“And a pot of gold,” Cass said. The restaurant window framed a gray, rainy sky. “Where’s the darned rainbow when you need it, anyway?”
* * *
Stefanie Stahl came home with her son late Saturday afternoon from a visit with her sister in Seattle to find that her husband had been busy in her absence. She was greeted by the whine of a table saw, and where there’d once been a wall between her living and dining rooms, now there were only studs covered with an opaque plastic sheet. A fine film of dust had crept out and was covering the hardwood floor in the living room as well as her furniture. She could see a pile of Sheetrock behind the plastic curtain, and beyond that hung one of those lamps carpenters often used when working at night. In its murky shadow stood a man happily creating chaos.
The day before the bridal shower she was throwing for her best friend.
That did it. She was going to hit Brad over the head with his hammer and bury him in the backyard under the pile of scrounged lumber that had been there since last August.
“Daddy!” their six-year-old son, Petey, called and began pawing at the heavy plastic in an effort to get where the action was.
“You stay right here,” Stef commanded. “It’s dangerous in there.” And it was going to be really dangerous for a certain husband when she got to him.
The plastic had been taped in place, but she made her way through and marched over to where Brad stood, happily whipping up sawdust, and tapped him on the shoulder. He just about jumped out of his skin.
“Hey, don’t sneak up on a guy like that!” he said. “I could’ve sawed my hand off.”
“You’re lucky I don’t saw your head off. What are you doing?”
He flipped up his safety goggles. “What do you mean, what am I doing? You said you wanted an open-concept floor plan and an eating bar off the kitchen. That’s what I’m doing.”
“I said that months ago.” And she certainly hadn’t meant for him to do it.
“So you should be glad I’ve finally got the time. I’m all caught up at the office and decided I’d start on it. This, by the way, is your eating bar,” he informed her, pointing to a pile of boards.
Brad had taken over a lucrative branch of a national insurance company, which was what had brought them to Icicle Falls. He was still a one-man operation with no office help other than the occasional assistance Stef gave him. Surely he had something more to do at work, someone who needed life insurance. Right now he needed plenty of it. She knew she should’ve left Petey at home with him. Then he would’ve been too busy with their son to trash the house.
She threw up her hands in disgust. “Now? You had to start on it now?”
“Sure. Why not?” Down went the safety goggles and he reached over to turn on the saw again.
She grabbed his hand to stop him. “Because Griffin’s bridal shower is tomorrow. That’s why not. How am I supposed to have a bridal shower here with this mess?”
Brad seemed shocked by that. Which showed how much he listened. “Aw, shit. That’s tomorrow?”
“I told you that!” Did he have sawdust in his ears? “And now my guests get to look at this...disaster.”
She was about to march off when he took her arm. “Sweet Stuff, I’m sorry. I just wanted to surprise you.”
“You surprised me, all right,” she said with a scowl.
Meanwhile, Petey was bouncing up and down on the other side of the curtain, shouting, “Daddy, Daddy!”
“Just a minute, big guy.” He pushed the goggles back up on his head and gave her a pleading smile. “Come on, Stef—don’t be mad. I only wanted to make you happy.”
Yes, he’d had the best of intentions. He always had the best of intentions. Sadly, he was better at good intentions than he was at finishing projects, as the half-done patio with its pile of paving stones out back could attest. Not to mention the master bathroom with the missing tub. That had been last month’s project. When it came to home improvement projects, the man was totally ADD.
“You haven’t even finished the bathroom,” she reminded him.
“I was going to, but then I remembered you wanted that wall knocked out and I thought you’d like it done for your party. Which I forgot was tomorrow,” he hastily added. “I thought I had time.”
He always thought he had time. Bradley Stahl operated on his own unique timetable.
If he operated at all. When they’d first bought the house, they’d talked about ways they could improve it. But they hadn’t shared the same vision. Stef had assumed they’d go at it methodically, one project at a time, hiring competent contractors. Brad had envisioned himself as perfectly competent, insisting on doing the work and saving them money. So far this was not working out.
“Da-ad!”
“Coming, big guy,” Brad called and beat a hasty retreat before she could say anything more.
With a growl Stef kicked the pile of sawdust. She wished it was Brad’s behind. What was she going to do now? She had a dozen women coming the next afternoon. Even if Brad skipped church, he couldn’t get rid of this mess before the bridal shower.
Maybe she could get someone else to host, like Cass. Cass Wilkes had taken her and Griffin under her wing when they’d arrived in Icicle Falls a year ago, both new to town, both wondering how to go about fitting in. Cass had connected Griffin with a book club, and when she found out that Stef was a movie buff, she’d included Stef in her weekly chick-flick-night gatherings with her friends. Not only had Cass become a good friend and neighbor, she also was single. No husband underfoot messing things up. She probably wouldn’t mind if they switched the party to her house. Stef could bring the eats, and Cass could provide the sawdust-free environment. She put in an SOS call.
“Oh, Stef, I’d do it in a heartbeat but—”
Uh-oh. If there was a but, that meant trouble.
“I have Sheetrock all over my dining room.”
“On purpose? You didn’t tell me you were doing a home improvement project.”
