“I think you’re right that this project is good for Josie,” he told Willow. “She seems different to me.”
“She comes and goes. Right now, she acts okay. But she and Collin have been going at it, off and on, all week long. To be honest, I was a little worried that she would lash into you, but you must have won her over.”
“Maybe for the time being.”
“You got that right.” Willow sighed. “Being around Josie is like living in a minefield. You never know what will set her off.”
“Similar to teaching high school.”
Willow chuckled. “So, you really are more cut out for this sort of thing than I had assumed.”
“I enjoy helping Collin,” he told her. “He’s a hard worker.”
“I’m selfishly sorry he got that bookstore job. When he starts work tomorrow I lose my best laborer.”
“I feel somewhat to blame for that,” George confessed.
“Well, maybe I can guilt you into filling the gap for him.” She gave him a sly look then laughed. “Just kidding, George.”
“Oh.” He opened the hardware store door for her and, with list in hand, proceeded to gather hardware and sandpaper while she ordered the paint. Before long, they were headed back with their purchases.
“Do you think getting that apartment done will encourage Josie to remain in Warner?” George asked.
“I honestly have no idea what that girl will do—from one moment to the next.” She shook her head. “But since I like to live in the moment, well, I suppose I should just enjoy the ride.”
George wondered how anyone could possibly enjoy the unexpectedness of living around someone like Josie on a full-time basis. But then again, Willow appeared to thrive on craziness, unpredictability, and stress. And with Josie she would get plenty of that. For the life of him, George couldn’t fathom how Willow could stand it.
fifteen
Back at the apartment, George was pleased to see that Collin was about half done with the first round of sanding. “I’ll go over this with the finer paper now.” George picked up one of the sanded doors. When he was done, he wiped it with tack cloth, then showed the results to Collin.
“Wow, that really makes a difference,” Collin said. “That’s smooth.”
“The smoother we get it, the nicer the paint will go on.”
“How did you learn all this stuff?” Collin asked. “I mean, I always think of you as an English teacher—very proper in your suit and tie.”
George explained how he and his grandfather had spent a few summers working on George’s rental properties. “After my grandfather retired from the lumber business he had time to get serious about woodworking. Turned out he was quite the handyman too. He taught me a lot.”
“My grandpa wasn’t very handy,” Collin said. “If something needed to be fixed around the house, he’d just call in someone else to do it.”
They were just getting ready to start painting when someone knocked on the door and Willow announced it was time for a lunch break. She’d ordered sandwiches and salads from the local deli. No one said much as they sat around on paint buckets and crates to eat. George wasn’t sure whether they were too weary to converse or simply at odds, but it was a relief when everyone got back to work. Willow and Josie got busy painting in the bedroom. Not surprisingly, Josie had chosen another bold color for that. George took a peek, trying not to cringe at the purple-fuchsia tone that would’ve kept him awake at night. But at least Willow had talked Josie into a nice milky white for all the doors and wood trim. That might help.
George and Collin painted the kitchen cabinets pimento, with Collin making a few vampire jokes, but before long they got into a steady assembly-line rhythm, visiting pleasantly as they worked, which helped the time pass more quickly.
Finally, surrounded by a sea of red doors and drawers, George and Collin paused to survey their accomplishment. “Good work,” George declared with satisfaction. “Now these will need time to dry. I wouldn’t recommend putting on hardware until tomorrow.”
“Then we’re all done?” Collin asked.
George checked his watch, surprised to see it wasn’t yet four. “What about the bathroom vanity and cabinet? That shouldn’t take long.”
Collin let out a low groan, but before long, they had the bathroom cabinet dismantled and, while George removed hardware, Collin got to sanding. With both of them working, they had it knocked out by five thirty.
“Nicely done,” he told Collin.
“So we’re finished now?”
“You appear quite eager to quit.” George eyed Collin. “Big date tonight?”
Collin grinned. “Marissa and I are going to a movie.”
