Hints of cranberry color popped up here and there. In the 114
Heather Webber
pillows on the bed, on the lamp on the bedside table, in the throw rugs on my new hardwood floor.
I blinked.
Hardwood?
“Did you do all this yourselves?”
My mother winked. “We had help.”
“It’s so beautiful.”
She clapped, reminding me again of Maria. “We knew you’d like it!”
I never would have thought I’d like something so feminine, but it appealed to a side of me I rarely indulged. This was so perfect. For so many reasons. The biggest being that it helped to erase the memories of Kevin from this room.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s no need to say anything. You do for so many,
“Thank you, Mom, it’s beautiful.”
And I couldn’t help but think I wanted to show it to Bobby as soon as possible.
As I spun, taking in the little details, the touches of wrought iron, the new crown molding, I caught a glimpse of my adjoining bathroom and noticed that the seventies era flowered wallpaper wasn’t up anymore.
“Did you do the bathroom too?” I asked, amazed. I started forward to get a better look.
My mother dashed in front of me, blocked the entrance.
I hadn’t known she could move so fast. Usually she walked with a slow casualness that drove me nuts.
“Um, well—” My mother rarely stuttered. “We thought it needed updating also.”
I tried to peer over her shoulder. “Anything is better than Aunt Chi-Chi’s old wallpaper.”
It had truly been hideous, teal and navy flowers.
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“Yes, well . . .”
I stood on tiptoes, suddenly suspicious. “What’s wrong?”
“Wrong? What could be wrong?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one who won’t let me see.”
She brushed a lock of blonde hair off her forehead, swept it back with a practiced grace. “It’s simply not done yet.”
I made a move to peek over her shoulder, but ducked at the last minute under her rigid arm and pushed my way into my bathroom.
Or what was left of my bathroom.
“Oh. My.”
“It’s not so bad,
I looked around at the big gaping holes in my walls.
Everything was . . .
Worthy of a state of emergency declaration.
The tub was pulled away from the wall, the showerhead and tiles gone. My vanity sat in the middle of the floor, which no longer had any linoleum on it. The sink was filled with dust, and the plumbing, the pipes, and doodads I didn’t know the names of stuck out of the wall.
“What happened?” I asked.
“It all started with the wallpaper. It tore the plaster from the wall when we took it off. The plasterer we called told us it wasn’t worth restoring and suggested we gut it and replace it with drywall. The demo crew will be here tomorrow.”
The demo crew. Here. Tomorrow.
“When will they be done?”
“Good things are worth waiting for,
Ugh!
Absently, I wondered who was paying for all this, and de -
cided I’d jump that hurdle later.
For now, my thoughts of a hot relaxing shower vanished faster than Riley when I’d brought up the topic of safe
