Blue Heaven (Blue Lake)

by Cynthia Harrison

  “Men can be such pigs.” Jane reached for the wine bottle, noticed it was empty, and held it up, swishing it back and forth until the waiter noticed.

  Chapter Seven

  The next morning, as Eva searched for the black cat so the vet who’d come out to check over Mama and the kittens could look at him too, Daniel showed up along with Bob, Frank, and the rest of the crew. Eva had been half expecting nobody to show, had been picturing them at the museum. She decided to trust Daniel, if not with her heart, then at least with her beach steps. He was, after all, working for free. And he knew that she was never going to sell, no matter what.

  Daniel said hi on his way down to the beach. She waved and plastered what she hoped was a casual smile onto her face. After Jane’s revelations last night, she was glad he was here, but also in high alert mode.

  “Looking for something?” Bob asked.

  “Black cat,” she said, peered under some shrubbery.

  “You check the shed?”

  “Yes.”

  “He hangs out in the rafters,” Bob said, before excusing himself to get the crew organized for the day.

  Eva went back to the shed while the vet waited on the stoop. She didn’t seem to mind sitting on a slab of concrete, but Eva wanted a beautiful front porch for guests. She could picture the overhang from the addition, stone piers, sturdy wicker furniture, bright pillows, slate floor.

  “Yeow.” She heard him before she saw him, peering at her from above.

  “Hi there Daddy. Your wife and babies are fine.” He gave a lower pitched meow that sounded more like a grunt.

  “He’s in here, doc.” The vet came into the shed with her bribe. The two of them had a staring contest for a minute with the cat.

  “Why don’t I go up there,” Eva was already climbing a ladder, “and I’ll chase him down, then you can nab him.”

  The vet and Eva stood ready as the cat elegantly exited the rafter for the floor below without the help of anything so mundane as a step ladder. His furry descent was the stuff of Olympic gold. He landed at the doc’s feet, scarfing the piece of cooked chicken she held out to him.

  In a matter of seconds, the doc bagged the cat with a blanket, gripped him firmly despite his outraged howls, and got him out of the shed and into her mobile unit.

  Eva stood on the ladder, looking around the rough attic space. This was the final frontier, the last little spot she hadn’t investigated on her property. There wasn’t much to see. A couple of dusty boxes and a long piece of PVC pipe. Or maybe, she thought, reaching out for it, a cylinder poster container. She pulled at it. Not heavy. With black daddy cat patrolling the rafters, she was pretty sure there wouldn’t be any mice lurking inside. Maybe spiders. She could handle those.

  She grabbed the awkwardly-sized tube around the middle and slowly stepped down the ladder. Whatever it contained, the tube was cardboard, not plastic. Bob had set up a worktable from two sawhorses and a plank of plywood, so she maneuvered the tube onto the table and opened the capped end. Looked like a poster inside. She carefully pulled it out, not having a clue what relic she’d find. Her aunts had cleaned out most of the family heirlooms, claiming the china and linens her dad hadn’t cared about. But apparently, he’d salvaged something, and tucked it here not too long ago by the good condition of the paper. She unrolled the heavy spool and knew what it was.

  Not stocks and bonds, not even a Woodstock poster, but the original blueprints for the bungalow. Or somebody’s bungalow. Because, unlike Blue Heaven, these blueprints showed a second floor, airplane style, with the gorgeous big porch of her dad’s dreams looking out to the lake. But there was the name, Blue Heaven, in the right bottom corner. And Bryman’s name. And her great-grandfather’s, along with the date in 1922 when the house was built.

  What had happened? Why hadn’t the second floor ever materialized? She went back up the ladder and retrieved the boxes. There were just two, and they were fairly small and light. Before she could open them, the vet came back with a purring daddy cat, which she confirmed was indeed a male. About four years old, and in good health.

  “Are they...” Eva didn’t know the term for wild, dangerous, unfriendly.

  “Not feral, no. They’re domesticated. Probably got lost or someone turned them out. Happens all the time.”

