hot ticket items, certainly. Same for the hardwood floorboards and wallboards, at least those not faux painted to look like marble or a more expensive wood grain. And of course the old handmade bricks, made from the clay on site, may be worth the effort to clean and reuse, assuming they were still in good shape. Even the antique glass encased in the double-hung windows would be valuable.
Yes, peace lurked on the edges of her awareness, waiting, as she finally documented her plans for taking the ancient home apart piece by piece before reducing the entire thing to a pile of ash. Then, like the mythical phoenix, a new beginning for the land would rise up and equate to a new beginning for her. This was the final step before the start of her new life.
Grizabella raised her head from where she’d been nibbling at her supper, ears cocked toward a sound outside, drawing Meredith’s attention from her reverie. She peeked out the window. A small dark-green car drove into the driveway and went immediately to the little cottage, its white walls contrasted by dark-green roof and shutters, situated at the back of the clearing. Meg and Sean, no doubt, moving back into the house they’d shared for decades. Coming home must be wonderful for them. Home. Her throat tightened, and she swallowed the lump of nostalgia. She steeled her heart against any other emotion that might try to resurrect itself and turned away from the window.
“Finish your dinner, Griz.” Meredith reread her list. Satisfied, she closed the book and slipped the pen back into the locking loops before placing the case into her purse. It was too late in the day, especially on a Saturday, so she’d have to wait until Monday morning to make any calls. Beginning the list only made her want to accelerate her efforts, to be able to close this chapter of her past and finally move forward. As Willy would have wanted. Taking the first step away from her true love had eluded her, but at least she had a plan.
Her watch showed she had a couple of hours until time to face her sister. Her questions. Demands. Needs. Grievances. Why had she agreed to dine with her? What was she thinking? No matter. Once Meredith made a commitment, she didn’t back down. Ever. That stance had earned her a stellar reputation in her field, one she wouldn’t willingly relinquish.
Since she had some time, she may as well begin. She’d start at the top and work her way down, so she could discard unnecessary furniture while she continued to live in the house. Meredith tramped out of the kitchen, down the front hallway, and without giving herself time to second-guess her decision, marched up the steps to the second floor.
Several doors opened off the upper loft-like area. She envisioned the connecting doors between bedrooms creating a kind of rabbit’s warren of the top floor: one room leading to another and then another. The sleeping porch, her favorite place in the summertime, molded itself to the back of the house. She could almost hear the laughter she and Paulette once shared while supposedly asleep on a hot summer’s evening. Owls and nightingales had created a lullaby for the two young girls on many starry nights. Those happy times resided so far in the past as to be another lifetime. One in which she and Paulette called each other friend. Not now. Perhaps not evermore, which evoked a sadness in her heart. She stiffened, blocking the urge to probe the sore spot lingering between them. She mustn’t indulge in such fantasies as to think she and Paulette could ever be friends again. Bringing her attention back to the present, Meredith assessed the work ahead.
Three weeks to dispose of the antique furniture. Another two to sell off the architectural antiques. Add on four more weeks to line up the necessary permits and equipment, as well as the manpower required to conduct the actual demolition. Altogether, no more than nine weeks she’d be forced to spend in the house, living among the many memories struggling to snag her attention. Damn. She’d originally hoped it would only take a month at most to make the transition from house to park-like garden, even though the garden part would stretch far into the future. But the takedown of the house must be done right in order for her to realize the inner peace she craved.
The stairs leading to the attic beckoned her, the solid wood door at the top closing off the large, musty space where she and Paulette had played on cool days during storms. She relived in her mind the house-shuddering booms of thunder overhead while rain pounded the shingles above. They were only allowed to play among the wire-bodied mannequins and trunks of old clothes and books, strange statues, and knickknacks when the weather forced them inside. Indeed, most of her childhood she’d spent out of doors. The musty attic contained equal parts memories and mysteries.
Including the memory of the severe storm that had threatened the very existence of Twin Oaks. The severe weather had come in waves throughout that day thirty-eight years ago. She and Paulette were finally permitted to venture into the attic once the air temperature had eased from the cool rain accompanying the storm. The sudden tornado siren blasted moments before a tremendous crash of thunder overhead. The boom preceded a series of lightning strikes around the house, splitting an old oak down the middle. The entire event had terrified Meredith, leaving her shaken and trembling during every subsequent thunderstorm.
She rested a hand on the newel of the railing, one foot poised on the first step. Starting at the top meant the attic. That meant returning to the birthplace of her terror of tornadic weather. Something she hadn’t considered carefully before committing to her plan. Traversing the stairs and then passing through the door would mean facing not only that fear but also the many mysterious boxes and trunks housed within. Maybe the old gray and red trunk with its forbidden contents still hid among the others. She’d finally see inside of it. But did she want to? She put her foot back on the floor even as she gripped the wood tighter beneath her palm. Sooner or later she’d have to venture up to the attic and sort through whatever she found. She placed a foot on a step and then joined it with her other one. One stair at a time, she neared the wood door. Four more to go.
