Their Forever Home Page 5

  She pointed at the porch steps. “You stay there. I’ll be right back.”

  He put a foot on the first step and waited. The woman returned with a glass of water that had about a dozen cubes of ice floating in it.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He took a long drink, then placed the cool glass against his sweaty forehead. “That hits the spot.”

  She gave a wave of her hand. “Call me Loretta.”

  “And I’m John.”

  She motioned to a wicker chair that sported a crocheted pillow on the seat. “You might as well sit while you finish your drink.”

  He sat down, took another long pull of the cold water and let out a sigh. “Thank you for this. I should have brought water on my walk.”

  “Where you walking to?”

  He shrugged. “Nowhere. I needed to clear my head before I said some things better left unsaid.”

  She winked. “Problem with a woman?”

  “Not in the way you’re thinking.” He looked up at the ceiling of the porch, where someone had painted a rainbow. “Who’s the artist?”

  “My granddaughter thought it needed some sprucing up. And I’m getting too old to be climbing on ladders to paint a porch that is exposed to the elements.”

  “She’s got talent.”

  The woman smiled. “You one of those contest people?”

  “Yes. I’m a designer.”

  “When they announced the contest, there were folks around here who worried about what that meant for our little neighborhood. They like the quiet and what’s familiar. Me? I miss the young families that brought the noise only children could bring.” She leaned forward on the glider. “Do you think they’ll sell those houses to families?”

  “I believe they are being given to deserving families. They haven’t shared many details on that so far.”

  She nodded again and looked out at the houses that lined the street. “When things got bad, people losing their jobs and their homes, half the neighborhood disappeared.” She put a hand to her lips, shaking her head. “There’s only a bunch of us left now.”

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “Since my Walter came home from Vietnam and asked me to marry him. This was his mama’s house.” She set the glider to rocking. “Almost fifty good years we’ve had here. My daughter keeps talking about selling up and moving us to one of those assisted living places. I don’t want to give up my home. It don’t matter how convenient it is for her to have us there. It’s not convenient for me.”

  “Do you know when the house was built?”

  “Walter’s granddad built it from a kit he bought from Sears. Can you believe that?” She laughed and shook her head.

  John had figured it might have been a Craftsman home and longed to see what it looked like inside. But his mom had taught him manners, so he didn’t invite himself in. Instead, he finished his water and held out the empty glass to Loretta. “Thank you for the drink. I need to get back to work.”

  “Which house is yours?”

  “Number 2905.”

  She grinned. “The Czarnecks used to live there. I remember their green and yellow bathroom.” She made a face. “There’s no accounting for some people’s tastes.” She stood as he did so. “On your next break, stop back here. I might have some pictures of the neighborhood from the old days.”

  “I’d appreciate that, Miss Loretta.”

  She walked him to the edge of the porch. “Are all the people in this contest as polite as you?”

  “I’m one of a kind.”

  “That you are, John. A pleasure to meet you.”

  “Likewise.”

  He stepped off the porch and waved once he reached the sidewalk. When he returned to the house, he located Cassie sitting on the floor, her legs dangling in the hole. She looked up at him as he entered. “You’re back.” He nodded and looked around for the brothers. “They left to pick up lunch for us.”

  He gestured to the hole. “You thinking of keeping it there?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “Nope. Just thinking.”

  He took a seat next to her and dangled his legs close to hers. “I want to win this contest, but that means working together, not arguing. That applies to both of us.”

  “I really need this, John.”

  Her eyes were dewy with moisture. The vulnerability he saw made him want to put his arms around her, to whisper into her hair that everything would be okay. Instead, he sat quietly next to her and let her think.

  Finally, she gave a deep sigh. “We should get moving. Sitting here and hoping for things to be different isn’t going to win this contest.”

  When she started to stand, John tugged on her hand. “Cassie, for better or worse we’re a team, and we need to start acting like one. You need my input for the construction just as I need yours for the design. We have to do this together. I need to know I can rely on you. And let me reassure you that you can depend on me.”

  She stared at their joined hands. “The only one I’ve ever depended on was my dad. And you know how that turned out. Trust has to be earned.”

  She took a step back and started to walk into the kitchen but turned back. “I want to trust you, John. I’m just scared to.”

  He stood and winced at the tearing sound. He reached behind and felt where his jeans had ripped thanks to the jagged edge of the floor he’d been sitting on. Cassie tried to squelch a giggle, but he could see that she was amused by this. “I told you not to wear nice clothes on site.”

  Lesson learned. He hoped at least the tear wouldn’t expose too much of him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  WHILE CASSIE AND the brothers finished demolishing the house, John focused his attention on the design. He’d need solid ideas before Monday, so he immersed himself in homes. Books. Magazines. House renovation programs on television. He started a vision board online, posting ideas into a folder that soon grew so large he couldn’t remember if he’d already saved something.

  When staying in his apartment got too much and everything started to look the same, he signed up for a seminar at a Detroit Public Library branch on the Art Deco movement and its influence on architecture and home design. Not that it matched what he wanted to do in their house, but it could inspire other ideas.

