The Renovation

by Terri Kraus

That wasn’t far from the truth, but Ethan shook his head. “Let’s take a look first. And show me your quotes. Did you bring the preliminary drawings like I asked?”

  “Bids and drawings are inside. As well as coffee, I hope. My assistant was supposed to bring coffee and donuts or rolls or whatever … she’s a vegetarian. Do vegetarians eat donuts?”

  The front door opened onto a truly impressive space. A double-wide helical, or spiral, staircase, flowed up and around from the foyer. The floor plan of an Italianate Victorian was typically asymmetrical, Ethan knew, and this one was no exception, with a large light-filled drawing room to the right, and a cozy library/study to the left. The rooms, with their high ceilings and tall windows, felt spacious and grand. They had wonderful architectural details. Despite what had been done to the exterior, most of the interior was fairly “virgin,” including the fireplaces, which were dark-veined marble with burnished cast-iron inserts. With the exception of some temporary walls constructed of cheap sheets of dark paneling that could be easily removed and a lot of plaster repair work to be done, Ethan was excited by what he saw.

  “This way to the kitchen, but let me warn you: It’s straight out of the 1930s. Hasn’t been touched in eons. Just like the bathrooms,” Emily said.

  For the next three hours, Emily and Ethan went from room to room, Ethan commenting on the quotes, Emily holding the drawings in her hand, sweeping around each space, rhapsodizing about how wonderful it would all be when restored.

  Ethan noted only a few instances of excesses in the plan, or too costly an item, given the work required. Most of the quotes included in the bids were well within the range of acceptability, Ethan told her, adding a few percentage points because it was, after all, a bigger city than Franklin. And Ethan was certain some materials would be more expensive. He knew the labor was higher, much higher, than what he paid his crew. But he could see the potential in the place if someone like Emily wanted to invest the money it would take to bring it back to its original grandeur. And the location certainly warranted it.

  “Ethan, you have been such a comfort,” she said, taking his arm and squeezing it, holding him tight. “I feel so much better now. Let me take you to lunch. There is a wonderful Italian place just down the road with the same view as this house. Please say yes.”

  Ethan said yes.

  The Venango County Airport had few departures to Pittsburgh. Really, there was only one on Saturday, and two a day during the week. The lack of options made Cameron’s choice that much simpler.

  At ten o’clock, she boarded a jet plane parked on the nearly empty runway at the airport. The plane was small enough that she could shake the hands of all her fellow passengers if she wanted, without unbuckling her seat belt. She took a deep breath, and the plane took off for Pittsburgh. The pilot was about the age that her younger brother would have been, and while it didn’t cause her great worry, neither did it inspire great confidence.

  The short plane ride took less than twenty-five minutes and saved her the two-plus hours of driving time. For that she was most grateful. During the flight, rather than looking out the oval window, which would have only served to make her more nervous, she studied the script and episode outline that Paul Drake had mailed to her before the Christmas holidays.

  She hadn’t told her parents of this new opportunity—not because she was nervous about it, which she was, but because she didn’t want to raise any expectations if it proved to be a fluke. She had imagined the worst at times—forgetting lines, freezing up on camera, stumbling with words and generally making a fool of herself. Resulting, she was sure, in being replaced by some other more accomplished host. Better that Mom and Dad not know, she told herself, than to know and expect too much of their daughter.

  Paul Drake met her at the airport and whisked her off in his fabulous car toward her first assignment—an old house on the south side of Pittsburgh that would be the initial project documented in the first episode of the show, now officially titled Three Rivers Restorations.

  He chattered as he drove along, Cameron trying to appear nonplussed, hoping that she was keeping her anxiety under control. In less than forty-five minutes, they pulled up to a massive house overlooking Pittsburgh from a high ridge along the south bank of the Monongahela River.

  “This is it,” Paul said with satisfaction. “The owner is an old friend of mine. She did my kitchen in my row house in Shadyside. Personally, I think she’s going to lose her shirt on the project, and if she does, it will make perfectly fascinating television. You have memorized the script, right, Miss Dane?”

  The creased and folded papers lay in her lap.

  “Sure. I think I did. I mean, if I miss a word or two, that’s okay, right?”

  Paul buttoned his cashmere overcoat and carefully adjusted his Burberry scarf. “A word or two would not be an egregious error. I imagine even Shakespeare missed a word or two at times.” He paused and took a long look at the house. “This was once a spectacular home, but it is in desperate need of restoration.”

  She peered up at the house. “It is sort of ugly, isn’t it?” Cameron ventured. “Don’t these fix-it shows pick prettier houses?”

  Paul flicked some lint from his sleeve. “Some do. Our plan is that this little show will feature ugly ducklings turned into showcases. Or ugly ducklings crashing and burning. Both ways, we win. That’s the secret of television, Miss Dane: keeping the audience engaged and guessing. Will it turn out fine? Or will it bankrupt the owner? It’s a great hook. And western Pennsylvania has more than its share of ugly ducklings to choose from.”