Banging on the door below preceded Meg’s voice calling up the stairs. “Hey, anyone home?”
Relief sparked through her like lightning hitting the dead oak. Her breath rushed from her. Why did she, a grown, intelligent woman, hesitate to approach the attic after all these years? She pivoted and hurried down the stairs, entering the kitchen as Meg knocked three times in rapid succession on the wood screened door.
“Come on in.” Meredith pulled the door open, the entire frame wobbling in her hand. Meg stood in the open doorway, holding out a plate of chocolate chip cookies.
“I thought you might enjoy some warm cookies,” Meg said, walking into the kitchen.
; “You remembered.” Meg’s county fair award-winning baking skills flooded into her memory. The aroma of cooling chocolate made her mouth water. She took an appreciative bite of warm, gooey heaven. “Hmmm. Nobody makes cookies like you.”
Meg winked at her. “It’s my secret ingredient.”
“One of these days you’ll have to share with me what it is.” Now why did she say that? She wouldn’t be baking cookies for anyone. Ever. “What brings you by so soon? I thought you’d still be unpacking, settling in.”
“It’s all done.” Meg set the plate on the counter. “I wanted to check on how bad the place had gotten after I was sacked.”
Meredith shrugged. “Bad enough. Dusty and cobwebs, a little mold here and there, but livable for a time. How long has it been since you worked here?”
“Your Grandma died six months ago. Max had even turned off all the power, but when he knew you were returning, he contacted the public utilities to have it turned on.”
“For that I’m grateful. But it explains why the fridge smells funky.”
“Oh dear. I’ll take care of it straightaway.” Meg crossed her arms and gazed at Meredith. “What else do you want me to do?”
“Clean. That’s the most important thing.” She needed the antiques in sellable condition, after all. That and she didn’t want to live among dirt and mildew if only for a short while. Everyone suffered when mold entered the picture. She wrinkled her nose as the musty smell drifted past her. Her grandma was probably turning somersaults in her grave at the filthy condition of the house she loved. “Grandma would have wanted the mold addressed first.”
“I’ll start on it immediately.”
“And Meg,” Meredith said, “thanks for coming back. I know it would mean a lot to Grandma. As it does to me.”
“My dear, I appreciate your kindness. Your grandma knew you would take good care of Twin Oaks. I’ll go make sure a room is ready for tonight. You’ll stay in the master now?”
“Yes, I think I will, though I hadn’t really thought about it.” In fact, it would be preferable to sleep anywhere but her childhood bedroom with all its memories ready to haunt her. The bedroom she and Paulette shared when they visited each summer. The twin beds with their personalized quilts their Grandma had stitched by hand; Paulette’s featuring patchwork planets, sun and moon, and Meredith’s decorated with flowers and butterflies. Her breath caught. Why on Earth did she think she could return to this house and have any peace of mind?
Grizabella chose that moment to wander back into the room, her tail a slowly twitching flag, reminding Meredith of an inadequate radar sweep. The distraction enabled Meredith to breathe again.
“Who do we have here?” Meg stretched her hand down to pet the cat, but Grizabella walked out of reach. Meg straightened. “I guess she doesn’t know me yet.”
“That’s Grizabella, or Griz for short. She is rather wary of strangers since she was a stray. I’ve always wondered what happened in her past.”
“She’s a beauty.”
“In looks, though not always in personality. But I love her nonetheless.” Meredith crossed the room, scooped Griz up and cuddled her, moving closer to Meg so she could stroke the calico fur.
“I best get started.” Meg swiped her finger down Griz’s neck one last time. “We’ll have this place shining again in a twinkle.”
“Oh, Meg, speaking of time, I’m meeting Paulette at the Hideaway for dinner, so please lock up as you leave, okay? I wouldn’t want anyone wandering in while I’m gone.”
“Your sister? How wonderful for you. I can fix up a room for her as well.”
“No, thanks,” Meredith said firmly. “She’s staying at the Coldwater B&B.”
Meg blinked at her, brows drawing down around puzzled eyes. “I suppose she has her reasons, though I’m sure I don’t know why she’d pay to stay somewhere else, even that lovely B&B, when this big ol’ house is sitting near empty.”
Meredith shifted her weight to her left foot, folding her arms across her chest while looking at Meg. “Let’s just say she’ll be way more comfortable there.”
Chapter 3
Meredith peered through the Hideaway’s front window, built with thick glass blocks in place of the former iron bars. Paulette sat at a table for two, perusing the menu. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door. Waving off the eager hostess, a teen with black hair pulled into a severe ponytail and a smile on her freckled face, Meredith sauntered to the table.