“I am now. My roof sprang a leak and my ceiling caved in. I discovered it when I got home from work.”
Okay, that was even worse than a Brad breakout. “Oh, no. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, well,” Cass said philosophically. “It is what it is.”
Cass had a dozen years on Stef. Did a woman master that sort of give-me-the-grace-to-accept-the-things-I-can’t-change attitude as she got older? Stef needed it now.
“Why do you want to relocate the bridal shower?” Cass asked.
“Bradley.”
Cass knew what that meant. “Don’t tell me. He’s started a new project.”
“He’s started a new mess. He forgot that the shower’s tomorrow and decided this would be a good weekend to pull down the wall between the dining and living rooms. He’s got his saw set up and hung a big plastic sheet between the two rooms. A lovely setting for a bridal shower, don’t you think?”
Cass chuckled. “It’ll be interesting. But don’t worry. Everyone on the guest list is either married or has been. We know what men are like.”
“Brad is in a class by himself. He’ll tear up the floor, too, and then the one in here because it’ll all have to match. Then that mess will sit for about a million years while he figures out his next step.” He was still figuring out the next step for installing a new tub. Good thing their house had two bathrooms.
“At least he’s making an effort,” Cass said, obviously trying to help her look on the bright side.
True. But every time Brad made an effort, it wound up an unfinished disaster. She sighed. “This is going to be so...embarrassing. Some of these women haven’t even seen my house.”
“Trust me, they won’t care. It’s about being together, and no one’s going to judge you. Anyway, like I said, they’ve all seen men in action. Your plastic curtain will be
a conversation piece.”
“Yeah, but it’s supposed to be about the bride. If this doesn’t give Griffin cold feet...” Except lately it seemed she was already getting them.
“I think she’s already got them,” Cass said, voicing Stef’s thought.
In the last few weeks, Griffin had been a little less enamored of her husband-to-be, a little crankier with him. Okay, he didn’t help out around the house much, but he could be trained. And yeah, he wasn’t a big reader like Stef, but when he was busy gaming she had plenty of free time to read or hang out with friends. He was good-looking and fun-loving, and his sense of humor balanced Griffin’s more serious nature.
They both had interesting jobs. Griffin was a food photographer. (She didn’t make much, but it was a heck of a lot more fun than Stef’s boring part-time job as a teller at the bank.) Steve was a video game tester. (Brad had been extremely jealous when he learned what Steve did for a living...until he learned what Steve made.) Granted, they weren’t rich yet, but the earning potential was there. They had no kids, no responsibilities, and Griffin’s house wasn’t in a state of perpetual disaster. Life on her side of the fence looked pretty good.
“Do you think she’s being too picky?” Stef asked.
“I don’t know. Having been down the divorce road, I’m wondering if there is such a thing as too picky. Better to be sure than be sorry.”
“But her wedding’s the first of June.”
“That’s still several weeks away,” Cass pointed out.
“Maybe I should’ve had the shower closer to the wedding date,” Stef mused. “What if she backs out?”
It would be so awkward for her friend if she had to return all the presents. Still, Stef had picked the early date because she knew Griffin’s old friends in Oregon were planning a shower for her next month. Starting the celebrations early had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now she wondered if she should’ve delayed the party.
“Things have a way of working out,” Cass said. “Meanwhile, we’ll party tomorrow and commiserate with you on the work in progress.”
Stef frowned at the ugly plastic sheet and the mess beyond. This was so...subpar. “Maybe I could switch the shower to Zelda’s.”
“You can try. But I think you’ll find the party room already booked. I’m pretty sure Charley said something about a fiftieth wedding anniversary dinner for some people from Wenatchee.”
Stef cast wildly about in her mind. Bailey Black’s tearoom? Except that was normally closed on Sundays, and she didn’t feel comfortable asking Bailey to go to the inconvenience of opening up.
Here came Brad again, Petey skipping along behind him, hauling the old bedroom curtains she’d planned to donate to Kindness Cupboard. Oh, no. Now what?
“I’d better go,” she said to Cass. “I don’t know what Brad’s up to, but it doesn’t look good.”
Cass laughed, then, after assuring her once more that all would be well, let her end the call.
“What’s with the drapes?” she asked Brad.
“Camouflage,” he replied. “You were getting rid of them anyway, right?”
“Right,” she said cautiously.
“So, it won’t matter if they get wrecked. I’m going to nail them up in front of the plastic. Then no one will see. Brilliant, huh?”
He was obviously fishing for a compliment, but she was too irritated to admire his manly creativity. Instead she told Petey, “It’s bath time.”
“I want to help Daddy,” Petey whined.
“We’ll be done in five minutes. Then I’ll give him his bath,” Brad said. “You go relax.”
“Okay, fine.” She’d recorded a mystery on the PBS channel. She’d watch that and imagine her husband as the murder victim.
The corpse had just been discovered when her two boys stopped by the family room on their way to the bathroom (the one that still had a tub). “Take a look,” Brad told her. “It’s not half-bad.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said confidently. But she noticed he took their son and hurried upstairs before she could render a verdict.