  He took a purposeful step forward. “The crew is on their way. You should take a tour of the house. Get acquainted with the owner. We’ll do the first setup in front of the place.”

  He stopped and surveyed Cameron with a critical stare. “Your outfit will do just fine. You have a marvelous fashion sense. Classic is good. You could stand more color, though. Your makeup is a bit on the pallid side—needs some definition. We’ll add a little something to your cheeks.”

  She followed him up the wide front steps and across the porch that creaked with every step. He knocked so vigorously on the front door that she could hear the echoes inside the empty house.

  “Where’s your dad, Chase?”

  Elliot and Chase had sprawled on the couch, watching the last remnants of yet another college football bowl game. Neither of them was sure what this bowl was called, and while they knew the colleges that were playing, they had no personal favorite among either team.

  “He said he had to help some designer look at an old house in Pittsburgh.”

  “He’s going to work in Pittsburgh? That’s like a long drive to get to work in the morning. My dad complains that he has to drive to Oil City—and that only takes ten minutes.”

  Chase grabbed a handful of potato chips. Ethan would not have let them have chips for breakfast and lunch, but somehow, a bowl of salty snacks was just the thing for an overcast winter day.

  “No. It’s sort of a one-day thing. That’s what he said. Just sort of consulting or something.”

  “Consulting?”

  “Yeah. He said consulting is telling somebody what they already know and charging them for it.”

  “You can do that?” Elliot asked, amazed. “And get paid for it?’

  “I guess.”

  “Sweet. I can’t wait until I grow up. I want to be a consultant.”

  Chase laughed as he munched another handful of the discount-store chips. “It does sound like a sweet deal. Maybe we can go into business together.”

  As Paul’s knocking echoed in the old house, three large white panel trucks pulled to the curb behind his black Lexus and a red Jaguar, and in front of a pickup that Cameron thought looked vaguely familiar. Then the door was opened.

  “Paul! You’re here. Perfect timing. We just returned from lunch.
And we’re ready to get started.”

  Paul gently embraced the woman. “Emily, once again, I am so grateful for you allowing us this privilege to document your project. Emily Harrington, I would like you to meet the new host of Three Rivers Restorations, Miss Cameron Dane.”

  “Nice to meet you, Cameron,” Emily said.

  As Cameron extended her hand to the woman she had immediately recognized, she saw over Emily’s shoulder a face that shouldn’t be there. But it was there, and it caught the breath in her chest.

  “And you have to meet my construction consultant,” Emily said, “Mr. Ethan Willis.”

  An unforgiven injury binds you

  to a time and place

  someone else has chosen;

  it holds you trapped in a past moment

  and in old feelings.

  —Carol Luebering

  To forgive,

  one must remember the past,

  put it into perspective,

  and move beyond it.

  —Beverly Flanigan

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CAMERON GAVE ETHAN CREDIT. When they were introduced, he smiled politely and said, “Miss Dane. It’s so nice to see you again.”

  And then again, she was angry at him for pretending they didn’t know one another better than that. But she also realized that if he had acknowledged they indeed knew each other well, then further explanations would have been required, and that could have allowed the moment to get too personal—and messy.

  Cameron didn’t want messy. So she responded in kind. “Mr. Willis, it’s nice to see you again as well. Are you going to be doing some of the work on Ms. Harrington’s project?”

  Emily interrupted loudly. “I wish he was. But he keeps turning me down. Fancy steak dinners, Italian lunches with lots of wine—nothing will get him to change his mind. I may have to resort to more drastic tactics.”

  The tone of Emily’s words left nothing to Cameron’s imagination, but she refused to look or act upset. If that’s where Ethan is at the moment, then so be it, she told herself.

  “No, I couldn’t work down here. Too much traffic,” Ethan added.

  And with that, Emily took Cameron by the arm and ushered her farther into the house, pointing out details with the rolled-up architectural drawings.

  That left Paul alone in the entry with Ethan.…

  “Paul Drake,” he said, offering his manicured hand. “Television guy.”

  Ethan expected a limp handshake but got a very, very firm grip instead. “Ethan Willis, construction guy.”

  Paul pulled out the monogrammed cuffs of his starched white shirt a bit, leaving an elegant quarter-inch showing. He moved a step closer to Ethan and whispered, “Is our Ms. Harrington a lunatic, or do you think she can make something of this monstrosity?”

  If Ethan had been taken aback by Mr. Drake, he did another good job of hiding his feelings.

  He whispered back. “It’s horrible, isn’t it? But it has great bones, as we say in the business. A diamond in the rough. If she does things right, this will be a jewel.”

  Paul pursed his lips together and nodded, then offered a sardonic, twisty smile. “But it might crash and burn, mightn’t it?”

  Ethan shrugged. “That could happen as well. That’s always a possibility in the construction business—especially when restoring an old place like this.”

  “Delightful,” Paul replied. “Makes for such fabulous television, don’t you think?”

  And as if on cue, the first television crew member barged through the front door, carrying a clipboard under one arm and a rather expensive-looking and cumbersome video camera under the other.

