Her Lakeside Family. Lenora Worth
only because she was about to hyperventilate. “Anyway, so we have the first floor. We’ll start with sprucing up the entire outside, of course. Fresh white paint and new shutters in keeping with all of the designs around the lake.”
“Yes, we need to keep up with appearances,” he said.
“Historical features,” she corrected. “You know Lake Street is a prestigious and unique oval road that runs all along the lake.”
“Yes, I know that. That’s why I decided to buy there. The kids love it when we go to Alec Caldwell’s house.”
“Oh, the big Victorian with the turret on top. I love that house. A perfect example of preserving the historical features while bringing a home into this century. Just gorgeous.”
“My sister loves it, too.”
“Alec and Marla are so nice,” Davina said, glad to be on a safe subject. “And I’ve gained five pounds because I seem to go by her café just about every day.”
Santo eyed the chocolate cupcake. “Yes, you do travel with one of those hidden in your big bag at all times, right?”
“Right.”
“Let’s get on with this so I can sample your treat.”
His gaze wasn’t on that cupcake.
He was staring at her lips.
Davina swallowed again but refrained from grabbing her water. “So we have the downstairs master with a lovely sitting area. I know you wanted some office space—”
“You do?”
He looked so surprised, she laughed. “Yes, because your sister told me. Thank goodness she knows what you’d like to happen with this house.”
“I haven’t talked to her in a while.”
“Well, then, she’s making decisions for you. Good ones, though.”
Santo ran a hand through his hair and tugged at it as if he wanted to pull it all out by the roots. “I need to become more involved in this, don’t I?”
Davina motioned to the sofa. “Let’s talk.”
He sat down with her and gave her a helpless glance. “My wife always took care of any repairs or updates on our house. But I didn’t always agree with her taste.”
Having witnessed Rikki’s gaudy taste, Davina could agree with that.
“If you don’t get involved, you can’t complain,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me what you want in a new home, Santo?”
He leaned forward and templed his fingers over his knees. “Everyone keeps asking me that,” he said. “They ask me why I’m leaving such a stunning house and that amazing view.”
“And what do you tell them? Or what is it you’re not telling them?”
He kept staring at his hands. “I tell them I’m ready for a change, that the kids need something different and more kid-friendly.”
“That’s all true,” Davina replied. “But I need to know more. I need to know your heart. Because when I renovate a home for someone new to move into, I want to show that family’s heart in everything I do. I don’t know your heart.”
“You don’t want to know my heart,” he said, getting up, his mood dark now. “And me coming here was a bad idea. Just remodel the place and make it livable, Davina. That’s what I’m paying you for.”
Davina couldn’t give up in spite of the glaring warning in his eyes. “What else are you willing to pay for?”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m worried that you’re moving for all the wrong reasons.”
“Do you want me to find another contractor?”
“No,” she said, her determination giving her the courage to face him. “I want this job. I need this job. But I also want to understand you...so I can make you a home that you’ll appreciate and be happy in.”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be completely happy again,” he said, his hands on his hips, his eyes full of a raging torment. “But...I want my children to be happy. I want them to have a tree house and swings and I want them to go fishing on the pier by the lake. I want to take long walks with them and read to them and hold them when they’re afraid. I want to stop their nightmares and show them that we’re going to be all right.”
He halted, his eyes filling with dread and apprehension. “I don’t like talking about this. Just do what you need to do, and leave me out of the details.”
He turned to go.
But she moved in front of him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed. But, Santo, what you just told me gives me a whole different perspective.”
“I’m sure it does,” he said, anger coloring the words. “Now you feel pity for me and my poor children, right?”
“No. Not pity. I admire you for what you’re trying to do. Why don’t you cut yourself some slack and become part of the process. There’s healing in renovating things, especially houses. They can tell a story.”
“And what does my current home tell you?”
“That you’re lonely and full of guilt.”
He stood at the door, his head turned toward the wide window that showcased the old live oaks and palm trees and the lake beyond. “I came here thinking I was ready to dive in and help you, put in some physical labor. But I don’t think I can do this, Davina. All I know is my own work and it consumes me because I had to bring my family out of a disaster. I stay busy and I try to get home and spend time with my children. I try to sleep.”
“But you don’t sleep, do you?”
He shook his head and stayed silent.
“You’ve been through something horrific and traumatic,” she said. “I don’t expect you to share all the details with me.”
Whirling, he dropped his arms to his sides. “But you’ve heard the details. It made the national news. The whole world knows what happened to my family, to my children. To my wife and me. No wonder my parents decided to leave the country.”
Then Davina saw it in his eyes. The shame, the despair, the regret, the guilt. “It wasn’t your fault.”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m the one who’s still here. I’m the one who has to protect my children and show them that we have to get on with our lives.”
“And you’re doing that,” she said, moving closer to him. “This house will be sunny and bright and full of joy. I’ll see to that. But Santo, you’ll have to do your part, too.”
He gave her a twisted smirk. “And how do I do that? I’ve been dealing with this for over a year now. The first few months, I was too numb to feel anything. But my children needed me so I had to find a way to keep moving. So what part do I play now? What can I do to make this right again? How can I do anything more?”
“By forgiving your wife,” she replied. “And yourself.”
“Stop it, please,” he replied on a quiet tone. “I didn’t hire you to be my spiritual counselor. Your work is good, Davina. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Okay. I’m sorry I overstepped,” she said, her heart breaking for this man. “I’ve never been through anything like what you’ve had to deal with. I came from a loving, happy, chaotic family but we didn’t have a lot of money. So I’m driven to prove myself and sometimes in my zest to make a house perfect, I ask too many personal questions. It won’t happen again.”
Lifting his head, he almost spoke but stopped himself. After a brief silence that told her exactly how he felt, he said,