Screwdrivered
Page 51
“Don’t start. I’m only asking if they can restore it, not replace it. Happy?”
“Yes, that’s exactly the word I’d use to describe myself,” he muttered, loud enough for me to hear.
I stifled a snappy remark, watching him from the door. “So, how was your week?” I asked.
“Busy,” he said, now examining the wood-framed mirror in the entryway. “Did you scratch this?”
“No,” I huffed, crossing to stand next to him, looking where he was rubbing his finger along the bottom frame.
“This scratch wasn’t here before,” he insisted, and I pushed into his side.
“If you’ll move your hand, maybe I can see what you’re talking about,” I answered, squinting to see what he was worrying. The old frame was riddled with cracks and scratches; what was he seeing? I tried leaning over his arm, but it was in my way, so I ducked underneath and raised up on my tippy toes. I brushed his hand aside and examined where his finger had just been.
The half-inch scratch looked as old as the wood. I started to tell Clark exactly where he could go scratch when I felt the warmth of his body against mine. Pressed along the length of me, the long, lean lines of his body fit against mine, and he slid his finger back into place. On the wall.
“See this? This wasn’t there before,” he breathed, just behind my ear. My neck bloomed with heat.
What was happening here?
I slowly dropped from my toes to my heels, pressing my spine further against him. Then I raised up once more, arching to lean closer to the wall, pushing another part of me more firmly against a specific part of him. He let out a hiss, and I grinned into the wall. “You mean this here?” I asked, dragging my thumb across the gouge in the wood.
I repeat. What was happening here?
I chanced a look over my shoulder and saw Clark. Eyes closed, jaw clenched. Inhaling deeply.
And further over my shoulder was Caroline. Arms crossed, with a knowing grin.
I turned back to the wall, tapped the scratch, and slipped out from under his arm. “I guess we’ll just add it to the list of things to do,” I announced.
His eyes popped open. Clearing his throat, he turned, then saw Caroline. “Oh, hello there. Good to see you again,” he said, walking away and putting the entire room between us. “I trust this contractor you’ve hired is familiar with this kind of restoration work?”
I leaned against the wall, flustered and confused and not at all sure what had just happened. It was hot in here; I needed to open some windows. I pulled at the neck on my T-shirt, fanning myself, and Caroline smothered a laugh.
“Yes, he works with a local guy I’ve worked with before. They’re very careful with projects like this,” she answered.
Clark nodded briskly. “Good, very good. While we’re waiting for him, let me show you some of the designs I came across in the archives of some of the original homes here in town. You mentioned you were going to be consulting on your friends’ vacation home, and I’m familiar with that house. It’s a beauty,” he said, setting his briefcase on the dining room table, having a perfectly normal conversation with Caroline—while I was still trying to bring my heartbeat back to its normal rate.
He didn’t seem to be affected in the slightest. Humph.
Most uncomfortable day ever. I mean it. Once the contractor arrived we went from room to room, with Caroline leading the charge. Thank goodness she was there, because the tension that was simmering between Clark and me was like a thin coating of insanity covering every word uttered. And every heated glance. And every not-so-heated glance.
When I asked if the cedar closet off the upstairs hallway could be removed to expand the bathroom? A lecture from Clark on why it would be a crime against humanity to destroy something as important as this very closet. I listened for the first two minutes, then got caught rolling my eyes and was promptly scolded. To which I stuck out my tongue. Which resulted in a gaze so smoldering from Clark it’s a wonder the cedar didn’t burst into flames.
And when Caroline and Contractor Joe needed to discuss recaulking the windows on the second floor, going on and on about how for the best seal you needed a really thick caulk? Clark turned three shades of purple and I damn near bit through my lower lip.
But as the day stretched on, progress was made. At the end we had a clear plan for making the changes I felt were needed but also made Clark comfortable. Not only in terms of the historical register but meeting his mental guidelines for the integrity of the house. Caroline had walked a tightrope between the two themes all day, mediating and balancing the tension that was no longer ignorable.
The easy truce Clark and I had formed after the first few days, the friendship that had blossomed while I was back in Philadelphia, was gone. And in its place? Uncomfortable silence. Frustrated and stilted conversation. And worse? Caulk. Oh the caulk.
Once we said good-bye to Contractor Joe, Caroline excused herself to make a phone call and I was alone with Clark in the entryway.
Silence. More silence. Shuffle of shoe, puff of breath, and then again, silence.
Finally, we both started:
“So what do you think about—”
“So if it’s all right with you—”
Then we both backed off.
“Go ahead,” I said.
“No no, what were you going to say?”
“No please. You first,” I insisted.
“Ladies first, Vivian,” he insisted right back.
This would go on all night if our mutual stubbornness had its way.
“What I was going to say is, what do you think about Joe? He seemed to be the best of the bunch to me.”
“I think he appears to be very capable, and seems to understand what you’re going for here. I’m sure he’ll do a fine job.”
“Good. I mean, I thought so too, but I wondered what you thought,” I rambled, filling the space. Which had never been necessary before. “So—yeah.”
More silence.
“What were you going to say?” I asked.
“Hmm?” He seemed distracted.
“When we both started talking at the same time? What were you going to say?” I repeated.
“Oh. Well, I was just going to say that it seems like Caroline and you have really worked things out, and this project is pretty well on track. I think everything’s going to work out just fine with the house.”
“I think so too. It’ll be fun to see some of these things take shape.” I moved a little closer to him and pointed to a cornice piece that separated the entryway and the living room. “I really liked your idea of trying to replicate these upstairs. It’ll really tie things together.”