The living room now had tan drapes hanging closed on one side. Okay, maybe someone who used her imagination could pretend the drapes were covering a window.
Yes, everyone had a window in the middle of her house between one room and another.
But it beat the plastic curtain. Barely.
“So, not too bad, huh?” Brad prompted after they’d tucked their son in and kissed him good-night.
“It’ll have to do,” she said grumpily.
He put an arm around her. “Come on, Stef—have a heart. Are you going to punish me all night?”
“I might.”
“You wanna just kill me and be done with it?”
With his round face, reddish hair and snub nose, Brad looked like a perpetual teenager. And when he wore that penitent-little-boy expression it was hard to stay mad at him.
But she was still willing to try. “Yeah. And I know where to hide the body.”
He frowned. “You’d miss me. Admit it.”
She sighed heavily. “Promise me this project will get done before I’m eighty.”
He crossed his heart. “Promise.”
“Like next weekend?”
“Petey starts T-ball next Saturday. Remember?”
And Brad was the team’s coach. “This is never going to get done,” Stef groaned.
“Don’t worry, Sweet Stuff. It will,” he said and pulled her close. “Now, how about we kiss and...” He waggled his eyebrows.
“No makeup sex for you,” she said. “Not until I solve my mystery.”
He grinned. “I can wait.”
And that was the problem. He was never in a hurry to finish anything. Maybe she should make him wait for sex until he got the great room finished. Of course, if she did that, she wouldn’t have another orgasm until she was seventy.
Later that night they had some great makeup sex. If only her husband was as good with his other tools. Sigh.
Chapter Two
Griffin James finished straightening her hair, then double-checked her makeup. Okay. Done. She went into the living room of the old Craftsman she shared with her fiancé, Steve Redford, and found him still happily streaming his favorite online video game. Busman’s holiday—wasn’t that the saying for doing the same thing on your day off that you did during the rest of the week? There was a reason Steve’s job was perfect for him. He was a gaming addict.
She stopped by the couch on her way out the door to the shower at Stef’s house. “How do I look?”
“Good,” he said, never taking his eyes off the TV screen.
“I dyed my hair purple. What do you think?” she asked, flipping her strawberry blond locks.
“Yeah, great.”
She glared at him. “Wanna know how you look?”
“Good, yeah.” He punched the controls.
Of course he didn’t. The avatars didn’t care. It was two o’clock on a Sunday afternoon and there he sat in his ratty old T-shirt and pajama bottoms, his hair pulled back in its usual man bun. He hadn’t shaved yet, hadn’t even brushed his teeth. Too busy killing imaginary enemies.
“I’m leaving now,” she said abruptly. “I’m going to lie down in the bathtub and open a vein.”
“Have fun.”
“Steve!”
He glanced up with a start. “Hey, babe, you look good.”
Nice of him to finally notice. “Thanks.”
“See you later,” he said, and his head swiveled back to the TV screen.
She should have been an avatar. He’d have paid more attention to her. As she walked down the street to Stef’s house, Griffin tried to convince herself that she was excited about this
bridal shower, that she was excited about getting married.
She needed to be excited. She and Steve had been together for five years, ever since her junior year in college. Now they’d finally be solemnizing their relationship with a wedding, something that had her grandmother very relieved and her mother looking forward to the next step—grandchildren. But lately Griffin found herself wondering if they should take this first step. What were they stepping into?
When they were first together they’d actually gone places, like the Grand Illusion Cinema in Seattle’s U District to watch foreign and revival films or to Jet City Improv. They’d gone to local pubs with friends and played Trivial Pursuit. Steve had ridden his bike a lot. (The extra forty pounds he was carrying now attested to how much he rode his bike these days.)
He’d also played video games with his buddies back then. He had to do that, considering the fact that he was going to school for a career in the game industry. Then he’d gotten his entry-level job as a QA tester and it was as if he’d found El Dorado. The job was supposed to lead to bigger things, but once he got hooked on testing games, he’d forgotten about bigger things—including a bigger salary.
Living anywhere near Seattle wasn’t cheap. Since they could both work from home, they’d opted for small-town life. Living off the land. Blah, blah. The only one living off the land last summer had been her when she’d gone blackberry picking with Stef one Saturday and they’d made jam together. Steve had used it for everything from ice cream topping to PB&Js and then asked when she was going to make some more. She’d said she would if he’d go berry picking with her. He hadn’t. There’d been no more jam.
He’d promised to get working on the house, too. Her parents had lent them the money for a down payment on their fixer-upper. The only proviso was that the house had to stay in her name until they were married (Dad’s doing). Steve was going to take care of the sweat equity and fix the place up. The house was in need of paint both outside and in and had a broken step on the back porch. In spite of the fact that she’d weeded the flower beds, it was a bit of an eyesore. She was sure most of the neighbors had hoped when they moved in that they’d whip the place into shape. So far there’d been no sweating, other than by her—Steve had been too busy “working,” even when he wasn’t—and no whipping. But painting was on his to-do list. Come summer, he was going to get out there and get busy.
Starting Over on Blackberry Lane--A Romance Novel Page 2