“Aha.” George nodded. “Well, you better get moving, young man. Might take some hard scrubbing to get that pimento paint out of your fingernails.”
After Collin took off, George washed the paintbrushes in the bathroom sink. He could hardly believe that he’d stayed here this long. But there was something surprisingly satisfying about it this day. A reminder of when he and his grandfather had worked together so many years ago. Only today, George had played the “grandpa” role.
“This looks great,” Willow declared as George laid the cleaned brushes on a rag. “And the kitchen cabinets too. You and Collin do good work. Thank you.”
As he washed his hands, he explained that the paint needed to dry before the pieces could be put back together. “And I know Collin is working at the bookstore tomorrow, so how about if I come back and put the cabinets back together?”
“Oh, George, that would be wonderful! That’s so generous of you.”
They discussed what time to meet up and then George excused himself to leave, but Willow walked down the stairs with him. “I’m sure you must be worn out,” she said. “But if you were interested, I would love to fix you dinner—as a thank-you. I have a couple of lovely grass-fed organic New York steaks. Well, unless you’re a vegetarian.” She grinned. “I used to be vegetarian, back in my thirties. Now I enjoy a good piece of red meat from time to time.”
“Steak?” George felt his stomach rumble. “Uh, will Josie be dining with you too?”
Willow frowned. “I haven’t invited her. To be honest, I could use a Josie break. But I’m sure she’ll want to spend the night in my apartment since hers is still such a mess.” She held up a finger. “How would you feel about me bringing my steaks to your house to cook?”
As tempting as a New York steak sounded, George wasn’t sure he wanted Willow to cook them in his tidy little kitchen. The smell, the smoke, the grease, the mess, the stress . . . it just wouldn’t be worth it. “I’m not really set up for fancy cooking in my kitchen,” he confessed. “To be honest, I’ve never made a steak there myself.”
She blinked in surprise. “Oh . . . okay. How about a rain check then? And just so you know, I’m a very good cook. With a good oven and good broiler, I can make a mean steak. Even better on an outdoor grill.”
George was still reluctant to give up on that steak. “I have an idea,” he said without really thinking it through. “My grandparents’ house has a big, well-equipped kitchen. My grandmother was an excellent cook and—”
“That’s perfect!” Willow’s eyes lit up. “I’d love to see the inside of that house. And it will give me a break from Josie. What time should I come?”
Of course, now George began to second-guess himself. He’d never taken anyone into his grandparents’ house since they’d passed. Aside from his visits when he’d dust and sweep and vacuum the main rooms, no one ever went in there. But Willow was already enthusiastically going over her menu, and he knew it was too late to change his mind. They agreed to meet at seven. That would just give George enough time to grab a quick shower then get up there and make sure all was in order. But as he hurried home, he had serious misgivings. This felt like a big mistake.
Willow could hardly believe it. Not only was she going to see the inside of the Rockwell Mansion, she was going to fix dinner up
there. Who would’ve thought it! Of course, it was entirely possible that before the evening ended, George could regret the whole thing. He could resent that she’d pushed him some. But without pushing that man, he’d probably be stuck in the mud indefinitely. Besides, he was about to get a really great meal out of this.
As she drove up the hill, cleaned up and wearing a comfortable caftan, she felt surprisingly energized. Today had been a good day. And this evening had the potential to be even better. But as she parked in front of the majestic house, she felt dismayed. The place looked so secure and closed up and uninhabited. Had George even arrived yet? Even worse, had he changed his mind? She’d suspected by his expression that he’d been unsure of his suggested plan, but she hadn’t given him the chance to back out.
As she got her bag of dinner ingredients from the car, she knew that George wouldn’t be comfortable having her up here. But she also knew that George wasn’t comfortable with much of anything outside of his norm. By now, Willow felt fairly certain that George had some form of OCD. Naturally, she hadn’t mentioned this to him. Not yet anyway. Perhaps one day, when their friendship was more solid, she would.