“Yes, that’s exactly the word I’d use to describe myself,” he muttered, loud enough for me to hear.
I stifled a snappy remark, watching him from the door. “So, how was your week?” I asked.
“Busy,” he said, now examining the wood-framed mirror in the entryway. “Did you scratch this?”
“No,” I huffed, crossing to stand next to him, looking where he was rubbing his finger along the bottom frame.
“This scratch wasn’t here before,” he insisted, and I pushed into his side.
“If you’ll move your hand, maybe I can see what you’re talking about,” I answered, squinting to see what he was worrying. The old frame was riddled with cracks and scratches; what was he seeing? I tried leaning over his arm, but it was in my way, so I ducked underneath and raised up on my tippy toes. I brushed his hand aside and examined where his finger had just been.
The half-inch scratch looked as old as the wood. I started to tell Clark exactly where he could go scratch when I felt the warmth of his body against mine. Pressed along the length of me, the long, lean lines of his body fit against mine, and he slid his finger back into place. On the wall.
“See this? This wasn’t there before,” he breathed, just behind my ear. My neck bloomed with heat.
What was happening here?
I slowly dropped from my toes to my heels, pressing my spine further against him. Then I raised up once more, arching to lean closer to the wall, pushing another part of me more firmly against a specific part of him. He let out a hiss, and I grinned into the wall. “You mean this here?” I asked, dragging my thumb across the gouge in the wood.
I repeat. What was happening here?
I chanced a look over my shoulder and saw Clark. Eyes closed, jaw clenched. Inhaling deeply.
And further over my shoulder was Caroline. Arms crossed, with a knowing grin.
I turned back to the wall, tapped the scratch, and slipped out from under his arm. “I guess we’ll just add it to the list of things to do,” I announced.
His eyes popped open. Clearing his throat, he turned, then saw Caroline. “Oh, hello there. Good to see you again,” he said, walking away and putting the entire room between us. “I trust this contractor you’ve hired is familiar with this kind of restoration work?”
I leaned against the wall, flustered and confused and not at all sure what had just happened. It was hot in here; I needed to open some windows. I pulled at the neck on my T-shirt, fanning myself, and Caroline smothered a laugh.
“Yes, he works with a local guy I’ve worked with before. They’re very careful with projects like this,” she answered.
Clark nodded briskly. “Good, very good. While we’re waiting for him, let me show you some of the designs I came across in the archives of some of the original homes here in town. You mentioned you were going to be consulting on your friends’ vacation home, and I’m familiar with that house. It’s a beauty,” he said, setting his briefcase on the dining room table, having a perfectly normal conversation with Caroline—while I was still trying to bring my heartbeat back to its normal rate.
He didn’t seem to be affected in the slightest. Humph.
Most uncomfortable day ever. I mean it. Once the contractor arrived we went from room to room, with Caroline leading the charge. Thank goodness she was there, because the tension that was simmering between Clark and me was like a thin coating of insanity covering every word uttered. And every heated glance. And every not-so-heated glance.
When I asked if the cedar closet off the upstairs hallway could be removed to expand the bathroom? A lecture from Clark on why it would be a crime against humanity to destroy something as important as this very closet. I listened for the first two minutes, then got caught rolling my eyes and was promptly scolded. To which I stuck out my tongue. Which resulted in a gaze so smoldering from Clark it’s a wonder the cedar didn’t burst into flames.
And when Caroline and Contractor Joe needed to discuss recaulking the windows on the second floor, going on and on about how for the best seal you needed a really thick caulk? Clark turned three shades of purple and I damn near bit through my lower lip.
But as the day stretched on, progress was made. At the end we had a clear plan for making the changes I felt were needed but also made Clark comfortable. Not only in terms of the historical register but meeting his mental guidelines for the integrity of the house. Caroline had walked a tightrope between the two themes all day, mediating and balancing the tension that was no longer ignorable.
The easy truce Clark and I had formed after the first few days, the friendship that had blossomed while I was back in Philadelphia, was gone. And in its place? Uncomfortable silence. Frustrated and stilted conversation. And worse? Caulk. Oh the caulk.
Once we said good-bye to Contractor Joe, Caroline excused herself to make a phone call and I was alone with Clark in the entryway.
Silence. More silence. Shuffle of shoe, puff of breath, and then again, silence.
Finally, we both started:
“So what do you think about—”
“So if it’s all right with you—”
Then we both backed off.
“Go ahead,” I said.
“No no, what were you going to say?”
“No please. You first,” I insisted.
“Ladies first, Vivian,” he insisted right back.
This would go on all night if our mutual stubbornness had its way.
“What I was going to say is, what do you think about Joe? He seemed to be the best of the bunch to me.”
“I think he appears to be very capable, and seems to understand what you’re going for here. I’m sure he’ll do a fine job.”
“Good. I mean, I thought so too, but I wondered what you thought,” I rambled, filling the space. Which had never been necessary before. “So—yeah.”
More silence.
“What were you going to say?” I asked.
“Hmm?” He seemed distracted.
“When we both started talking at the same time? What were you going to say?” I repeated.
“Oh. Well, I was just going to say that it seems like Caroline and you have really worked things out, and this project is pretty well on track. I think everything’s going to work out just fine with the house.”
“I think so too. It’ll be fun to see some of these things take shape.” I moved a little closer to him and pointed to a cornice piece that separated the entryway and the living room. “I really liked your idea of trying to replicate these upstairs. It’ll really tie things together.”
