He leaned his face over the tub and planted a sticky kiss on my cheek, wrapping his warm arms around my wet neck. I remembered Vivi’s essay. I remembered I was someone’s hero. I had promised Adam, had vowed to him, that when he was away, I would be here, raising our babies and continuing our life. It was my job as a military wife to make good on that promise. This was my role, the one I had chosen. Or maybe it had chosen me. It was hard to tell now.
I closed my eyes and saw my painting again. I felt its strength. I thought of Vivi again, of her belief in me.
I believed in Adam. It was going to be OK.
It would be easier to retreat back into my cocoon of memories, my home videos, my letters, my sorrow. But Caroline was right. Mom was right. Emerson was right. I had my boys to live for. I had to carry on.
Instead of succumbing to the dark, if I was ever going to come out of this, I had no choice but to look for the light.
My son’s blue eyes were a perfect start.
FOUR
transitional
ansley
When I opened the door to the store that morning, the first thing I did was rush to my store-manager-turned-design-assistant, Leah, and hug her. Her strawberry-blond hair was pulled up in a tight ponytail, and she was wearing an emerald-green silk blouse, the exact color of her eyes. The dusting of freckles across her nose had become more prominent this summer.
I looked around. Everything seemed pretty much the same despite my almost total absence over the past month. The living room display set up at the front of the shop, the tables of accessories, the shelves of books and candles. The only thing better than the inside was the gorgeous view out the window of the waterfront. And I never took for granted that work was a two-block walk from home. It was the best commute I knew of.
She laughed. “What was that for?”
I shook my head. “What was it not for? You have run my entire life for more than a month, Leah. There aren’t enough thank-yous.”
She waved me away like it was nothing, and before I could say anything else, she asked, “Any thoughts on those ceilings at the Turner house?”
But it wasn’t nothing. That she had taken over like this said a lot about her future at the store, her future with me—and made me realize that I needed to give her a raise.
The Turners had just bought the house at the end of my street. It was surrounded by water on three sides and, built in the mid-1700s, was one of the oldest white clapboard houses in town. That, of course, posed a few design challenges. But if there was anything I loved, it was a challenge. Admittedly, I had a few more than I wanted coming at me these days, but I could handle one more if it meant figuring out how to make seven-and-a-half-foot ceilings seem taller and make tiny rooms feel more spacious.
I nodded. “I’ve been going back and forth, but I think we need to rip them out like we did in the kitchen. Let’s stain the exposed rafters to give them a beam-like feel and lacquer the shiplap between them. It will give them a few more inches of height.” I paused. “And will add so much character.”
She smiled. “I love that, and we are so on the same page. I was thinking about going a little bit transitional, adding some modern flair.”
This was why I loved Leah. She got me. “Yes!” I said excitedly. “It’s never going to be a grand home, no matter what we do, so I say we mix key antiques with new upholstery and some unexpected accessories.”
Leah nodded and handed me the mood board she’d been working on. “Faye loves gold, so what about these?”
The Barbara Cosgrove jar lamps with gold stripes and gold shades would be a perfect, fun touch on the pair of antique demilune commodes we were using underneath a pair of windows in the living room.
“Let’s mix natural fiber rugs with those great antique Persian ones they have.”
Leah nodded and made a note. “The ones with the blues, right? The greens aren’t going to work.”
“Exactly,” I said, walking toward the back of the store to check out the boxes waiting there for me. This was the best thing about having a store. You got presents every day.
“Oh, and Leah,” I called. “I want one of us to be there every day during construction. We need to make sure the original floors, moldings, window casings, and those amazing pocket doors are properly restored.”
She nodded, standing beside me now. “Do you want them burned back to the original?”
I thought for a second. “Only in the rooms with the egg and dart.”
The bell on the door tinkled, and my mouth started watering before I even turned around.
“As I live and breathe, if it isn’t Ansley Murphy in her store.”
I turned to smile at Kyle, with his tanned limbs, sun-kissed hair, and perfectly chiseled jawline. To be clear, I was drooling over the coffee he was delivering. I’d leave the drooling over Kyle to the younger generation. “Can you even believe it?” I asked.
Kyle was beside me now. I turned, and he kissed me on the cheek. “Our girl looks a little better,” he said.
I smiled. “She’s a mess, but she’s out of bed.” I shrugged. “I’ll take it.”
He handed me my cup. “What is it?” I asked.
“I felt like you needed comfort and stability, so I went back to your old favorite: skinny vanilla soy latte.”
I was a