She went up the front porch steps. Although people referred to this house as the “Rockwell Mansion,” it wasn’t exactly huge by today’s standards. A hundred-plus years ago, it would’ve been. It was a handsome brick house with Edwardian architecture that gave it a dignified look. It had three stories and a generous wraparound porch. Although it appeared solid and maintained, it had a look of neglect about it. Or perhaps it was sadness. Maybe the house was simply lonely. Willow hesitantly rang the doorbell. To her surprise, George answered.
“Oh, you’re here!” she exclaimed.
“I said I’d be here.” He opened the door wider.
“Yes, but I wondered if you’d change your mind.”
He gave her a curious look, but let her in. “I was just starting to open up some windows,” he said. “I’m afraid it’s a bit stale in here.”
Willow looked around with wide eyes. The foyer was about the size of her whole apartment. An enormous brass chandelier hung from the high ceiling, illuminating the marble floor, a dark Persian rug, and an elegant entry table with a large Chinese vase in the center of it. “This is beautiful,” she told George.
“According to my grandfather, nothing has ever changed in this space. Even the wallpaper here is original.”
She took in the dark, somber colors. “Interesting.”
“Some of the other rooms have been updated somewhat over the years. Not necessarily improved, but made more comfortable, I suppose.”
Willow admired the wide staircase, imagining a lovely woman from a previous era gracefully coming down . . . perhaps to meet a beau. “So you grew up in this house, George?”
“Yes. Some of my earliest memories were in this house. Then, after my parents died, this was my home.”
“Did you ever slide down this banister?”
“As a matter of fact, I did.” He nodded with a faraway look.
She was surprised. It was hard to imagine serious George ever doing something with that kind of abandon. “Well, I’ll bet you haven’t done it lately,” she teased.
“No, no . . . not lately.”
Willow looked at the framed black-and-white photographs on the stairway wall. “Are these family pictures?”
“Yes. My grandmother loved to take photographs.”
“These are so good.” Willow stared at a photo of a young man leaning against an old pickup. “Who is this?”
“Alex,” George said. “Shortly before Vietnam.”
“Oh.” She nodded. “He was handsome.” She pointed to an adorable freckle-faced boy cuddling up with a big tiger-striped cat. “Is that you, George?”
“And my cat, Buddy.”
“You had a cat?”
“Uh-huh. The only one I ever liked. But he was a Maine Coon. They’re not a typical cat.”
“Buddy.” She studied the animal’s sweet face. “It almost looks like he was smiling.”
“Buddy had an excellent disposition. My grandfather always said he was more like a dog than a cat.”
“He looks very sweet.”
“Best ever. Maine Coons are not your ordinary cat. Besides their superior physical traits, like three layers of fur, long fluffy tails, and oversized feet, they’re extremely intelligent. And they’re such good mousers the Puritans brought them to America to protect the grain aboard the ships.”
“Interesting.” Willow was surprised to hear him speaking so favorably about felines—who would’ve guessed?
Now George led her through a set of sliding-glass pocket doors into a large living room with gleaming wood floors.
“I see what you mean by updates.” Willow smiled at the modern-style sofa and coffee table and chairs, arranged on a yellow shag area rug. “Mid-Century meets Edwardian. Very interesting.”
“My grandmother picked these pieces out in the sixties. I think she said they were Danish Modern.”
“Your grandmother had good taste.”
“Even though it doesn’t match the era of the house?”
“Well, I doubt that many people would be terribly comfortable with the Victorian furnishings that were in vogue a hundred years ago.”
“Maybe not. The kitchen is this way.” George led her through a large dining room. Although it had dark panels and a crystal chandelier, the dining pieces were pale, sleek, and Mid-Century. All were in excellent condition.
“These furnishings are probably quite valuable,” she told George.
“I suppose.” He pushed open a set of swinging doors. “The kitchen.”
