She almost wished he was forty-seven again. If she could turn back the clock, maybe she’d do things differently. Perhaps retire sooner, or go traveling while it was possible. And yet the very idea of all that just made her tired right now. “You’ll beseventyin the fall,” she said as they strolled. As soon as the words were out, she instantly regretted them. Maybe CT felt better imagining he was only forty-seven. But more than likely, the numbers were lost on him.
“Seventy?” He sounded impressed. “That’s a lot.”
“It’s enough. For now.”
“Here we are,” he declared as they stepped onto the front deck. But then he turned to her with uncertainty. “Who lives here?”
“We do, CT. This is Honeymoon Cottage.” She usually said this before they went inside because that name seemed to make him happy. And just like always, he added, “Home sweet home.” She closed the door and pointed to his chair. “Look, there’s a banana just waiting for you.”
As CT shakily lowered himself into his chair, she tried to repress the sensation that they were both living in an old folks’ home for couples, a slow-moving place where people just sat around eating bananas, playing checkers, and watching TV all day. Really, this was a pleasant and efficient house, and so much better than any sort of assisted living facility, like someone had suggested to her last year. This smaller house really did suit their needs. Still, it wasn’t the beloved old farmhouse that she’d known for her entire life. Honeymoon Cottage was a blessing, but it wasn’t the same. Nothing was the same. And never would be again. C’est la vie.
30
Jewel
By the end of her third painting day, Jewel had made very little progress on the house. This was partly due to her dad’s need for help and direction as he worked on the backside of the house, and partly because where she was painting in front got more sunshine and weather and consequently needed more attention. So she’d mostly been sanding, scraping, and priming to get it ready for paint. Despite her eagerness to get the honey-gold paint on the front, she’d heeded the paint guy’s advice to do the prep work first. But at this rate, with just her and Dad, it was going to take forever. Mom had offered to help today, but the whole point of engaging Dad was to give Mom some time to herself. And, not surprisingly, Dad was working at a snail’s pace and spending most of his time in his lawn chair.
As Jewel washed brushes in the laundry sink on the back porch, Cooper came out. “Hey, Mom, whatcha up to?” she asked pleasantly.
Jewel’s first response was to act like a martyr and growl at her daughter, who’d been occupied with sorting the barn sale the past few days. Then she and Anna had taken today off to go swimming. “Got the painting started.” Jewel stood straight with a weary sigh. “It’s a little more involved than I expected.”
“Is Grandpa helping?”
“Helping?” Jewel rolled her eyes. “Yeah.”
“Cool. And guess what Miguel wants to help with?”
Jewel looked up from shaking the wet brush. “What?”
“He wants to build us a produce stand. Grandma said we can sell stuff from her garden and fruit trees since she doesn’t want to do any canning. And we can do eggs and honey too. And later on, we can sell pumpkins. We’ll be rich.”
“I doubt you’ll get rich, but it does sound fun.”
“I told Miguel I might get you to draw up a design for the stand. You know, since you’re the artiste.” Cooper smirked.
“I could do that.”
“Tomorrow, Anna and I will be making barn sale signs and getting everything set for the big sale. But when that’s done, I’ll help paint.”
Jewel felt like crying. “Oh, thank you, Cooper. I wanted to ask, but you’ve already been doing so much already.”
“I could ask Anna to help too,” Cooper suggested.
“Wonderful.”
“I bet Miguel could too. He’s a really good painter.”
“Oh, I doubt he’ll have time.” Or that he’d want to see Jewel after their last misunderstanding over Aaron. “But do tell Anna I’ll pay you girls for your work.”
“Cool.” Cooper pulled out her phone. “I’ll text her right now.”
“Thanks.” Jewel felt a small flicker of hope as she rinsed the last brush. She hadn’t been too eager to get up on a tall ladder, which would be necessary for some parts of the house, but those two agile teens might enjoy the challenge. She laid the brushes on paper towels, then kicked off her paint-speckled Converse and went into her fully remodeled kitchen, pausing to admire how pretty and efficient it now looked with its upgraded appliances, recently installed gray quartz countertops, and gleaming-white farmhouse apron sink. She’d replaced her mom’s old dining set with a hefty harvest table she’d found in a local antiques mall and placed a couple of stools around it. It not only looked perfect but was handy for extra food prep space.
She’d considered doing yellow and black in there, to make it compatible to the whole bee theme, but not wanting to gettoo juvenile, she stuck with her original linen walls and green cabinets, adding in a few more classic touches of her own style, including some original paintings that felt appropriate to a farmy but sophisticated kitchen. Country meets art. It had only been finished for a couple of days now but still made her happy just to look at it.
Despite being tired, she decided that instead of ordering pizza like she’d planned, she would fix a homemade meal for her and Cooper tonight. She actually enjoyed cooking when she had the time and ingredients. And cooking in this lovely kitchen would be a reward in itself. Before long, she had chicken breasts on the industrial stove’s big grill, making enough for leftovers tomorrow. And with her favorite jazz station playing on her XM radio, she was partly dancing and partly working on a generous green salad with the abundant produce she’d gathered from the garden this morning when she heard someone tapping on the back screen door.
“Come in,” she yelled, thinking it was one of her parents, although they usually were relaxing after their own early dinner by now.
