Cherie carried the air mattress to the smallest of the four bedrooms, inflated it, then covered it with a sheet, lightweight blanket, and comforter. Sleeping a few feet off the floor reminded her of the time when she’d slept on a roll-away cot in the bedroom she’d shared with her mother. Their apartment had two bedrooms; her brothers had occupied the larger of the two, while she had shared the other bedroom with her mother until she’d left to attend prep school. And whenever she returned, she’d opted to sleep on the cot rather than with Edwina, who tended to snore if she drank alcohol.
Cherie brushed her teeth, washed her face, then slathered on a moisturizer before stripping off her clothes and walking down the hallway to her temporary bedroom. Tapping the wall switch, she dimmed the overhead light until there was just enough illumination to make out the mattress bed. She set the alarm on her cell phone to wake her at six, because she wanted to be showered and dressed before the movers arrived the following morning. She didn’t mind sleeping on the floor because in another twenty-four hours she would sleep in a bed in her new home for the first time.
Chapter 5
An hour after the movers unloaded everything from their van, Cherie stood in the middle of the family room. A year before, after returning from Coates Island, she had contacted an interior decorator to confer about making changes in her condo. At the time, she’d believed giving her living quarters a new look would lift her sagging spirits. The decorator had recommended replacing the black leather sofa with an oyster-white leather sectional unit and suggested she order framed black-and-white photographs of plants and flowers, and a variety of green and flowering plants. It’d worked for a while; then she realized new furnishings and/or redecorating weren’t the answer.
She smiled. The condo’s living room furniture was perfect for the family room, and the round oaken dining room table and four chairs fit well in the kitchen’s alcove. The movers had positioned the pieces in the bedroom where she’d directed them, and they were effusive in their gratitude when she generously tipped them for their efforts. Now all she had to do was unpack boxes. She’d unpacked several boxes labeledBATHROOM SUPPLIESwhen her cell phone rang. It was the painter, calling her back after she left a voice-mail message for him.
Cherie answered the call before it rang again. “Hello.”
“This is Sly. Did you call me?”
Her eyebrows lifted slightly with his rough tone. “Yes, Mr. Connolly.”
“It’s Sly.”
She hesitated. “Okay, Sly. I did call you because Kayana Johnson gave me your name and number. I just moved in, and I’d like to have my walls painted.”
“What color are they now?”
“White.”
“That’s boring.”
Cherie smiled. “I agree. I’d like various shades of blues and greens.”
“How many rooms are you talking about?”
“The house has four bedrooms, a family room—”
“Enough!” he said, cutting her off. “I’ll have to come and see what I’m working with. Give me your address, and let me know when it is a good come to come out.”
“You can come now.” Cherie felt it would be better for him to paint the before the furniture she had on order was delivered.
“Give me your address. And I’ll bring the book with the blues and greens you’re looking for.”
* * *
Ninety minutes later, Cherie had selected the colors she wanted for the walls, along with the trim. Sly had complimented her choices, saying she had a good eye and that the pale colors were serene and spa-like. He wrote up a contract, with a promise that his crew would begin painting two days after Christmas, while estimating it would take no more than three days to complete the project. Cherie found this agreeable because it would give her time to unpack and make the house feel lived-in before the end of the year.
She had stepped out onto the porch, watching the painter’s van drive away, when she spied Bettina crossing the street, coming in her direction. Cherie smothered a groan. She wanted to go back into the house but knew that would be rude. She wondered if the woman was a busybody or lonely now that her children had left home, hoping it was the latter.
“Good morning,” Bettina called out, smiling.
Cherie returned her smile. “Good morning.”
Bettina stood on the first step. “I noticed that the movers delivered your furniture earlier this morning. Do you need help putting things together?”
“No, thank you. They put up everything for me.”
“Good for you. I saw the painter driving away. Do you plan to paint?”
Cherie counted slowly to five before answering. The woman reminded her of some women in the neighborhood where she’d grown up who were permanent fixtures in their apartment windows. They got up early and hung out of the windows for hours, observing everyone coming and going.
“Yes, I do.”
“Good for you,” Bettina repeated. “I couldn’t understand why Kate wanted white walls with light-colored floors. And when I asked her about it, she said it was easier for her to see the dirt. The lady was one strange bird. She and that husband of hers kept to themselves, which made me think they were in the Witness Protection Program.”