  The Thursday-afternoon crowd at the library’s auditorium consisted mostly of senior citizens, along with a handful of college-age students who sat near the front row with notebooks and tablets poised for the lecture. John took a seat about halfway down the aisle and checked his phone for any last messages before powering it off.

  “John?”

  He didn’t have to look at the face to recognize that voice. Inwardly cringing, he raised his eyes to find his ex-fiancée standing in the aisle. “Alison.” He stood, his mother’s training reminding him that he was always a gentleman, despite the circumstances. “How are you?”

  “Great.” She seemed to be judging his appearance, starting from his shoes and moving her way up. “And you?”

  He didn’t answer immediately, unsure of what to say. Lonely since you left. Angry that you broke things off. Relieved that I found out since what kind of person you were before we got married. But he kept all that to himself and replied, “Fine. I didn’t know you were into Art Deco. Modern was more your style.”

  “I took the day off from work for some me time. This seemed a better option than more shopping.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I saw you in the newspaper recently. You’re now an interior decorator? Really, John, I’m surprised at you.”

  He bristled at her comments and tried to keep an even tone. “It’s home design, first of all. And surprised at what, exactly? That I took a chance on a new career, or that someone actually realized that I have talent beyond cars?”

  “That you’d sell yourself out for some contest.”

  His
face turned warm and his heart rate sped up. “This is about more than just a contest, Ali. It’s about reinventing myself.”

  “But to be paired with that criminal’s daughter?” She shook her head, the sleek blond bun on top of her head bobbing. “I guess I expected more of you.”

  “You wouldn’t have left me if you had. You gave up on me long before this.” He glanced behind her. “Isn’t your newest acquisition here with you? He’s what? A lawyer or doctor? I heard you had traded up. Isn’t that the phrase you used?”

  Her mouth tightened in a frown. “I thought we could be civil after all this time.”

  It had been a year and a half. And she was the one who had left him blindsided, with little explanation but a whole lot of put-downs, like she was doing now. He didn’t feel the need to be friendly any longer. “As always, Alison, you thought wrong.”

  Her mouth opened and then snapped shut, as if she were outraged yet speechless. She continued up the aisle to take a seat.

  John knew there had been a chance that they would cross paths one day, but admittedly, he’d hoped that he would be coming off his latest triumph instead of starting his newest challenge. Still, what had he seen in Alison beyond the sleek exterior? At the moment, he came up with a very short list of admirable qualities. Thoughts of Cassie intruded, and he smiled. He wondered what she would have told Alison. Though she might not admit it, Cassie was a spitfire, unafraid to speak the truth. Underneath her casual T-shirts and jeans beat the heart of a woman who didn’t give up when things got tough.

  He settled into his seat as the lecturer stood at the podium. Yes, coming to the seminar had been a great idea.

  * * *

  MUSCLES SHE DIDN’T remember having ached as Cassie entered Lucille’s Pizzeria to pick up dinner. The smell of garlic and cheese invited her inside as she pushed open the door. Sal, Lucille’s husband, was at the register and waved to her before handing change to the customer in front of him.

  Although she didn’t need to read the menu, since she’d heard it hadn’t changed in the forty-plus years Lucille had been in business, Cassie perused the items before deciding on her usual. Waiting for Sal to finish with his customer, she glanced around the tiny front of the restaurant. Sal had wanted to expand the business to include those who preferred to dine in, but he’d been outvoted by his wife. Lucille insisted that you didn’t mess with success.

  The customer left, and Cassie edged forward. “Hey, Sal. I’ll take the usual.”

  “Large deep dish with double olives. Got it.” He wrote it on a slip and passed it through the window to the kitchen area. “You know, we’ve got a new app so that you can order ahead of time and it’s ready when you arrive.”

  Since when had Lucille agreed to come into the twenty-first century? Probably one of her sons had convinced her. Still, nothing beat walking in and ordering her dinner with Sal. “But then we wouldn’t get a chance to chat.”

  Sal chuckled and wiped down the counter with a damp cloth. “Heard you made it into that contest.”

  “You saw that?”

  “Everyone from the neighborhood is talking about it.” He paused and leaned on the counter. “You sure make us proud, girl.”

  She huffed out a long breath. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself. I still have a long way to go to win this contest.”

  “But you are going to win and show those other fellows a thing or two.”

  She kissed her fingertips and raised her hand to the ceiling. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

  “Is that Cassie out there?” Lucille, a large woman in a pristine white apron, walked out of the kitchen and came around the counter to hug her. “I saw that double olive order and knew it had to be you. How are you doing?”

  She wasn’t sure how to answer. Demolition would be finished the next morning if she had anything to say about it. And then the real work would begin. “Keeping busy, as always.”

  “You going to show those other contractors who’s the boss?”

  “That’s what I told her, Luce.”

  Lucille smiled and nodded. “Real proud of you for not letting them get to you. For standing up straight and saying, ‘Here I am. Judge me for my work. Not for my father.’”

