Their Forever Home. Syndi Powell
see the gears in her brain working as she chewed. Finally she swallowed and turned to another page of his sketchbook. “I’m willing to consider it. Now what’s this?”
He ran a finger along the edge of the picture. He’d thought of this when he remembered his grandmother’s house and drawing pictures at the kitchen table when he was about six years old. “That’s the window in the breakfast nook. I’d like to turn it into a window seat, which will save space and provide storage beneath it.”
“Now, that I like.”
They flipped through more sketches, and she commented on several. Reaching the last of them, she gave a nod. “You do have some good ideas.”
“But you’re not sold on them yet.”
“No.” She fidgeted with her napkin. “John, this contest means I can turn my father’s company into my own. We need to be number one. Second place still makes us losers.”
He reached over and put his hand on top of hers, stilling it for a moment. “This is my second chance at finding my life’s work. It used to be cars, but getting laid off made me realize that I was ready for a change. Something that will bring back that love of design. I want this as much as you do.”
She removed her hand from his. “I understand. More than you know.”
AFTER LUNCH, BACK at the house, Cassie stared up at the next three months of her life, dilapidated as it was. In the light of day, the home looked worse than she had remembered it. Could she and John and the Buttuccis do as the Belvedere Foundation wanted and find the jewel underneath the rubble?
John walked up behind her. “I don’t remember it looking so abandoned and sad last night.”
“Dusk can hide a lot of flaws.” She held up the key to the front door. “Let’s take our time and do another walk-through.”
“Let me grab my sketchbook.” He left her and retrieved it from the front seat of his car along with a tin that held his charcoal pencils. “I want to do a quick sketch of the exterior before we go in.”
She pointed at the blank page and then at him. “You draw. I’m going in.”
But he was already absorbed in getting the lines of the house drawn on paper. She noticed the weeds growing from between the cement slabs. How much of their budget could they allocate to landscaping? Much of the neglect only needed some muscle to fix, which wouldn’t cost anything but several hours. She put a hand on the overgrown browning shrubs that flanked the front porch. Some pruning might bring them back to life.
She glanced behind her. John was frowning as he continued to sketch. Was he seeing the same neglect that she saw? Or did his artistic eye see possibilities that she couldn’t get to yet? Shaking off the thoughts, she unlocked the front door and stepped inside.
The hole where Biggie had fallen through the floor to the ground gaped at her as if it, too, was surprised to find itself there. She knelt and stared down at the crawl space revealed below. If the house had sat on a basement, he would have fallen through the rotting floor at least ten feet instead of only the few that he had. The damp wood along the jagged edges seemed to indicate it was more a cause of rotting wood rather than the foundation. Thankfully, it might mean the problem was limited to the living room and did not pervade the entire house.
The front door swung open and John breezed in with his sketchbook. He groaned at the hole. “I’d almost forgotten about that.”
Cassie put her hands on her knees and pushed herself to a standing position. “I wish I had. We’ll have to walk carefully in this room until we know for sure how much of the floorboards have rotted. I don’t know if it’s extended to the bedrooms or not.”
He nodded and took careful steps toward the hall that led to the bedrooms and bathroom. “The layout looks smaller than I remember.”
“It was probably made in the years immediately after World War II, when houses were built quickly and with only the basic needs in mind. My guess is that we have about fifteen hundred square feet. Eighteen hundred, if we’re lucky.” She knelt and touched the green shag carpet in the hallway. “It’s not damp here, so we might be okay with the floors through the rest of the house.”
John drew more lines and curves on the page before moving into one of the bedrooms. “I wonder if we could get a hold of the original blueprints for this place.”
“Maybe.” She opened the folding closet door. “We could probably check the attic.” She pointed to a covered access point. “I can grab my ladder from the truck if we want to go up now.”
“With all the spiders and creepy crawlies, not to mention dust and cobwebs?” He shuddered and gave a grimace. “I’ll wait until we’re dressed more appropriately.”
“Chicken.”
He waggled his eyebrows and walked across the hall to the bathroom, which sported avocado green and harvest gold tiles. Based on the colors, style and condition, she figured it had been renovated in the 1970s. John frowned. “You don’t see a green toilet very often.”
“Don’t forget the matching avocado bathtub.” She put a hand on the shower rod and gave it a tug. It didn’t budge, and she figured that meant the tiles and fixtures would be harder to remove. “We’ll need to replace all of this. I’m thinking a fiberglass shower enclosure and bathtub. Maybe a low-flush toilet. Pedestal sink.”
“Maybe.”
She raised her eyebrows at this. “You want to keep green and gold?”
He shuddered much as he had at the mention of spiders. “I like the green. Maybe combine it with a color like ecru to make it more earthy. More Zen. And a pedestal sink won’t give much storage in an already cramped space.”
“Yes, but it will open up the look of the room more than a cabinet with a sink would.”
“Maybe.”
She put her hands on her hips and stared at him. “Do you plan on disagreeing with everything I say?”
“I’m leaving us open to options right now.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Back in the kitchen, they peered at the walls. She said, “The age of the house could be to our advantage because the structure was built to last. If we gut it to the studs, we can open things up and make it look bigger.”
“What about removing the wall between here and the living room? So that it’s more like one large room rather than two? Maybe like this.” He sketched a quick floor plan to demonstrate what he meant.
Cassie put her hand on the doorjamb and looked up at the ceiling. “That could be a load-bearing wall, so we’ll have to take that into consideration. But I can see what you mean. I like it.”
He grinned and walked toward the kitchen window, tucking the sketchpad under his arm. “So when do we start?”
“We’ll start demolition tomorrow, especially on the bathroom. Tear up the floor in the living room. Take the walls down to the studs to see what we’re working with underneath. And then what comes after that depends on you and your designs.”
The cell phone in her front pants pocket started to vibrate. She pulled it out and stared at the number on the display. It wasn’t one that she recognized. Tempted to let the call go to voice mail, she changed her mind suddenly and swiped to the right to answer it. “Lowman Construction.”
“Cass.”
Her father.
She held her breath, not knowing what to say. She hadn’t heard from him in almost a year, since the day before he disappeared. They’d been working on a job site, and he’d said good-night to her as he always did while she stayed behind to secure it before going home herself. There’d been no