"I don't think that's what I said you did, but it's interesting that's where your brain went."
Cade rolls his eyes.
"I hired him. There's a lot that needs to be done around here, and I'm not really interested in putting the rest of my life on hold for months to do it all by myself. Jace was available, so I hired him."
"Grammie said you were the only person she trusts to work on the house," I point out. "She could have hired someone else by herself, but she didn't. She specifically called you and asked you to come here to do it for her."
"And I'm here," he says. "I'm here for her. But if I can get it done for her faster and more efficiently with help, why shouldn't I? What's the point in letting the house continue to fall apart, and leave Grammie in danger, just so I'm the only one working on it?"
I suddenly feel defensive about the house even though I've been noting every ding, dent, dust bunny, and dingy wall since arriving. My eyes narrow at him.
"This is her home," I say. "This is my home. Show some respect."
The softness the memories I shared with Esme brought back is swiftly fading.
"This was my home, too, Fiona."
Cade's voice is even and calm, and something about it makes me want to take a step back from him. His eyes meet mine for an intense second, then he turns and stomps away. A few seconds pass until I recover enough from the glare to make my way back toward the laundry I abandoned, my heart and mind racing.
Chapter Seven
Cade
"Is everything alright?" Jace asks as I walk back into the entryway.
I nod at him.
"It's fine," I say. "Thanks for coming on such short notice."
"Absolutely. I appreciate the work. To be honest, it hasn't been easy getting my business off the ground around here. So many people either do the work themselves or have people they've always known doing it for them. I know there's a big company people say got started by a man who used to live here. I can't quite remember the name, but it gives me some hope."
I nod, giving him a tight smile. As soon as I caught a glimpse of some of the work that needed to be done around here last night, I knew I needed help. Most of the projects I could handle on my own, even if it meant taking time to come here on weekends after returning home. Some of the projects, however, are definitely a two-man job. I could have called up one of my construction crews from Endeavor, but I decided that wasn’t a good idea. I don't want to mix my professional and personal life. Not out here, where I cherish it the most. Besides, Grammie still has a vision of my company as being a scrappy little venture, and I don't want her to realize the true nature of the company. I far prefer her to see me the way she always has. Grammie and Gramps were always able to see the real me. They could look past the bullshit and see the person I was. And Fiona. Always Fiona. She really did know me better than I knew myself.
I don't know what she sees in me anymore. When our eyes meet, there’s no tenderness behind her gaze, and I wonder what she's thinking. I know Fiona has no clue about my wealth or success, but something tells me she doesn't see the Cade she knew when she looks at me, either.
The plans I have for the house are extensive, but I'm more than capable of taking on most of it by myself. Jace is here for grunt work and to help me when I need an extra set of hands. If he has even the most basic of skills, the work should get done the way I expect it. Then I’ll feel confident giving out recommendations for his company. If he's good enough, I might absorb his business into Endeavor. For now, all I care about is that he's punctual, doesn't run his mouth while we work, and isn't incompetent while wielding tools. He can be a blithering idiot in all other facets of life. As long as he keeps his shit together while working with me, I could care less.
"Do you want a cup of coffee before we get started?" I ask.
"No, I'm good, thanks."
"Great. You've probably already noticed a few obvious things that need to be addressed, but let's establish something from the beginning. This isn't just a house. This isn't just a project to me. And the woman who lives here isn't some elderly, feeble-minded invalid who's waiting for the house to fall to dust around her. The house has seen better days, but Rose deserves nothing but the utmost of respect, and the highest quality of work, and to make sure that happens, I'm in charge. There's no question or negotiation about that. I know what's getting done around here, how it's getting done, and its priority in comparison to the rest of the projects. I'll let you know what needs to be done. You don't go off on your own or try something your way. I'm not hard to work with as long as you understand that."
Some of the enthusiasm on Jace's face has disappeared after my little speech, but I don't care. I didn't hire him to make a new friend. It doesn't matter to me if he likes me or enjoys the work I have him do. He'll get paid a rate far higher than anything he'd get taking on this type of work himself, and I'll accomplish what needs to get done around here. That's all that matters.
"Understood," he mutters.
"Good," I say. "So, let's get started. I'll show you around the house, and we'll talk about some of the projects I have in mind. Most of the work is inside, but there are some external issues that require our attention too. Things are going to be wet outside today, so we should focus on getting the lay of the land, making supply lists, and organizing. Tomorrow the weather is supposed to be better, and we can dive in head first."
"Sounds like a plan," Jace says.
"Perfect."
I gesture outside, and we head out into the sunlight that finally started shining down a few minutes ago. I hope the hot temperature the forecast calls for today will dry up the soggy ground. That would make it much easier to handle the work outside. I'll put in a call for a trash container we can use to haul away the debris the projects are going to create. I make a mental note to look around the property to see how much of Gramps' equipment and tools are still available and functioning. I know they're old and outdated in the eyes of many construction workers, but to me, they're almost like old friends. These are the tools I learned my trade on. There are definitely more modern tools and pieces of equipment that can make projects easier, but there's something to be said about returning to a simpler time.
