Renovation
Charlie
My client Neal’s deep tone was smoother than the fresh white paint coating his foyer walls. His piercing blue eyes drooped to my tits. I nodded, pretending to care about the restaurant he boasted about while folding my arms across my chest—a polite reminder of where my eyes were.
On the job, I usually have a clipboard for these moments; However, I’m only here to collect my last payment…if he ever hands me the envelope.
“Would you like to go?” he asked. “I own the place, so we wouldn’t need a reservation.”
Nothing's wrong with Neal. He’s handsome, and judging by his Rolex and dapper style, he has a brain for business, but I don’t involve myself with clients. My passion for nails, tools, paint, and compound control my life; so a relationship would be consistently brushed aside.
My cell erupted in a string of vibrational rings from my back pocket.
Thank god.
I tugged my iPhone from my jeans; The number for Lake Champlain’s Center For Living bannered my screen.
Again?
My heart dropped, tinkering along each rib like a screw falling down a flight of stairs.
I glanced at Neal. “I’m sorry, I have to take this.”
He nodded. “Of course.”
I stepped out onto his extensive walnut-stained front porch, courtesy of my team.
Dread piled on my chest like a stack of lumber while lifting the device to my ear, “Hello?”
“Hey, Charlie. I’m sorry to bother you.”
“It’s no bother, Shelia. What’s up?”
“It’s happening again.”
I pinched my forehead between my thumb and index finger, leaning over the iron railing.
Their calls have increased over the past two weeks. You would figure the medication I pay a small fortune for would be helping.
“I’ll be right there,” I sighed.
I hung up and wandered into the newly renovated foyer. My client stood patiently, holding my white envelope hostage.
Is it too much to ask to be paid so I can leave? He hangs around like he’s waiting for me to screw him into the drywall.
He furrowed his brows. “Everything alright?”
No.
“Yeah. I have another job to get to. Guy put a rush on it, so I’ve gotta get going.”
There was no man or work. It’s simply easier to hammer out a lie.
“Oh, I won’t keep you then.” Neal held the money between us. “Just let me know if you ever want to grab dinner.”
Dinner is always on the table, but not with him. The only avenue he'll have to me is if he hires Carter Construction for a job.
I kindly nodded, accepting my cash. “Thank you.”
I twisted from Neal, exiting the foyer.
I entered the nursing home lobby, and the automatic doors rolled shut behind me. Food scents wafted from the massive, white-washed room to my left. Residents were gathered in their wheelchairs parked around the circular tables. Silverware clanked against platters, and chatter echoed as the CNAs wandered about, conversing with the elderly patients.
Centered in the room was a lone woman—my mother, Alice Carter. Her loose, gray braid rested between her frail shoulder blades, and her emerald gaze stared at her untouched tray.
I strolled to her table, claiming an empty chair beside her.
“Hey, mom.”
A feeble grin formed on her thin lips. “Charlotte…”
I smiled. “Something wrong with your lunch?”
“No, not really.”
“Then why haven’t you touched it?”
Her answer is always the same, but I’ve learned how to respond.
“They told me I could go home this afternoon, so I figured I would wait for some proper food instead.”
She’s been in Lake Champlain’s Center For Living for a few months. I couldn’t care for her anymore and was concerned with her safety. I got the call one morning at work that she fell and was at the hospital. Then and there, I decided she could no longer be home alone.
My mother's stubborn, and it took a lot to get her here. It’s a highly sought-after assisted living center, so she’s in good hands; However, there's only so much they can do when she refuses food.
Guilt spackled my heart like plaster. “You live here now, mom.”
“Why?”
“You got hurt, and I needed help, remember? These people stepped in. That’s nice, isn’t it?”
Her depressed gaze drooped to her meal. “I guess.”
Her head bobbed slightly as she struggled to grasp her fork. The bluish veins lined her hands beneath her paper-thin skin. They were covered in age spots and wrinkles, reminding me of her age. Sometimes I forget because I’m only thirty-five.
My parents had me in their mid-forties. I was their miracle child. My father wished for a boy to whom he could pass his construction company but got me instead. Little did he know, I would follow in his footsteps, and he would teach me everything he knew.
“Here, ma, let me…” I smiled, grasping her fork. “Do you want the mashed potatoes first?”
She nodded. “Please.”
I dipped the utensil into the potato mound. A small pile covered the silver prongs, and I held it before her. Her thin lips opened, clamping over it despite her usual quiver. I slowly pulled the fork back. It emerged clean.
Sadness pierces me like a nail every time I remind her she’s never coming home. I made the right choice, but it doesn’t make it easier.
Between planning the Fright Fest Fundraiser and managing Carter Construction, I visit often, but I can’t help but feel like my best isn’t enough. Someday, I hope it will be.
