Three Sisters. Сьюзен Мэллери
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love your space,” Andi said. “I’m not sure my kitchen has seen so much as a coat of paint in the last sixty years.”
Boston collected two knives and handed her one, then cut open her scone and smoothed on apple butter. As she worked, several silver charm bracelets clinked together. “We saw your place at the open house. The kitchen was very 1950s.”
“I don’t mind the retro look,” Andi admitted. “But nothing works. I have a thing about turning on a faucet and having hot water come out. And I’d like a refrigerator that keeps food cold.”
Boston grinned. “So you’re a demanding sort.”
“Apparently.”
“I know Zeke’s been drawing up plans. I haven’t seen all of them, but he and his brother do beautiful work.”
Andi looked at her kitchen. “Did he update your house?”
“About six years ago.” Boston picked up her coffee. “Where are you moving from?”
The island was small enough that Andi wasn’t surprised Boston assumed she was from somewhere else. “Seattle.”
“Big city, huh? This is going to be a change.”
“I’m ready for a change.”
“Do you have a family?”
Andi knew she didn’t mean parents and siblings. “No.”
Boston’s expression registered surprise. “That’s a big house.”
“I’m a doctor. A pediatrician. I want to use the main level for my practice and live upstairs.”
Boston’s shoulders seemed to tighten. “Oh, that’s clever. You’ll avoid the hassle of commuting.” She glanced out the window over the sink toward Andi’s house. “There’s plenty of space for parking and I can see how the conversion wouldn’t be difficult.”
“The biggest modification will be moving the kitchen upstairs. I was going to have to gut it anyway, though, so it won’t add much more to the bill.” She reached for her scone. “How long have you lived on the island?”
“I grew up here,” Boston told her. “In this house, actually. I’ve never lived anywhere else. When Zeke and I started dating, I warned him I came with about three thousand square feet of baggage.” Her smile faded a little. “He said he liked that about me.”
Andi chewed the vanilla-flavored scone, enjoying the tart apple and cinnamon spread, then swallowed. “Do you work outside the home?”
Boston shook her head. “I’m an artist. Mostly textiles, although lately...” Her voice trailed off and something dark entered her eyes. “I sometimes do portraits. I’m responsible for most of the strange things you see around here.”
“I love the porch.”
“Do you? Deanna hates it.” Boston wrinkled her nose. “She would never say anything, of course, but I hear her sighing every time she steps on it.”
“Deanna?”
“Your other neighbor.”
“Her house is beautiful.”
“Isn’t it? You should see the inside. I’m sure she’ll invite you over. The front rooms are furnished true to the time period. The historical societies love her.” Boston glanced out the window again. “She has five daughters. Oh, customers for you.” She frowned. “Or is it clients?”
“Patients.”
Boston nodded. “Right. The girls are very sweet.” She shrugged. “And that’s the neighborhood. Just the three of us. I’m so happy someone is going to be living in the middle house. It’s been empty for years. A vacant house can be sad.”
Although nothing about Boston’s tone had changed, Andi felt a shift in the other woman’s energy. Even as she told herself she was being what her mother would call “weird beyond what we consider normal,” she couldn’t shake the feeling that her neighbor wanted her gone.
She quickly finished the rest of her scone, then smiled. “You’ve been more than kind. I really appreciate the jolt of caffeine and the snack. But I have so much I have to do.”
“Moving. I’ve heard it’s tough. I can’t imagine living anywhere but here. I hope you’re happy here on our little street.”
“I’m sure I will be.” Andi rose. “It was nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” Boston told her, walking her to the front door. “Please stop by if you need anything. That includes a shower. We have a guest bath, you know, in case the water gets turned off.”
“That’s very nice of you, but if the water gets turned off, I’m moving to a hotel.”
“I like your style.”
Andi waved and stepped out on the porch. Once the front door closed behind her, she paused for a second, looking at her house from her neighbor’s perspective. There were several cracked windows on this side, and part of the siding was hanging down, loose and peeling. The yard was overgrown.
“Talk about ugly,” she murmured, returning to her car.
Not to worry, she told herself. She’d gone over the plans for the remodeling and would be meeting with Zeke first thing Saturday to finalize their contract. Then work would begin.
In the meantime, she had to get ready for the movers who would arrive in the morning. She’d identified an upstairs bedroom where she would store the majority of her furniture. While the construction was going on, she would live in two small attic bedrooms. They were ugly, but serviceable. The bigger of the two would serve as a living room and pseudo kitchen. If she couldn’t heat it in a toaster oven or microwave, she wasn’t going to cook it.
The tiny attic bathroom had a shower obviously built for those who didn’t hit the five-foot mark and fixtures dating back to the 1940s, but everything worked. Zeke had promised to rig up a hot water heater right away.
She had what she would need to survive the three months of construction. Although she’d told Zeke she wanted everything done by early July, in truth she was planning to launch her practice September first, giving her a nice buffer. She’d seen enough shows on HGTV to know there were often problems and time delays in remodelings.
Andi collected the supplies from the back of her SUV. She needed to clean the room that she would be using for furniture storage, then tackle the bathroom she’d claimed. After that, she was going to reward herself with a pulled-pork sandwich from Arnie’s. Her real estate agent had promised the food was great.
Andi carefully walked up the front stairs. Two of the eight steps were loose. She put her key in the front door and jiggled to make the lock turn. Then she stepped into the foyer.
Unlike in Boston’s place, there was no eclectic array of charming furniture, no window coverings and nothing that looked remotely livable. The smell of decay and dirt mingled with the stench of former rodent inhabitants. Wallpaper hung off water-stained walls, and plywood covered several of the living room windows.
Andi set down her bucket filled with cleaning products and a bag full of rags and paper towels, then put her arms straight out and spun in a circle. Anticipation had her giggling as she faced the three-dimensional disaster that was her new home.
“You are going to be so happy,” she whispered. “I’m going to make you sparkle.” She grinned. “Well, me and a construction crew. You’ll see. When it’s all done, we’ll both be better.”
By the time the house was finished, she would be settled here on the island. Her ex-fiancé would be little more than a cautionary tale and she would have the beginnings of a thriving practice. She would no longer be the family screwup or the woman who had been stupid enough to give ten years of her life to a man who had tried to change her before dumping her and marrying someone else two weeks later. She