  Eva didn’t like to think about the kind of people who would simply tire of their pet and not let them back into the house one night.

  They settled the bill inside the bungalow, leaving Daddy to rearrange himself in his quarters. As Eva watched the vet drive away, she heard man noises from the shed.

  “What the hell? I can’t believe—”

  She rushed outside to the shed. Bob and Daniel were at the worktable pouring over the blueprints.

  “Do you still think I shouldn’t add a second story?”

  Daniel studied the blueprints. “Where’d you find these?”

  “Up there.” She pointed to the rafters. “And these boxes, too,” she said, prying open the first box. “Letters,” she said.

  Bob and Daniel came up beside her. “From my grandfather to yours. And from yours to mine.” Eva picked up yellowed envelope after yellowed envelope, most still with the penny stamp in the upper right corner. She flipped open the other box.

  “And preliminary drawings, there, looks like,” Daniel said. He still hadn’t snatched or even touched anything from the boxes, even though some of the letters were rightly his property. How had her father come to own both sides of the correspondence? Maybe the letters themselves would tell the story.

  ****

  A gust of wind stirred the air, and one of the letters almost flew out of the box.

  “We need to take these inside,” Daniel said.

  “Yes.” He was bossy, but he was also right. Bob went back to work and Eva and Daniel went into her bungalow. They sat on the living room floor and spread out letters, photos, and even receipts, a collage of history. At the center, weighed down with salt and pepper shakers, was the blue print.

  Eva looked at a receipt for a pound of nails. “Do they still sell nails by the pound?”

  Daniel had been studying the wedding photograph of his great-grandparents. He looked up and she saw his sad eyes. “What? Sorry. Great-grandma looks just like my mom did at that age.”

  She held out her hand for the picture. They exchanged the pieces of history and he laughed at the receipt, ten cents for one pounds of nails. “She was so pretty,” Eva said.

  “She was,” Daniel agreed. Eva wasn’t sure which “she” he meant, but it didn’t really matter.

  They worked together, sorting the mementos into two piles of pictures, two piles of letters, and a pile of miscellaneous papers, like the receipt for nails. Daniel would keep his letters and photos, and she would keep hers.

  After they’d filed the letters by date, they moved to the sofa, each with a pile of letters in their laps. The envelope glue was gone, the ink on the old pages had faded, the creases were browned with age, but the words told the story of a friendship that developed over time, about a world long gone, where soup lines in Detroit delivered many people’s only meal of the day. In Blue Lake, hunting and fishing were not sports, they were survival skills. Both great-grandmothers had gardens and took great pride in “putting up” jars of peaches and green beans. A few of the letters shared recipes written on small cards, in different hands, those of two wives doing their part to wrestle a living off the land.

  And it was in the letters that a plan was hatched between the two men to change the course of Blue Heaven from a summer retreat into a new means of making money for the Delacroix family. In one letter, Daniel found a rough sketch of the cottages. He handed it to her. “No gloating.”

  She just smiled. At last they could share her vision.

  After they’d looked through everything, they got up to stretch and realized it was dusk. Too late to start on the beach stairs.

  “It feels wrong to break up this collection,” Daniel said. “It’s on y
our property, so I guess you have first claim.”

  “No, you should have your letters and photos. Anyway, there’s so much mess and confusion going on here. I think everything will be better kept at your place for now.”

  “We need copies of the blueprint. I know a guy in Port Huron who does specialized copying. Nobody should handle this original.”

  Eva carefully rolled the blueprint up and put it back into the cylinder. “I’ll take it in to him tomorrow.”

  “I’ll call to let him know you’re coming and what you have.”

  “Maybe I’ll frame the original and hang it in the office.”

  Daniel’s face fell. “That would be nice,” he said, making an effort. Oh. He probably would love that blueprint for his museum.

  After they’d labeled and sorted everything and organized them into boxes on the kitchen table, Daniel said “There’s no way we can stay in your budget now that we have these blueprints.”

