I don’t know about all that. I’m not thinking very brightly about this new Netfilms show. Nope. On the contrary. I’ve got a bad, bad feeling about that.
* * *
After walkingthrough the Little house with Bella, I feel more confident about my decision regarding the kitchen. She’s in complete agreement that the kitchen needed to be larger, and aside from one small adjustment—moving the refrigerator to a different spot—she thought my layout was “spot on.”
I guess I’m not too surprised. I’ve been doing this house thing for more than ten years. I graduated from community college with a degree in building construction. I didn’t really need to do that since I’d worked with my dad for years, but I thought it’d be a good idea since I knew I wanted to fix up houses for a living, and to do that, I needed a loan to get started. It was much easier to do that with a degree behind my name.
Ten years later, I know I made the right choice. I love what I do. It’s my passion. Granted, it takes me a long time to get a project done because I like to be hands-on. It’s not about flipping a place and selling it as fast as I can. It’s about bringing an old house back to life and sometimes, that takes time, like sanding an intricate stair railing by hand or searching for things that need replacing in architectural salvage places. I love that part of it.
However, I’ve come to the conclusion that if I’m going to be able to afford to live somewhere other than my dad’s place, I may have to do some of those fast flips. Ugh. I hate that thought. But the budget for this reno is tight, especially since I know I’ve got at least another six months on the Little house and I don’t want to skimp on anything here. Once I’m done, this house will be a showstopper.
Ugh. I can’t believe I said “showstopper.” It reminds me of the dread I feel about what will happen when that show airs next month.
What I meant to say, this house will look as good or better than it did when it was built, over a hundred years ago. I can promise you that.
CHAPTERTHREE
LOU
I’ve gota great setup at my dad’s place. Well, I guess you could say it’s our place since I’ve lived here my entire life. Maybe it’s because I’m in my thirties now that I call it his. Sure, I could probably find a decent place to rent in town or even buy a little place, but Dad and I, we’ve got a routine and an understanding. Besides, I love the old fart and he’s not hard to live with if I remember a few things. Like, one, don’t plan for him to doanythingduring one of his beloved Green Bay Packers games. Two, don’t ever cook lasagna. Ever. That was my mom’s trademark dish and even the mention of it makes steam come out of his ears, and, three, don’t speak ofher.
Those are easy things to remember, right?
I think so. It’s why I said I’ve got a great setup. Especially since I moved up to the attic. Sure, it happened when I was a teen, but it’s still my favorite place on earth because my dad and I worked on it together. It was the first renovation project that I designed and executed. Like I said, he helped by showing me how to use some of the tools I had never worked with; plus, he taught me about structural integrity, doing a job correctly the first time, measuring twice, cutting once, and taking pride in my work. And that it doesn’t matter if it takes a while: doing it right is more important than speed.
I’ve used those same principles in each of my projects. I make sure that things are done right, even the jobs I choose to contract out. Like plumbing. I can do it, but I’m slow at it. Plus, it’s my least favorite phase of renovating, so I use subs or subcontractors for that. Electrical, yes; plumbing, no. I also have a crew that helps me with framing and drywall. I’m strong but not strong enough to lift a wall by myself. And I don’t mind asking for help. Plus, it gives some of the guys around here jobs. When it comes to the interior, though, that’s all me. From the painting or staining of the woodwork to installing cabinets. I love designing interior spaces. Mostly. I have trouble with kitchens like the one in the Little house. That’s why Bella comes in handy. Someone who knows her way around a kitchen like she does, well, I consider her an expert. And so far, she hasn’t been wrong.
Sitting at my drafting table I’ve got nestled into a large dormer window, working on the layout for the master bath of the Little house, a master bath that didn’t exist before, I hear a familiar voice. “Velma Lou? You up there?”
I shout loud enough for him to hear. “Yeah.”
“Can you come down?”
Uh-oh. He doesn’t usually bother me if I’m up here, which means we’ve either got a visitor or he can’t get the television to work.
He’s had trouble with “that newfangled remote” ever since we got a satellite dish, four years ago. The thing gives him fits. I don’t mind, though. I’m glad I’m here, at home, to help him. Try talking a guy like my dad through television remote technical issues over the phone.
Not easy.
In a word, it’s frustrating, oh, and impossible. I guess that’s two words.
“Be right down.”
I quickly finish up what I was working on and put my drafting tools away. Standing, I run my hands over my head to tame the beast that is my reddish-brown curls. Looking down, I spy a rubber band and pull it back into a ponytail and start the trek down three flights of stairs. The first set is only five steps since it’s exiting the attic room. The next two are longer but beautiful. It’s another project I did the summer before my senior year of high school; I sanded the balustrade and railings one at a time. Painstaking work, but it was worth it. It still looks great years later.
Hopping off the last step, I round the corner and halt in my steps.
Shit.
“Oh. Hello, Mona.”
“Finally,” she huffs. “I’ve been waiting for ten minutes for you to grace me with your presence.”
“Sorry?” Not sorry. If I’d known it was Desdemona Keres, I would have waited a hell of a lot longer.
“Don’t be rude, young lady.”
“I wasn’t….” Oh, hell. It does no good to argue with the old hag anyway. She’s as mean as a pit viper and just as cuddly. With a sigh, I give in. “Sorry.”
