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“Scrub at the stone with a brush?”

“That’s right.” She attacked the C in BITCH like she would a sworn enemy. “He’s not going to get away with this. He’s not going to soil or damage what’s mine. I wasn’t driving the goddamn car. I wasn’t even born, for Christ’s sake.”

“And he’s eighty if he’s a day. I have a hard time seeing him chopping down a couple of trees and tagging a stone wall in the middle of the night.”

“Who else?” She rounded on Ford. “Who else hates me or this place the way he does?”

“I don’t know. But we’d better work on finding out.”

“It’s my problem.”

“Don’t be an ass.”

“It’s my problem, my wall, my trees. I’m the bitch.”

He met her hot glare with a cool stare. “I wouldn’t argue with the last part right at the moment, but as for the rest? Bullshit. You don’t want to tell Steve, fine. I get it. But I’m not leaving. I’m not heading back to L.A. or anywhere else.”

He grabbed her arm, pulled her back around to face him. “I’m staying right here. Deal with it.”

“I’m trying to deal with this, and with having my best friend leave when he can hardly walk more than five yards at a time. I’m trying to deal with making a life I didn’t even realize I wanted until a few months ago. I don’t know how much more I can deal with.”

“You’ll have to make room.” He cupped her face, kissed her hard. “Got another brush?”

FIFTEEN

C
illa sweated over the long, tedious process most of the day, with breaks to handle scheduled work. She concentrated on the obscenities first as people slowed on the drive by, or stopped altogether to comment or question.

Sometime during the process, the burning edge of her rage banked down to simple frustration. Why had the asshole written so damn much?

She picked up the task again the next morning, before the mason or any of the crew arrived. Two new trees flanked her entrance. She thought of them as defiant now rather than sweet. And that pumped up her energy.

“Hey.”

She glanced around to see Ford, ratty sweatpants and T-shirt, standing on the opposite shoulder of the road with a red bandanna-sporting Spock quivering, but sitting obediently at his feet. “Early for you,” she responded.

“I set the alarm. It must be love. Come over here a minute.”

“Busy.”

“When aren’t you? Honey, you can wear me out just watching. Come on, take a minute. I got coffee.” He held up one of the oversized mugs he carried.

He’d set the alarm, and though she didn’t know quite what to think about that, she owed him for it. And for the time he’d put in the day before, even after she’d been rude and snarly. She set the bristle brush down, crossed the road.

He handed her the coffee, gestured to the wall as she greeted Spock. “Read it from here. Out loud.”

She shrugged, turned, and even as she took a gulp of the coffee felt a little bubble of amusement rise in her throat. “Go to Hollywood, live like an ore ike.”

“Ore ike,” he mused. “I can use that. Seems to me he tried to hurt and intimidate you, and you’ve made him a joke. Nicely done.”

“Unexpectedly ridiculous. I guess that’s a plus. I’ve nearly run out of mad. You don’t have to get into this again today, Ford. How are you going to make me a warrior goddess if you’re scrubbing off graffiti?”

“That’s cruising along pretty well. I can give you a couple of hours before I get back to it. Spock’s looking forward to being what Brian and Matt call a job dog today. He’s just going to go over and hang out with the guys. Hence the bandanna.”

“You know, I’m probably going to have sex with you, without the offer of manual labor.”

“I’m hoping.” He gave her an easy, uncomplicated smile. “You know I’d offer the labor even if you weren’t going to have sex with me.”

She took a contemplative sip of coffee. “I guess that evens it out. I do better on even ground. Well.” She started back across the street, and he and Spock fell into step beside her. “My father heard about this, called me last night. What could he do? How could he help? Why didn’t I come stay there for a while, until the police figured it out? Which is looking like, hmm, never. Then my stepmother got on the phone. She wants to take me shopping.”

“For a new wall? This one’s cleaning up okay.”