I scooped another smidge of starch from my mother’s tray, awaiting her stilled jaw, signaling she was ready for another bite.
I sat in my truck parked in my friend’s driveway. Black vinyl trimmed her giant windows and deep gray siding. Lush shrubbery and mulch surround the sidewalk, spreading around her yard like something from a home and garden magazine. Fall leaves drifted from the oak tree in the front yard, painting the lawn in burnt orange.
The modern house isn’t my style, despite its infallible architecture. I have a soft spot for older homes. Maintaining their charm while renovating them is as much of a hobby as a job.
I inhaled the quiet inside the cab, collecting myself after lunch with my mother.
The charcoal leather seats inside my F-350 are a sanctuary after a hard day. It seems more stacks my plate despite getting paid and knocking another client off my list.
I exhaled the overwhelming air in my lungs, only for them to replenish it.
My keys jangled as I pulled them from the ignition and pushed open my door. I slipped out, slammed the door, and wandered the cement bricks crafting the sidewalk. Upon approaching the black wooden door, I knocked.
After a moment, it flew open. My friend Evie’s smile beamed through her red lipstick. Long, chestnut waves hung over her shoulders, halting at her waist. A black dress lined her hourglass frame, complete with shiny black heels.
We met last year when her husband Sam’s law firm caught fire. She hired Carter Construction for her floral shop, and we've been friends ever since. Usually, I don’t personalize myself with clients; However, something about her was infectious.
She pulled me into a hug. “I’m glad you came.”
“I had to…”
Sam stumbled around the corner in a black v-neck shirt and dark blue jeans. His sable hair was spiked in the front, and his grin shined against his tan skin. He was hunched over, holding his wobbly toddler, Andres' hands.
They've been counting the days until Andres takes his first steps. Until then, they walk him around with their support.
I veered around Evie, falling to my knees before Andres.
“Because I had to see the cutest baby in the world,” I babbled, hugging Andres.
His little arms draped over my shoulders as I plucked him from the floor, stealing him from his dad. Evie closed the foyer door, and we wandered into the living room. I bounced Andres on my hip, astonished at the unusually organized space.
Andres’ toys were piled in his basket by the black leather sofa instead of sprawled over the gray throw rug, and nothing stained the glass coffee table. Dusk crept into the giant picture window, lacking fingerprints. Various-sized electronic candles flickered on the fireplace mantel.
Their house is never this spotless. They rarely clean to this degree between running two businesses and parenthood.
I twisted toward them. “Is someone else joining us for dinner?”
“Aunt V is coming to babysit,” Evie said.
Evie’s sister Saanvi has been babysitting for them a lot. She’s even commandeered my shifts on Sam and Evie's date nights. That’s probably who's been scrubbing their home until it’s germ-free.
“Oh, I could’ve done that for you.”
“Trust me, Saanvi could use some time away from her house…” Evie said. “And so can you.”
I furrowed my brows. “What?”
“We’re going out tonight. You, me, and Sam.”
My forehead pinched. “Wait, so is this some kinda setup? I don’t wanna be a third wheel… ”
Sam folded his arms. “You won’t be. You’ve had a lot on your mind lately and we thought you could use some fun.”
I sighed, glancing at Andres’ large brown eyes like he awaited my answer alongside his parents.
There are tons of stressors drilling my brain. Carter Construction is my father’s legacy, creating immeasurable pressure on top of my mother’s struggles. Because of nursing home and medication costs, my bank account was quite literally hanging by my tape measure. Naturally, I wasn't in a fun mood.
I sighed. “Look, I appreciate it, but—”
“But nothing. If Sam and I can make the time to go out, you can, too. We’ll even buy your drinks all night…”
A beer does sound enticing…
Evie always knows how to make a convincing argument.
I smirked. “And do you think I have something sexy packed in my Ford pickup for a night out?”
“No, but you have a very generous friend with a closet full of things to choose from…” Evie said with a sly grin.
Evie’s style is nowhere near mine; She wears dresses and heels, and I wear torn flares and work boots.
Evie smiled, reclaiming Andres from my arms. “Just say yes, Charlie.”
Dressing in Evie’s clothing would make me feel like a different woman, but perhaps that’s what I need. I can forget my business, debt, and that my mother's losing her mind.
Maybe houses aren’t the only structures that require renovation sometimes—even if it’s only one night.
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, fine.”
Sam tugged his fist to his stomach as if their night hinged on me. “Yes!”
“So, where are we going tonight?” I asked.
Evie cocked a brow. “Where do ya think?”
I should've known. There’s only one place they eat and drink for a night out. It’s where they met and evidently where they'll always meet. I’ve never been, but feel like I have because of how often they boast about it. Their burgers and fries are to die for, according to Evie and Sam. If they enjoy it to this degree, it must be good; That or the place has something in the water.
I smirked, muttering a word, “Finnigan’s.”