  Eva tensed. “Hold on.” Sure, their ancestors had worked together. Sure, they could, too. But this was her project, and Daniel, no matter his many skills and considerable charm, would work on her budget and within her timetable.

  “William Bryman and Louis Delacroix lived in times quite similar to ours,” she told Daniel, trying to hold a reasonable tone even as her hands curled into fists and arranged themselves on her hips. “When the Depression hit, and Louis decided to change course, William went along with him. They built cottages and modified the bungalow. They bought linoleum instead of wood, they used cheaper products without sacrificing quality. They made deliberate decisions to maximize the earning potential for this place. Which is what I am doing.” She let her arms fall loosely around her body, trying hard to smooth out this dispute. Every time she saw Daniel, she liked him a little more. She didn’t want their shared history, and his intense focus on it, to make them awkward around each other.

  “But to be the best…”

  “I hear you. I do. Quality counts. Except you have piles of money, and I don’t.”

  “I’m happy to loan you whatever you need. And I won’t charge you interest. You don’t ever have to pay me back. Once this place gets into Discovery Architecture…” Daniel had been talking all morning about how his writer friend would not be able to resist this new angle of a renovated beach resort. “…you will never have to advertise again. You will be able to raise your rates. You will be able to show off your showplace.”

  Eva rubbed her bare arms. She felt raw. Maybe it was the sun going down, or maybe it was her past come back to haunt her. On the one hand, she knew the kind of advertising Daniel was talking about could not be bought, not on her budget. On the other, she’d been through this before. A wealthy successful man saw a way to exploit her by helping her along the path to success. Dangerous, complicated success.

  “Let me take you to dinner. We can talk about it over one of Eddie’s burgers.” Daniel said.

  “No, I…listen Daniel, I have some work to do. Calls to make. A marketing campaign to write. I appreciate you working the magazine angle, and I’ll help all I can if it pans out, but right now I need to find paying customers.”

  He looked hurt. Part of her melted and part of her steeled herself against giving in. Marcus had been able to manipulate her emotions, but that was the past. This was now. She wouldn’t let Daniel do it, too.

  “But what about my offer of a loan? Please don’t turn me down. This property is too important now to use second rate materials or workers.”

  She shook her head.

  “I’m sorry, Daniel. I’m sure your offer is sincere.” She wasn’t, not quite, but he didn’t have to know that. “It’s just—I have to do this my way. Within my budget.” She always had the 401K to tap into if she needed it.

  Chapter Eight

  When the roofer finished shingling the cottages, he told her he had a builder—a great builder, he claimed—to help with the airplane addition. After running the numbers again, Eva cashed out her anemic 401k. It was the only way she could afford to pay all these people and buy materials.

  Eva showed them the fragile blueprints, making sure no one touched them. “I’ll get you a set to work with later.”

  “We can have it boxed in and roofed in two week’s time,” the builder promised. “Then it’s just a matter of finish work.”

  Five weeks until opening. It might just be enough time. And if not, well, that would be fine. Daniel had been right about the cottages being first priority. As soon as these two built a staircase and got the addition buttoned up, she could finish the office and be ready for business, even if the upper floor wasn’t completely finished.

  “Might have to give me one or two more guys off the cottage crew,” Frank said.

  That could be a problem.

  “I need a cottage to live in while the bungalow is roofless, so I’m not sure who Bob can spare.”

  “We’ll work it out,” Frank promised.

  Eva hoped they could. And she hoped Daniel would not get in the way. He’d already talked her into having copies made of the blueprints so that nobody else handled the originals. Even though she wanted to have them framed and put in her office, she was sure he wanted them for his museum.

  She had to drive all the way to Port Huron to get the printing job done, and when she returned, it was after five. Bob gave her some good news.

  “Three of the cottages are just about livable.”

  “Just about?”

