Wendy wasn’t sure why she felt so unsettled as she drove back home. It wasn’t as if Caleb had done anything wrong. Sure, he’d teased her some, but it was probably just his personality, simply being small-town friendly. Albeit a bit too friendly for her taste. But she didn’t want to get involved with a guy right now. Not because she was opposed to dating, per se. She’d actually let Claire set her up on a couple of blind dates this past year. Disastrous dates, as it had turned out. But her real reason to hold an attractive, friendly fellow like Caleb Colton at arm’s length was simply because she and Jackson were only heretemporarily.There was no point in encouraging a connection.
Still, unless she was imagining things, Caleb had been about to invite her to Thanksgiving. How weird would that have been? Sharing a traditional family holiday with someone you barely know? Well, maybe it was sweet, but it was also unsettling. Really, she’d prefer eating at a restaurant with Jackson ... just like they’d done these last few years ... since losing Edward. Stark? Maybe. But it had become their tradition.
And it wasn’t that she never got gracious invitations to join friends or coworkers on holidays. Claire and Rich always wanted her and Jackson to join them—for any occasion. Although Wendy tried to think she’d accept someday, in the meantime she preferred to avoid gatherings with intact families simply because it made her sad. Of course, it was somewhat selfish and not something she could easily admit to. Not even to Jackson. And certainly not to a stranger—even a handsome and helpful one like Caleb Colton. Really, what would be the point of furthering a pointless acquaintance?
Wendy was not prepared for the chaos she found when she arrived at the cottage. Although Gordon’s truck was gone, the toilet, bathtub, and sink were scattered in front of the house, along with an ugly pile of nasty-looking wood and torn-up linoleum debris. Like a real junkyard. Hopefully the neighbors wouldn’t complain.
The inside of the cottage was no better. Welcomed with a mess of dirty footsteps on the kitchen floor, she picked her way past tools and junk and a couple buckets of water. She wanted to protest, but knew this was all simply necessary. Still, as she walked through what felt like an invaded space, she wished she could afford to put herself and Jackson in the hotel down the street until the repairs were wrapped up. Even though she could rationalize that the hotel expense would be repaid by the sale of the cottage, she still needed to protect her credit card’s limit for the duration of this rehab phase. She needed to remember there was no guarantee she would sell the house ... and then what?
“How’s it going?” she asked Jackson.
“Gordon says it’s going to takeseveraldays.”
She grimaced as she set a paint bucket on the kitchen table. “Is the shower going to be okay?”
“He thinks the dry rot didn’t go that far. But most of the bathroom floor had to be completely torn out. He even has to replace the floor joists.”
“Floor joists?” That sounded expensive.
“That’s these big pieces of wood that hold up the whole bathroom floor. The old ones were rotted right through. Gordon went to the lumberyard to get some new ones, but he said he won’t be back until tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” She frowned. “Do we have water in the meantime?”
“Nope, it’s turned off.” He pointed to the bucket of water on the floor. “I got those from Mrs. Campbell. She said we can use her hose as much as we need.” He grinned. “It’ll be kinda like camping, huh, Mom?”
“I guess so. Speaking of camping, our new toilet is in the back of the car.”
“I’ll get it,” he offered.
“Why does the water have to be turned off if Gordon’s not working on it right now?” she asked as she followed Jackson out to the car.
“Because the bathroom pipes are old and rotten—that’s the reason there was a leak. So Gordon called a plumber to come look at it. He’s supposed to come by sometime this afternoon.”
She cringed inwardly. This was sounding more and more costly!
Jackson pointed to the five-gallon bucket in the back of the car. “Is that paint?”
“Yes. As long as the cottage is a mess, I might as well start painting.”
“Can I help?” he asked.
“Absolutely. I haven’t painted anything since before you were born. I painted our kitchen and your nursery, but as I recall, it’s pretty hard work.”
“Maybe I should do some research on YouTube,” he said as he carried the toilet box into the house. “You know, to learn some painting tips.”
“Great idea. I’m glad you’re such a researcher. We’ll knock this out in no time.” Wendy wanted to maintain a brave front for Jackson’s sake. He didn’t need to worry about finances—although she knew the bathroom project was going to cost far more than she’d expected—that was her job. Anyway, the best plan was just to plunge ahead and get this place fixed up and hope for a quick sale. As she changed into painting clothes, she remembered what Jackson had said—reminding her that God would provide. She sure hoped her son’s faith wouldn’t be shaken if God did not provide—or not in the way that Jackson was hoping for. In the meantime, she would attempt to conjure up some faith of her own ... but it wasn’t going to be easy.
six
BY WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON,Wendy had made a fair amount of painting progress. And she’d come up with an idea—something to address some of her financial woes. She’d been highly motivated to think of solutions after the plumber handed her an enormous bill for just nine hours of labor, plus materials. Who knew plumbers were so expensive? “Maybe you should consider becoming a plumber,” she’d teased Jackson after going over the bill.
At least the water was back on—that was something. Unfortunately, the bathroom—aside from the shower—was still unusable. Gordon promised to have the fixtures back in by Saturday afternoon. “That’s if you get your flooring installed by then,” he’d told her after she showed him the tiles she’d chosen. “No sense getting your fixtures in if your floors aren’t down. But you and Jackson oughta be able to lay these just fine.” He gave her some pointers and even left her a couple of cutting tools.
Wendy had paid Gordon for what he’d already done, taking her meager checking account down even more. She had no idea how much his final bill would be or what other expenses lurked ahead, but as she painted in the living room, she’d been racking her brain for money-making ideas. Late last night, she’d even perused the storage room in hopes of unearthing some priceless antique or collectible she might be able to sell on eBay for a small fortune. Unfortunately, it was mostly junk. Interesting junk, but probably not highly valuable. Her best hope was probably getting this cottage ready to sell—ASAP. Even if a quick sale cut their “vacation” short, she didn’t think she had any other options. Hopefully Jackson would understand.
So she’d thrown herself wholeheartedly into painting—working until nearly midnight last night and getting up at the crack of dawn to continue today. While preparing the most cluttered area of the living room for painting this morning, she’d boxed up hundreds of shells, driftwood bits, sea glass, and various treasures. Although she planned to keep some pieces, she knew there was far too much for their little apartment in Ohio. But she also knew these items had value. Tourist shops sold tons of this stuff in the height of the season. How many times had she prowled the shelves and aisles of She Sells Sea Shells when she was a child? And her favorite shell shop was still in business—the perfect place to sell some of these shells. For all she knew they could be worth hundreds of dollars. Maybe a couple thousand. Perhaps enough to cover the rest of the repairs for the cottage—as well as buy them some time. It really would be fun to remain here a few weeks.
Since she had to drive to town to pay her bill at the plumber’s office, she decided to take a sample box of really nice seashells with her. She would drop by the shell shop and see if she could interest the proprietors in adding these beauties to their inventory. She wasn’t sure what the value of this one box of shells might be, but she hoped it might be a couple hundred dollars. Enough to keep her bank account from completely shriveling.