  “But he’s still the first thing they think of when they see my name. It’s hard to get out from under his shadow.” And hard to accept that these two people on the perimeter of her life said the words she’d longed to hear from Daddy.

  Sal joined Lucille, putting an arm around his wife’s waist. “You’re not under his shadow, love. The only one who thinks that is you. It’s time for you to be on your own.”

  “And what if I can’t do it by myself?” This is what kept her awake at night. What if after all this she tried and failed? What if her success in the past had been her father all along, and not her own merits? She shook off their protests. “I know that I’m being hard on myself. But when have you known me not to be?”

  Sal put his arms on her shoulders and kissed both her cheeks. “We’ve watched you grow from a little snot-nosed kid who only ate cheese pizza to the fine young woman you are, double olives and all. You may not be blood, but you’re family all the same.” They caught up on neighborhood business for several more minutes.

  “Double olive pizza up,” someone shouted from the back, and a box of pizza slid through the window.

  Cassie started to dig for her wallet, but Lucille waved her off. “Your money is no good here tonight, hon. But you listen to a piece of advice from Lucille. You’re only as good as you think you are.” She tapped Cassie on the shoulders. “You chew on that while you eat dinner.”

  Cassie pulled out a $10 bill and stuffed it into the front pocket of Lucille’s apron. When the older woman protested, Cassie insisted. “For the advice.”

  Cassie ruminated on what Lucille had said as she drove home and then guided Evie into the backyard. Inside the house, she placed the box of pizza on the kitchen counter and found a paper plate for her first slice. She pulled out a longneck beer from the refrigerator and claimed a seat at the card table by the window to eat dinner.

  Outside, Evie chased a squirrel up a tree and barked up at it as it chattered back at her. Cassie smiled at the dog’s antics, knowing that Evie didn’t understand that the squirrel didn’t see her as a friend. All the squirrel could see was a big dog with big teeth and a loud bark.

  What did Cassie see when she looked at her possibilities? She was probably more like the squirrel than she’d care to admit. The future that loomed before her looked just as scary, with big teeth and a loud bark, waiting to tear her apart. Okay, so she was being overly dramatic. But she was the type that saw the glass as empty rather than one that could be refilled.

  As she ate her pizza, she thought over what Lucille had said. Her entire life had been spent with Daddy’s voice in her ears. If she brought home a B from school, why wasn’t it an A? If she retiled a bathroom, why hadn’t she done it faster?

  What would it have cost her father to say he was proud of her? Proud of what she had done?

  Her work for him had been scrutinized under the microscope of how it reflected on him. Her ideas and effort claimed by him. And she’d let him because he was her father and the owner of the company. Now that he wasn’t here, it fell on her shoulders. And what if it wasn’t good enough?

  * * *

  WITH DEMOLITION FINISHED by the first week, it was time for John to finalize the design ideas since they would determine the floor plan and flow of the layout. He invited Cassie and the Buttucci brothers after work Saturday night for dessert and coffee at his apartment to present his vision to the team. He glanced around the living room at the twenty-inch square foam boards he’d used to pin the design elements, including swatches of color and fabric. He hoped Cassie would approve.

  A buzz at the intercom by the front door told him that his first guest had arrived. He pressed the b
utton to speak. “Cassie?”

  “Yep, it’s me.”

  “I’m on the fourth floor. Four-o-eight.”

  He pressed another button to unlock the front door of the apartment building, then waited a few minutes for her to make it to his floor. A soft knock on his door, and he opened it to find her standing alone. He looked behind her, but the hallway was empty. “No brothers tonight?”

  “They’re tired. I told them to go home.”

  He’d hoped for their input, but he could understand her concern for the guys. She passed by him, and he could smell the fresh floral scent of her shampoo. She must have showered before coming over. She walked to the first foam board, arms akimbo, and frowned at the design. He stepped in front of her to block her view. “You can see it all after dessert.”

  She eyed him as if ready to argue but then acquiesced with a nod. He led her into the dining room, where he had set the apple pie, four plates and forks. “I’ve got ice cream if you’d like it à la mode.”

  She took a seat in one of the chairs. “It’s been a long day, and I’d rather get this finished and go home to my bed.”

  He put a piece of pie on a plate and handed it to her with a fork and spoon. “Coffee’s brewing. Just sugar, right?”

  “Thanks.” She took a bite of the pie and moaned. “Is that caramel in the sauce? I’m dying.”

  He placed the coffee in front of her. “I’m glad you like it. It’s my mom’s own recipe.”

  She paused in her chewing and peered at the pie. After she swallowed, she asked, “You made this yourself?”

  “You know I don’t cook. But I did ask my mom to make it for our evening.” He placed a slice of pie on his own plate and joined her at the table.

  “If you want to bring one of these to the work site, I wouldn’t turn it away.”

  He chuckled, and they ate in companionable silence. He pointed at her with his fork. “I know you’re not sold on the salvaging idea for the design yet, but by the end of the night you’ll be convinced.”