“No, not a new wall.” She gave him a light punch, then handed him protective gloves. “Patty, Angie and Cilla do the outlets. Like trolling for bargains would solve my problem.”

“I take it you’re not going?”

“I don’t have the time or the inclination to search out peek-toe pumps or a flirty summer dress.”

“Red shoes, white dress. Sorry,” he added at her quiet stare. “I think in visuals.”

“Uh-huh. The point, I guess, is that I’m not used to people offering—time or company or help—without any number of strings attached.”

“That’s a shame, or perhaps living like an ore ike.”

She laughed, began to scrub.

“Go play,” he told Spock, who trotted off toward the house in his red bandanna.

“I’m trying to learn to accept the offers without the lingering haze of cynicism. It’s going to take a little while.”

He worked for a few moments in silence. “You know what I see when I look over here?”

“Trucks, big-ass Dumpster, a house in desperate need of paint?”

“Sleeping Beauty’s castle.”

“How? Where? Why?”

“First, I risk impinging my manhood by admitting I dug on those kinds of stories as a kid, as much as I did the Dark Knight, X-Men, and so on. And consider Disney’s version solid, with Maleficent one of the top villains of all time. Anyway.”

He shrugged as she continued to stare at him. “You know how the evil Maleficent cast the spell, and surrounded the castle with giant briar, those big, wicked thorns. Closed it in to a dark, forbidding place that held sorrow and, well, trapped beauty.”

“Okay.”

“The hero had to fight his way through the blocks, the thorns, the traps. A lot of risk, a lot of work, but when he reached the goal, the castle came back to life. And, you know, peace reigned across the land.”

She worked her wire brush against the wall. “I have to kiss the princess?”

“Okay, new visual. Interesting. There are some flaws in the metaphor, but basically, the trapped, sleeping castle needs a hero to wake it up. Some people like having a part in that. And some . . .” He tapped his brush on a large black
E
. “They like to fuck it up.”

“I find myself fascinated by a man who admits to enjoying fairy tales and uses the word ‘impinge’—and barely misses a beat while indulging in a brief girl-on-girl fantasy. You’re a man of layers, Ford.”

“Me and Shrek, we’re onions.”

Oh yeah, she thought. Falling for him, and falling fast.

She stopped as Buddy’s truck pulled up beside them. The plumber leaned out the window, scowled. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“According to Ford, it means some people like to mess things up.”

“Damn kids. No respect.”

“I don’t want Steve to hear about this. He’s got enough on his mind. I need to talk to you about the venting for the steam shower. I took another look last night, and . . . I really need to go over this with Buddy on-site,” she said to Ford.

“Go ahead. I’ve got this for a while.”

“Thanks. Give me a lift, Buddy.” She hopped into the cab of the truck, and as Buddy turned in the drive, tried to imagine the house as Sleeping Beauty’s castle, with about half of the briars hacked away.

 

 

FORD GOT IN a solid day before stepping back from the work to take a long look at the panels and the pencils. The story had turned on him a bit, but he considered that a good thing. He’d edit the script later that evening to suit the new images and action that had come to mind.

To do that, he needed to let it stew. To stop pushing while it cooked on one of the back burners of the brain. Which meant, for his process, it was probably time for a beer and a little PlayStation.

Downstairs, he opened the front door to take a quick look at what he thought of as Cilla World before wandering back to the kitchen. He saw Steve picking his way up the walk, the cane in one hand, a six-pack in the other.

“This is what I call superior timing.”

Beside Ford, Spock all but jumped up and applauded.

“I escaped. The warden had to make a supply run, so I stole her beer and booked.”

“Who could blame you?” Ford took the beer, flicked a thumb at a chair.

“Doc cleared me. I’m heading out tomorrow.” He sat, with an audible whoosh of breath, then scrubbed his hand over Spock’s head.

“You’ll be missed.” Ford popped the tops on two beers, passed one over.

“I’m going to try to come back out in the fall, if I can manage it. The way she’s going, she’ll be down to punch-out work.”