Willow looked around the spacious room, surprised to see that it looked like something from the eighties. Oak cabinets, blue Formica countertops, white vinyl flooring, and white appliances. “Interesting.”
“I know.” George sighed. “It doesn’t quite fit the house. My grandmother had it redone shortly after I graduated college. Circa 1985.”
“Not exactly a fabulous time for style.”
“Yes, this is one room I’d like to see changed back to its original form.”
“What was it like before this?” She began to unload her food items.
“I never saw the original kitchen. It had been remodeled in the 1950s before I was born,” he explained. “I was disappointed when Grandma changed it.”
“But didn’t you say that’s where you got the pieces for your kitchen?” Willow started to poke around the cabinets and drawers, looking for the utensils she needed.
“Yes. I suppose that was the upside.”
“And these appliances work okay?” She opened a door to one of the spotlessly clean double ovens.
“As far as I know. They’re not much to look at, but they were the best money could buy back then.”
Willow tested the burner on the gas stovetop, pleased to see that it flamed nicely. “Looks good.” She glanced at George and suspected by his furrowed brow that he felt uneasy about having her here. “If there’s anything you need to do, or if you’d like to go relax, I’m sure I can find my way around this kitchen. And dinner should be ready in about thirty minutes.”
“Well, I did want to get some things from my grandfather’s workshop down in the basement. An electric screwdriver will be helpful to get the cabinets back together tomorrow.” He frowned slightly. “I guess you can just make yourself at home.”
Relieved to have George occupied with something else, Willow began to pull out the things she needed and set to work. She felt like she was in a time warp, but it was fun to imagine what George’s grandmother might’ve been like. Obviously, she hadn’t been a woman intimidated by change. Too bad George hadn’t inherited that characteristic. And yet it was charming to think of how, as a little boy, George must’ve loved his grandmother’s fifties-style kitchen. So much that he’d recreated it in his own house.
Willow felt like she was “playing house” as she arranged the Danish-style place settings
, silverware, and placemats on the dining table. She’d considered serving dinner in the kitchen, but that eighties-style interior with the awful fluorescent overhead light was so sterile and plastic—she just couldn’t bear it. Finding brass candlestick holders and candles in the buffet drawer, she decided to go all out. Hopefully George wouldn’t mind. She was about to call him to the table when she heard footsteps.
“Oh my.” He stared at the dining table. “This looks nice.”
“You said to make myself at home.”
George looked uneasy as he hurried over to pull out her chair. “I haven’t eaten in this room in years,” he muttered as he went around to the other side and slowly sat.
“I hope you don’t mind.”
“No . . . no. It just feels a bit strange.” Then, as if to add to the strangeness, George folded his hands and bowed his head.
“Are you praying?” she whispered.
He looked up with embarrassment. “I, uh, I guess it was just a conditioned response. You see, the only times I ate in here were with my grandparents, and my grandfather always asked a blessing.”
“Then by all means.” She smiled.
“Well, I, uh . . . okay.” He stiffly bowed his head again. “For that which we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly grateful.”
“Amen,” Willow said quietly.
“That certainly felt odd.” George reached for his napkin. “And to be honest, it felt insincere.”
“Was that the blessing your grandfather used?”
“Yes. I never really understood it though. If we were asking for the Lord to make us grateful, well, what’s the point?”
“Meaning you should be grateful without the Lord’s help?” She passed him the salad bowl.
“I guess so.” He shrugged as he served himself. “Not that it matters now.”
“Because you don’t believe in God?”
“That’s right.” George smiled. “This looks delicious, Willow. Thank you.”
Although Willow would’ve liked to pursue the subject of God and faith further, she knew it was making him uncomfortable. So she attempted to make light conversation as they dined. More than anything she wanted George to simply relax and enjoy a pleasant evening. But for some reason it felt like pulling teeth to get a natural conversation out of him.
Courting Mr. Emerson Page 14