  He stomped his feet, tilted his head back to see from under his sunglasses, then asked, “Is the talent here, Mr. Drake?”

  “Besides me?” Paul asked, smiling.

  It must have been a familiar joke because the crew person could only offer a weak smile in return.

  “Yes,” Paul added, with a tiny hint of petulance. “Miss Dane is being given the grand tour by the owner. She says she knows her lines. But we need Ava here immediately. Someone needs to do something with the poor girl’s cheeks.”

  “She’s getting her kit now. We’ll start with all the interior shots. It’s starting to snow, and that just pooches any good exterior shots for today.”

  Ethan had attempted to make his escape right after the first small segment had been taped. Emily would not hear of it.

  “I am paying you for the entire day, Mr. Willis, and if I spent that sort of money, you must stay with me for the entire day. I need moral support. I need technical support. Please, please, Ethan. You must stay.”

  He relented. “But I have to leave by five.”

  “We’ll be done long before five.”

  Actually, Ethan didn’t mind staying. He felt he was somewhat in the way, but he had never watched the filming of a television show. Paul Drake’s crew had brought two cameras with them—a big one mounted on a tripod, and a smaller mobile one, like the cameramen on the sidelines of football games used. That cameraman went from room to room, taking shots of everything inside the house.

  “We’ll add sound to these shots later,” the cameraman said to Ethan when he asked. “This is all footage to show what the house is like—and the talent will do a voiceover once we edit it down. No sense in doing sound setups in every room.”

  Ethan followed them around, leaned against walls with his arms crossed, watching as they took multiple views of each space, seeing what detail they focused on, watching as they keyed the camera’s attention on the Victorian moldings and old fixtures, scraps of original wallpaper, little details that echoed from the past. They even filmed in the attic, festooned with cobwebs and old boxes stacked in corners.

  Ethan noted with surprise that the house had been constructed with care—better framing than he usually found, thicker joists than necessary, overall quality work done by the original builders.

  Maybe Emily will be one of those people who really respects the past and the beauty of the original design.

  Ethan watched Cameron, with cheeks more sculpted-looking and lips redder than they had been in the morning, stand with Emily in the ancient kitchen and ask interview-type questions.

  “What attracted you to this house?”

  “Do you know any of the history of the house?”

  “You’re a well-known designer of kitchens. What will you do to this kitchen?”

  “How long do you think the project will take?”

  “Do you plan to do any of the work yourself?”

  As Cameron spoke, a boom microphone dangled over her head, and large illumination spots filled the room with bright light. A whole crew of people stood behind the camera, observing, taking notes, adjusting things, holding cables—a hive of activity. Ethan marveled that she was able to hold her composure and actually sound like the interview was spontaneous and unrehearsed. Every few questions, the director, a stout man with a matted black beard, stopped the proceedings and barked out, “We need that again. That word was garbled. I don’t like garbled. Please be careful and speak clearly.”

  Then the question that had been asked would be asked again and the answer repeated.

  Cameron never once looked like she was perturbed by any of the interruptions. Ethan was impressed. If someone interrupted him while he was measuring or doing any precise sawing, he’d become flustered and usually would have to start the task all over again.

  Not so with Cameron. She would simply nod at the instructions, smile sweetly, blink once or twice, lick her lips, and start over again, ever nicer and sweeter and more inquisitive the second or third or fourth time than she was the first.

  Ethan looked at his L.L. Bean watch. It was close to five. Paul Drake stood beside him a
nd looked at his own watch—a large, expensive one, gold and stainless steel with an array of buttons on one side and a series of tiny dials on the face.

  “Are we overtime at five?”

  The entire crew, almost in unison, shouted out, “Double time.”

  Not ruffled, but firm, Paul then called out, “Then this will be the last setup. The entire script has been filmed, right?”

  The director replied, “Right. More than enough in the can.”

  “Interiors all filmed?”

  “Right.”

  “We have everything we need in the can?”

  “We’ll need voiceovers after editing.”

  “Right.”

  “Then, this—gentlemen, ladies—is a wrap.”

  And in that moment, Cameron chose to look up directly at Ethan.

  He couldn’t decipher her expression. It could have been relief or anger or satisfaction. Ethan just didn’t have the language to translate it.

  Ethan, Paul, Emily, and Cameron all exited the house at the same time. All stood on the porch, staring out to where Pittsburgh should have been, and none of them could see anything at all. Snow had fallen earlier in the day. While it wasn’t a heavy snowfall, combined with warmer air swirling up the river valley, it brought a layer of dense fog to the city along with a blanket of white.

  “Well, that’s a real pretty sight,” Paul said just as his cell phone rang. He unsnapped it from his holster and listened for a moment. “Miss Dane, your flight has been cancelled. Apparently, the Venango Municipal Airway and Screen Door Company has some safety standards after all.”

  Cameron’s heart sank. “But how will I get home? I didn’t bring anything with me.”

  “You could rent a car,” Paul suggested.

  “I could take you to a hotel for the night,” Emily offered. “The manager of the William Penn downtown is a personal friend of mine.”