I'm looking forward to being here and reconnecting to the roots Grammie has never let me forget, even with the wealth and resources I’ve accumulated over the years. That's not to say I don't intend to call in some equipment and spend a significant amount of time at the local hardware store – but if I happen to stumble upon the old paint-splattered hammer Gramps carried in his belt, it won't be leaving my toolbelt. That was the hammer he always used to work on this house. It’s only right that I use it now. It feels like the respectful thing to do.
The notes in my phone are filled with lists of the equipment and supplies I'll need to handle the outside renovations when I hear the back door slam shut. The sound is unmistakable. It's an old-fashioned storm door that was dated even when we were young. It’s one of my favorite features of the house and one of the many reminders that it has existed for far longer than my mere thirty years of life. Though the house is showing its years, there's still a sense of quiet dignity about it. I take comfort in the glimpses into the past the house offers. I figure if this house can make it through, and still be standing proud, I can, too.
Except for the coffeemaker. There is nothing redeeming about that coffeemaker.
I walk around the side of the house toward the sound of the door and see Fiona holding a nearly overflowing laundry basket on her hip as she crosses the yard toward the old retractable clothesline.
And the washer and dryer. Those should probably go.
"What are you doing?" I ask as Fiona grabs onto the hook on one pole and starts fighting to get the line out.
She doesn't even bother to look in my direction.
"I'm thinking about becoming a tightrope walker," she replies flatly. "I just have so much free time, I might as well pick up a new hobby. Do you think this is strong enough
to hold me?"
"Probably," I say, walking up behind her. "I don't think it's high enough off the ground to be very impressive, though."
I twist the hook and pull, releasing the line. She glares up at me for a brief second.
"Thanks," she mutters.
I follow her as she stomps the several yards from this pole to the other, hooking the line in place.
"Did the dryer give up?" I ask.
"Oh, no," she says. "The dryer is actually doing pretty well, given its advanced age. Grammie is the one who decided that it’s heating up the house too much and that I should hang out the wash. It'll kill all the germs, apparently."
"What germs?" I ask.
"I don't know," she says. "Her germs? I really don’t know."
"She broke her ankle," I say. "I don't think that involves many germs."
"I don't know what to tell you, Cade," Fiona says with an exasperated groan. "All I can say is that I have run up and down those stairs enough times my activity tracker should be spitting out confetti."
"What activity tracker?"
She looks down at her naked wrist, and her head falls forward in defeat as she chokes out an exasperated noise.
"Ugh! That’s just great. The activity tracker that's making sure my kitchen table is keeping its heart rate in the fat burning zone," she says. She drops the laundry basket to her feet, reaching down to pick up a towel and a handful of clothespins from the old gallon jug tucked into the corner of the basket. It looks like the same jug Grammie had when we were younger, but I'd like to think it was replaced at some point.
"What is going on with you?" I ask. "Does it seriously bother you this much to help out your grandmother?"
Fiona finishes pinning the towel in place, and her hands fall to her sides as sighs.
"No," she says. "My boss just called me."
"Why?"
"To complain that Tina didn't bring in the right donuts this morning, and one of the glazed ones had a bite taken out of it."
"I thought her name was Esme," I say.
"It is."
She grabs another towel and pins it haphazardly in place.
"Then who's Tina?"
"Me," she snaps. "I'm Tina."
"What? He thinks your name is Tina?"
"It’s gotten to the point where I don't know if he thinks my name is Tina, or if he thinks we're two different people."
"But he thought he was talking to Tina when he called you? How?"
"I don't know! There are rumors his parents were early converts to counter-culture, and that his birth name is Starlight. That might have something to do with it."
"I would venture a guess it contributes. Is Tina in trouble? Are you in trouble?"
"No. And no. I think he just wanted to whine. I reminded him that I'm on vacation, and he told me to have fun. I'm sure I'll hear from him again."
"Why?"
"He also reminded me that I have a meeting on Monday."
"Oh."
"It's fine," she says, hanging up another towel. "I'll call Esme. She'll work it out for me."
She finishes hanging up the laundry, scoops up the basket, and heads back into the house. The door slams closed again, and I turn back to Jace. His eyes are locked on the door as if he had been watching Fiona walk away. I bristle slightly.
"Let's go check the sheds further on the property. Rose mentioned one of the storage sheds was destroyed in a storm. I want to see how the wreckage was handled and check the other sheds. If they are in bad condition, they'll need to be emptied out and rebuilt."
Jace nods and follows me away from the house. I notice him glance back over his shoulder as we go, but he doesn't say anything. I know he was looking at Fiona. Any straight man would. A rush of defensiveness swells in my chest, but I try to push it away. He hasn't said anything to her or acted inappropriately.
We haven't even made it all the way out to the sheds when I notice the aftermath of the shed collapse. This shed had been here when I was younger, but I had never been inside. It was always padlocked, and Gramps told Fiona and me it was for storage, and that we shouldn't go in because it could all fall down around us.