  “The interior of Peach is complete.” Peach is where Eva planned to set up headquarters for her publicity campaign. They walked over, Eva soothed and satisfied at the busy construction scene. Men moving with purpose, hammers pounding out a righteous ring, lumber hoisted on responsible shoulders, all coordinated like a testosterone ballet. And Peach! Great bones. She needed to decorate. Set the stage for photos. For her, that was the fun part of doing publicity.

  “The other two are coming along, but need a bit more work,” Bob said. Eva really didn’t care about the other two cottages. Progress was being made, things were moving on schedule, maybe even a little bit ahead of time.

  “Is my wireless going to work out here?” She needed to nail marketing while construction went on around her.

  “No problem.” She noted that a single bed she’d stored in the spare room had been moved into Peach.

  Now she just had to carry the kittens over.

  Bob followed Eva into the house. The builder and roofer had made a rough start in the office on the winding stairway. At least she hoped it was a rough start, because what they had nailed up as steps looked worse than the old ones down at the beach. Maybe it wasn’t the best of ideas to hire a roofer and an unknown person to erect an addition. But Frank had sworn he’d done plenty of construction besides roofing and that his builder buddy was as good as they came. As she checked out the sorry steps, and a slice of sky above, a girl in shorts and a crop top came in to the office without knocking.

  “There’s no toilet paper in my cottage,” she told Bob, ignoring Eva. “And it smells like mildew.”

  Bob blushed. He looked from the girl to Eva.

  “I sort of rented out one of the cottages,” Bob shrugged, not looking Eva in the eye but casting his baby blues out to the lake as if watching for whales.

  “Are you the owner?” The girl addressed Eva. “Because I need some toilet paper. And you,” she pointed to Bob, “have got to open my window. It’s painted shut.”

  “I don’t have a business license yet,” Eva told Bob. “So, I can’t rent you a room,” she told the girl.

  “I can’t pay for the room anyway,” the girl said, “so you’re not really renting it to me per se.” She held out her hand. “Lily Van Styke.”

  Eva shook Lily’s perfectly manicured hand.

  Bob went into the bathroom and came out holding out a roll of toilet paper to Lily.

  “Lily’s going to help us paint,” Bob said.

  Bob hiring another crew member was fine, but only if he paid her o
ut of the budget she’d already provided him. Lily staying in one of the cottages wasn’t a good idea. She started to say as much when Lily interrupted her.

  “Where are the sheets?” Lily walked through the kitchen and into the hallway to rummage through the linen closet. Eva didn’t even have a washing machine yet, let alone proper linens. She’d need them soon. Another trip to Port Huron was on the horizon. But not today. Today she’d get Peach ready to occupy and move in. Her website was just waiting for photos and a few final bits of code. She wanted it up and running tonight as well. But what to do about this girl?

  “This is not going to work. I’m not set up for you,” Eva said, wondering how much credit she still had on her Sears card. She really should arrange delivery of a heavy duty washer and dryer.

  “These will do, for now,” Lily said, coming out with Eva’s second set of queen-sized sheets.

  “You don’t even have a bed,” Eva said.

  Bob shrugged. “I gave her one from my house. We have so many bedrooms nobody uses, Daniel will never even notice.” He turned to Lily. “Those sheets should work fine.”

  Lily sat down, plunking her roll of toilet paper on the chair next to her. “And you need mousetraps.”

  They both ignored Eva’s remark about Lily not staying. It was as if she hadn’t spoken.

  “Forget the mousetraps. I’ve got a cat with kittens,” Eva said. “They’re just a bit too small to start working for their keep yet.” The same could be said of Lily. “I’m sorry, Lily, but the cottages aren’t ready to be lived in.”

  Lily shot off the chair. “Kittens! Where?”

  Eva pointed to the living room. Bob followed Lily and Eva trailed after them, wondering what she could do to get rid of this girl who seemed oblivious to Eva’s strong hints that she had to go.

  “God, this room is gorgeous.” In spite of herself, Eva warmed incrementally toward Lily. She’d loved decorating her living room even though she’d maxed out her Visa to do it.