“Some things never change,” Paulette said, lowering the one-page paper menu to the small square table between them. “The Hideaway is one of them.”
“Change isn’t always for the better,” Meredith said, picking up her own menu. “Many folks prefer evolution to revolution.”
Paulette sniggered and perused the menu once more before laying it down. She steepled her fingers together, elbows resting on the edge of the table. Meredith made her choice and laid her own menu down, watching her nemesis scan the small diner. She’d changed, her hair less shiny, her eyes more calculating and wary. She’d always been a bit on the sarcastically skeptical side. Paulette had not contacted Meredith in months—no, make that years. Not since Johnny had cheated on her and they’d split and made up again. What had happened to cause such harshness and bitterness with a hint of panic in her expression? Nothing good, surely.
Meredith let her own gaze wander over the homey establishment. She noted the rows of blond wood tables and chairs, the tall potted plants scattered around, striving to create a warm atmosphere, and the watercolor paintings of Roseville’s lakeshores and cityscapes. She lingered on each object as if they were unfamiliar. In fact, nothing could be farther from reality. Her parents used to have dinner there, occupying the old cell in the back of the block structure once a week every summer. Their tradition of eating in the confines of the metal doors stemmed from their first visit to the new restaurant. As the story went, her parents, Brock and Dina O’Connell, worked their typical magic and became fast friends with the owner. That perk secured them the privilege of eating in the reserved space each time they dined at the Hideaway. After her mother became pregnant with Meredith, they frequented it more often because of the healthy menu choices. Then as Meredith grew older, Dina started introducing her to friends by saying that Meredith had been in and out of jail all her life. Ha. Ha. Some jokes should die before ever being spoken.
After the waitress took their orders, Meredith fiddled with her fork, aligning it precisely with the edge of the yellow paper mat. Once satisfied, she glanced up and caught Paulette grinning at her, a twinkle in her eyes. Many years had slipped by since she’d last seen such amusement on her face. Usually at her expense.
“What?” Meredith folded her arms, resting them on the table as she studied her sister’s expression.
“You always did that,” Paulette said with a wave of her hand. “Line everything up. Even your Barbie doll shoes sat neatly in their closet in your dumb dollhouse. Do you remember?”
The image of the oversize dollhouse, a replica of Twin Oaks complete with wraparound porch and electric lights, rose in her mind’s eye. She and her dad spent most of a summer on the design and execution of the nearly exact miniature version of the family home. The only thing missing was running water. “Whatever happened to that monstrosity?”
Paulette shook her head, blonde curls swinging along her jawline. “No idea.”
“The house was the first real building project I helped Dad with,” Meredith said slowly. “Did you know?”
“How could I forget? You spent months doing little else. I was so bored, and you wouldn’t play with me.” Paulette’s expression sobered. “I hated you that summer.”
Meredith toyed with her fork, slowly spinning it like a propeller blade after the motor shuts off. She glanced up at Paulette’s words, the heat her voice contained. Did the animosity between them stretch so far into the past? “You did? I didn’t realize you’d even noticed.”
The waitress returned, carryin
g a grilled chicken salad for Meredith and chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes for Paulette. The sisters studied each other in silence as the teen placed the meals on the table and departed. Meredith drizzled balsamic vinaigrette on the greens and chicken and tossed the salad lightly with her fork. The temperature of the space between them warmed, simmering with tension. She stirred in the dressing, aware of an impending change but unsure of the direction the shift would take.
“You and Dad spent so much time together he ignored me entirely.” Paulette cut into her meat, stabbed a bite with her fork, and plopped it into her mouth. The earlier twinkle of amusement had vanished, leaving her mouth pinched as she chewed.
At the time Meredith had thought only about what would make her little house perfect. She wanted it to be an exact replica of the plantation house, right down to the scroll at the top of the six columns on the front porch. The design of the shutters and even the framing woodwork in the rooms matched the house as closely as her ten-year-old hands could create. The one difference she had reluctantly allowed had been not making the columns hollow because her dad had convinced her they would be easier to make using solid dowel rods. In fact, they had to hunt down wider dowels than expected in order to recreate the correct dimensions. She’d agreed at the time because no one would know the difference, but to this day the modification equated to copping out on the design, which still irked.
“I’m sorry,” Meredith said abruptly, “but I was able to be creative, really creative, with that project. Maybe I went a bit crazy.”
Her words came out more brusquely than she’d actually intended, but so be it. She couldn’t undo what had happened when they were children. Taking a bite, she chewed quickly. Long ago she actually enjoyed putting things together, making beautiful buildings and even bridges. Now she seemed happier tearing things apart. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come. This powwow had started out an uncomfortable idea, and now all this recollection of the past made it more so. She stuffed another bite into her mouth. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could return to the solitude she craved. Even if it meant being holed up in the very monstrosity that embodied her disquiet.