He tipped his hat. “Sure thing. Be careful not to lean on that banister. It’s loose.” He closed the door behind him.
She knew the railing was loose. She just hadn’t gotten to that chapter in her fix-it book yet.
She glanced around the upstairs landing. How hard could it be? She had the tools and the how-to book. If she sold the place as a fixer-upper she would get a lot less for it, and she needed the money.
Her dream was to take time off teaching to write. She had ideas for several children’s books, but she needed the time. Teaching seemed to drain away her creativity.
She’d sublet her apartment at the beach for the summer and planned to spend her vacation repairing plaster and painting. Then she’d put the house up for sale and go back to Los Angeles in time to start teaching. When the house sold, she’d take a leave of absence to write.
Julie walked back into the bedroom. She’d checked recent sale prices of Victorians in Ferndale. She figured she could take next year, maybe even the next two, off if she moved away from the beach and into a cheaper apartment.
There were a few pieces of her grandmother’s furniture she’d like to keep, but the rest she could offer with the house. She made a mental note to talk to the people who ran the Foggy Bottom Antiques Store and Cream City Antiques. They might be willing to take some of it on consignment.
Her mind wandered back to Tony. Why had she agreed to dinner tomorrow night? She didn’t plan to get involved. She’d ended her on-again-off-again relationship with Alan before she left L.A. He had indicated he wanted to get more serious, and she wasn’t interested in a commitment.
Julie rummaged through the bag from the hardware store and laid out the tools recommended in the book. In L.A. she wouldn’t think of going out with someone she didn’t know. But here in Ferndale nobody was really a stranger.
She turned her attention back to work and did a quick scan of the section on repairing plaster. She climbed the ladder to get to the damaged wall, then donned the mask and goggles. Within minutes of chipping away at the plaster dust covered her hair and sifted into her bra.
She sneezed and a cloud of fine white powder drifted down.
Why would anyone choose to do this kind of work? She thought of Tony as she wiped at her face with her sleeve, then climbed back down the ladder to tuck a rag in the waistband of her jeans.
She flipped on the portable compact disk player and with Jimmy Buffett wailing about cheeseburgers in paradise, she went back to work.
By midafternoon her arms ached. Even though she had worn the goggles, she had to use saline drops to get the dust out of her eyes. But she’d made good progress. All the old plaster was down. Tomorrow she would start patching. Her arms were too sore to start today.
Julie took a shower and washed the plaster out of her hair. Then she fixed herself a snack and contemplated what she would do with the rest of the afternoon.
The closets. Bessie had a lifetime of stuff stored on the shelves and in the cupboards. Julie felt like an intruder going through her grandmother’s belongings, but it had to be done.
The woman had never shared anything personal with Julie, and would probably be horrified that someone was poking through her things, but Julie couldn’t get rid of them without sorting them.
Reluctantly she trudged back up the stairs and started in the room where she had slept as a teenager.
She slipped off her shoes and used the chair from the dressing table to reach the shelves in the closet. There were boxes of hats and gloves that must have dated back to the forties. Bessie had worn a hat to church every Sunday.
Julie wondered if they would be worth anything at a vintage clothing store. She knew of a good one in L.A. she could call, she thought as she piled them in a corner of the room.
After she finished the closet, she opened the cupboards above the closet. Large boxes marked Bedding were stacked to the top of the space. Had her grandmother saved old bedding as well as old clothes?
Julie reached as high as she could and tugged at the top box. It seemed to be caught on the box below. She should go get the ladder, but she was tired and the thought of getting down to get the darned thing was too much work.
She gave the box a yank and it slid toward her. The cardboard came apart in her hands and a waterfall of huge leather-bound books tumbled down on her, knocking her from the chair.
As she hit the floor beside the bed she heard a sound that reminded her of a dry twig breaking.
She lay up against the bed, stunned. The books were ledgers from the insurance business her grandfather had run in Ferndale for years.
Furious with herself for being so stupid, she struggled to sit up. It hurt to move her right arm and she had a gash on the inside of her left elbow that was starting to bleed freely. Her legs felt okay, so she struggled to her feet and grabbed a towel from the bathroom to hold against the cut.
She got as far as the top of the stairs when she started to feel dizzy, so she lowered herself to the top step and leaned against the wall. She needed a moment to think about what she’d do next.
Tony skirted the rotten boards on Julie’s steps and paused at the front door. He glanced down at the plaster finishing tool he held in his hand. His offer of help so soon after she had turned him down twice might make her mad, but getting a smooth finish to match the rest of the room was tricky, and he wanted to help her out.
He turned the crank on the old doorbell.
“Come in.”
He heard her faintly through the heavy door. He stepped into the dim foyer and glanced up the stairs to find her sitting on the top step. She’d washed her hair and changed clothes.
He smiled. “Wear yourself out?”
“Something like that,” she said, her voice flat and low.
She was mad at him and he hadn’t even offered his help yet. She’d undoubtedly spotted the trowel in his hand.
But then he realized as he looked up at her something was wrong. She was leaning against the wall as if she needed the support. Her face was pale and drawn.
He dropped the trowel and took the stairs two at a time, flipped on the light switch and crouched down on the step below her.
“You showed up at just the right time,” she said, an edge of pain in her voice.
He could see her struggle not to cry and it tore him up inside. “What happened?” He didn’t want to touch her until she told him where she hurt.
“I was cleaning out a cupboard and pulled a box of books down on my head.”
“Did you fall?” He cupped her face gently in his palms and studied the bruise blooming on her cheek.
“Yes,” she said with a catch in her voice.
He dropped his hands from her face. “Off the ladder?”
She shook her head. “I was standing on a chair.”
“Did
