Unexpected Odds (Unexpected Arrivals 5)

An older gentleman climbs out of the car. He pulls at his pants that are already being held up by suspenders, that peek out under his coat, as he approaches me. “Ms. Nottingham?” he asks. His hand is already thrust forward in greeting, waiting for me to shake it.

“Delaney.” I take his offered hand.

“Harold Garcia, it’s nice to officially meet you.”

“You as well. Thank you for meeting me here.”

“Of course. Have you been here long?”

“No, I actually just pulled in.”

“Beautiful place.” He nods toward the house.

“It really is.” There is snow on the treetops and on the mountains that are in the distance, yet they seem so close at the same time. It’s almost like a painting or a Christmas card. Even rundown the place is gorgeous.

“Well, shall we get started? I have the construction crew scheduled to start tomorrow. Your mother emphasized that time was of the essence. She indicated that you want the renovations done as quickly as possible to get the property on the market.”

“That’s my mother, not me. I own the property and… I’m not so sure I’m selling it.” My mother is insistent that’s the outcome, but I’ve never been confident on the idea. Now, just being here, that feeling is stronger than ever. I can’t explain it.

“Oh, well, all right. Shall we take a look? We can do a walkthrough and discuss what you want changed. Your mother—” he starts, but the look I flash him shuts him up.

“Doesn’t have a say.” I feel defiant in my words, but the pull that this place has on me is not only instant but strong. “I am the owner, and it’s my money that’s paying you and the contractor,” I remind him. Sure, it’s my inheritance from my father, but it’s mine, not my mother’s. Just something else that she was not happy about when my father passed away.

“Yes. Yes.” He nods vigorously. “Shall we get started?” he asks.

I smile at him. “Yes.” Digging the key to the house from my purse, I take the steps up the front porch one at a time, careful that they might be slick. Once I’ve slid the key into the lock, I slowly push open the door and step inside. My eyes scan the foyer as I take one step then another until I’m standing inside the living room. If it were not for the thin layer of dust and the musty smell, I wouldn’t be able to tell that a family didn’t live here.

There are still family photos on the mantel, a throw lying over the back of the couch, and a pair of slippers sitting next to the coffee table. It’s as if my parents just took what they had to, and left the rest. Why would they do that?

“Oh,” Mr. Garcia says, coming to stand next to me. “I wasn’t expecting this. I just assumed it would be empty.”

“Yeah, so did I.” I turn to look at him. “What does this mean for the renovation? Will it set us back?”

“Let me make a few calls. However, I think first and foremost, we need to do a walkthrough and decide what needs to be replaced or repaired. That will tell us what we’re dealing with when it comes to the personal belongings and how to handle moving them.”

“Good idea.” I look down at the sage green carpet that appears to be something from the seventies. “Um, the carpet has to go.” I laugh.

Mr. Garcia scribbles on his notepad. “Carpet, got it.”

“I think the entire house could do with a new coat of paint on the inside and out.” It’s hard to tell with all the dust and cobwebs.

“Right. I’m not sure if the construction crew will handle the outside painting but if not, I’ll find someone who will.” He’s quick to agree as his pen rushes across the page taking notes.

We spend the next hour going from room to room, deciding what needs to be updated. With each room, I fall even more in love with the house.

“Right, so we’re updating all the flooring, all the bathrooms, the kitchen is a complete makeover, and paint on all the walls.” Mr. Garcia reads off his list.

“Yes. For now.” I smile big, and he returns it with one of his own.

“Oh, and new paint and landscaping for the outside. Although, since it’s January, that might have to wait until spring.”

“That’s fine,” I assure him. “Like I said. I’m not sure I even want to sell. Maybe we’ll keep it for a vacation home.” His eyes widen, and I can’t help but laugh. This house is gorgeous and huge, too huge to be a simple vacation home. “Maybe a bed and breakfast,” I say, thinking out loud.

“I’m sure you will figure it out. And when your mother calls?” he asks hesitantly.