Well, Gramps, I think to myself, it took about twenty years, but it finally happened.
The site where the shed once stood is now a pile of broken building materials. I can see that someone, probably the Harrisons, tried to stack it up with some semblance of order, but it's hard to make jagged wood and metal look neat.
"Why didn't they haul it away?" Jace asks, an incredulous expression on his face as he peers at the wreckage.
"I don't know," I say. "I wasn't here. My guess is that they didn't want to throw it away because there might be some way to reuse it."
Jace nods, his face belying the understanding of another person who grew up in this area. I often feel like this little pocket of Virginia countryside is some of the last remaining vestiges of self-reliance and ingenuity. As misguided and unsuccessful as it often is, there is a sense of determination here that stops people from wasting anything.
"What are you going to do with it?" he asks.
"Junk it," I say. "It's a hazard like it is. Let's check the other sheds."
We walk past the broken shed to the next, and I move around the perimeter slowly, carefully examining it to make sure it's stable.
By the time we've checked all the sheds, an hour and a half has passed, and I'm hot and thirsty. We make our way back toward the house, and I feel an instant rush of relief as I step through the door into the air conditioning. Of all the things around the house that need repairing, I'm glad the cooling system isn't one of them. With the temperatures soaring, and the humidity high as hell, I don't think I'd make it through the next few weeks without being able to occasionally relax in the blissful, chilly air.
I'm so focused on going through the notes on my phone, trying to make sense out of them, that I almost don't notice Fiona standing in the center of the seating arrangement, staring down at her feet. I pause and watch her for a few moments, but she doesn't move an inch.
Weird.
"Fiona?" I finally call out.
She looks up at me, then points down at the floor.
"Have you seen this?" she asks.
"Seen what?" I ask, walking into the living room. By the time I'm standing behind the sofa, I instantly understand what she's so concerned about. At her feet, where there used to be an area rug, is a large, jagged hole in the floor.
"How did that happen?" I ask.
"I have no idea," she says. "I came in here to look for a book Grammie was reading, and almost fell into it."
"She didn't mention there was a big hole in her living room floor?" I ask.
"She didn't call me here to mess with what’s wrong with the house," Fiona points out. "That's all on you. I handle laundry, supplying trashy novels, and feeding her snacks every five minutes. When pieces of the house fall off, it’s your job."
"Well, it didn't really fall off," Jace points out, coming into the room. "It more fell down."
I expect Fiona to growl in response, but instead, she flashes a smile over her shoulder at him.
What the fuck?
"That's still his job," she says almost playfully.
Again. What the fuck?
"I'll figure it out," I say, taking a partial step to the side to obscure Fiona from Jace's line of sight. "Just stay out of here for now."
Fiona turns to look at me, her smile fading.
"I'm not going to fall, Cade. I am perfectly capable of avoiding a section of the floor that’s missing."
"I'll remind you of that when I find you in the basement," I say. "Do you still sleepwalk?"
I see Jace's eyes flash over to Fiona. Without elaborating any further, I walk out of the living room and into the kitchen. The air from the refrigerator is even colder than the air conditioning, and I take my time pulling out a large pitcher of lemonade Fiona must have made earlier. By the amount missing, I can imagine how many treks she has taken up
and down the stairs to replenish Grammie's glass. Grabbing two glasses out of the cabinet, I fill them with lemonade, and drop an extra ice cube in mine. I can hear Fiona's voice echoing off the walls as I make my way back down the hallway toward the living room.
"No, really, I spent a lot of time here when I was a little girl, and as a teenager. As you can probably guess, there wasn't a ton to do, so I spent most of my time reading."
I look into the living room, where Fiona is perched on the arm of the sofa, running her fingers through the pages of a paperback. It’s probably the book Grammie sent her after, but Fiona is fondling it like she has formed a close personal bond with it.
"I just can't see you doing a whole lot of reading," Jace says, a slimy note in his voice.
"Yep," Fiona says, fixing a piece of hair that has fallen out of her ponytail. "I'm just a regular bookworm."
And for the third time. What the fuck?
"I don't believe it," Jace says.
"Well, how about you?" Fiona asks. "What did you do when you were a teenager?"
“I didn't do much. I was briefly in a garage band.”
“Oh, really? Were you any good?"
“It was probably the worst four-person experimental grunge band to have ever played for a crowd of seven cats and a garden gnome. If we'd ever had a show," he leans against the back of the couch, and eyes her up and down, “maybe you would have been a fan."
That's enough of this shit.
"Here, Jace," I say, stepping into the living room and shoving one of the glasses of lemonade toward him.
Jace at least has the decency to look embarrassed as he takes the glass and downs some of the lemonade.
"Fiona, I think I heard your grandmother calling for you. Maybe she wants her book. Jace and I need to get to the store."
"The store?" Fiona asks.
"Yes. We have to go to the hardware store to get supplies for the house."
"I was about to leave for the grocery store," she says. "The kitchen is almost empty. I'll just hitch a ride with you."
"You don't want to leave Grammie alone," I say. "Give me a list, and I'll get everything while I'm out."
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