Screwdrivered (Cocktail 3)

As I packed, the house felt really big for some reason.

The next morning, I left for Philadelphia.

Chapter eleven

The five-hour plane ride gave me a lot of time to think, to read, and then think some more. Excited as I was to see my family, I missed Mendocino within five minutes of putt-putting around that last bend in the road and leaving it behind.

I did not at all miss the tiniest rental car in America, turning it in at SFO. With any luck, when I got back to Mendocino I’d have the Blue Bomber 2.0 to toot about town in.

I read through the proposal my father had sent while I was on the plane, it was a good offer. I’d saved my own money over the last few years, sure, but this would really set me up for a while. I’d called the last contractor before I’d left, accepted his bid, and he’d be able to start working soon after I returned.

I was still puzzling over why Clark didn’t go through the bid with me. I imagined that once the work began he’d start back up with his fussing and mussing, but until then, I was going to focus on what I did have control over. The sale of my company, the packing of my apartment, the selling of my car.

I settled back, reclining my seat as far as it would go.

My mom and dad picked me up at the airport, showered me with hugs and kisses, and then immediately took me home to feed me. I wasn’t even allowed to go to my apartment first. It was to my mother’s dining room table, where all my favorite foods were on display. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, homemade gravy, and a huge bowl of peas. “Peas for color” my mother always used to say, a phrase she’d appropriated from my grandmother, who always felt there should always be a little green on each place.

I enjoyed it all, and was tucking into my second piece of big, luscious double-chocolate cake with cocoa buttercream frosting when my father poured me a cup of coffee and sat down beside me, sweeping away crumbs with his fingertips. This signaled the serious conversation portion of our dinner.

“So, you read the proposal, I take it?” he asked, and I nodded through a mouthful of chocolate.

“And?”

“And,” I said, pausing to swallow, “everything looks really good. A few things here and there that I’d like to tweak, but essentially? You’ve got yourself a deal.”

My mother burst into tears at her end of the table. “It’s so silly to cry. It’s not like I didn’t know this was going to happen, it just . . . seems so final now. You’re really moving.” She dabbed at her eyes with her napkin.

“Mom, it’s gonna be okay, you’ll see. Give me some time to get the house in order and then you can come out and play, okay?”

“But you’ll be so far away!” she wailed.

“Gee, if only there was a way you could fly out there—like, on a plane? To visit?” I said, making a show of puzzling over this predicament. Was I teasing her? Oh my yes, it was the only way to get her to stop crying. And sure enough . . .

“Don’t sass your mother, Vivvie, I know very well that I can come out for a visit. But it isn’t the same, and you know it.” She was pointing at me now, and when that finger went out, a lecture was sure to follow.

“I know you said that you have a friend who will help you with the decorating, but there’s no reason at all why you should be spending that kind of money when I can come out to help you. You’ll see, I’ll have that place shipshape in no time.”

Right on schedule with the lecture . . .

“And another thing, this Clark character. I don’t like him giving you so much trouble. It’s your home and you should do with it as you please. The idea that he would—”

“Ma.”

“—have the nerve to tell you what you can and can’t—”

“Ma! Clark is under control. You don’t think I can handle a librarian?”

“He’s a librarian?”

“He’s the town librarian, he’s an archivist, and he’s the head of the local historical society. He knows a lot about the town, a lot about the house too. He even helped Aunt Maude get it listed on the historical register. That’s the only reason he’s so involved with this project—he needs to make sure that the changes that we make are within the time period of the home.”

“Hmmm.”

“He’s a total pain in the ass, but kind of—I don’t know, in a good way? I hate to admit it, but he’s had some good ideas.” God, he would just looooove to know I was saying such good things about him. “Oh, and you should see what we came up with for the front porch! Remember how I told you the floor was all rotted, how I went through it the first night? And then again another night?”

“You went through the front porch twice?” my father asked, looking surprised as he shot a glance toward my mother. She shushed him and waved for me to go on.

“Didn’t I tell you about the second time? Yeah—after Clark had to pull me up through the floorboards, he agreed that we needed to start with the porch. And he suggested restoring the old porch swing. Remember that, Mom?” I asked, grabbing for my phone.

“I think so, off to the left?” she asked, watching me carefully.

“Yep. Aunt Maude seemed to have used an entire roll of duct tape to hold it together. I’ve got a picture here somewhere,” I said, scrolling through my camera roll on my phone. “Yes, here we go! Can you believe how wretched this thing looks? But Clark knows a carpenter who does a lot of restoration work. He thinks that—”