Ford glanced dubiously across the road. “If you say so.”

“I’m mostly in her way now.”

“She doesn’t see it that way.”

Steve took a long pull on the beer. “She reamed my ass for going up in the attic to hang out with the guys. Wanted to set me out in a rocker like her grandfather, and give me a paint fan to play with. Jesus, next thing it’ll be crossword puzzles or some such shit.”

“Could be worse. Could be knitting.”

With a grunt, Steve frowned at the stone wall across the road. “What’s your take on what went down on that?”

“Sorry?”

“Don’t bullshit. My brain’s not that damaged. Guys on construction crews gossip like girls. I heard some asshole tagged the wall. Got about six different versions of what it said, but all the same basic idea.”

“My take is some asshole tagged the wall, and he’s got a mean streak. It might be the same one that went after you, or it might not. She thinks it’s old man Hennessy.”

“And you don’t.”

“Old man’s the defining term. Then again, I can’t think of anybody who has anything against her except him. And he’s tough. Stringy, but tough.”

“If I was a hundred percent—or closer to it—I’d stay. But I wouldn’t be much help to her right now.” He tipped his beer at Ford. “Up to you, Sparky, and your little dog, too.”

“We’ve got it.”

“Yeah.” Steve took another sip of beer. “I think you do.”

 

 

SHE DIDN ’T CRY when Steve climbed into the passenger seat of the RV on the cool and wet Saturday. She censored herself from making any suggestion he wait until the weather cleared to begin the long trip cross-country. Instead, she kissed him good-bye and stood in the rain to wave him off.

And felt horribly, painfully alone.

So alone, she closed herself in the house. The rain took planting or painting off the slate. She considered moving her things into the guest room Steve had vacated, but that struck her as too much
housekeeping
. She wanted work, not chores.

She switched on the radio, turned up the volume to fill the house with sound. And got down to the business of building the shelving and framing out the storage closet for the utility room off the kitchen. The task wasn’t on the agenda for weeks yet, but it was exactly the kind of job that smoothed out nerves, soothed the mind.

She measured, marked, sawed, lost herself in the rhythm of carpentry. Content again, she sang along with the radio as her cordless screwdriver spun a wood screw home.

She nearly dropped the drill on her foot when she turned and caught a movement out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Patty threw up her hands, as if the tool were a loaded gun. “I didn’t mean to scare you. We knocked, but . . . It’s so loud in here.”

Cilla walked over to shut off the radio. “I need it loud to hear it over the tools.”

“I got worried when you didn’t answer the door, and there was all the noise, and your car out front. So we just came in.”

“It’s all right. You just startled me. We?”

“Angie and Cathy. We tried to get Penny, but she’s covering the store. It’s such a poopy day we decided we’d brave the mall, then catch a movie and round it out with dinner. We came to kidnap you.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun.” Like torture, she thought. “I appreciate it, but I’m in the middle of this.”

“You deserve a day off. My treat.”

“Patty—”

“I can hardly believe . . .” Cathy stepped in, trailed off with a wide-eyed stare at Cilla. “We’ve invaded. Gosh, you look so HGTV. I’m nervous about banging a nail into the wall to hang a picture, and look at you.”

“My sister, the handyman.” Perky in a pink hoodie, Angie beamed at her. “Can we look around? Is it all right? The buzz is the action’s on the second floor.”

“Sure. Um, it’s got a ways to go. Actually, it all has a ways.”

“I confess, I’ve been dying to get a look inside this place for years.” Cathy glanced around at the bare walls, the bare floors, the stacks and piles of lumber and supplies. “How do you manage without a kitchen?”

“I’m not much of a cook anyway. I’m having the stove and refrigerator that were in here retrofitted—they’re fairly fabulous. It takes time, so the kitchen’s way down on the list. Ah, the dining area’s over there, so it makes it an open floor plan. It’s good light, nice views.”

“The back gardens look so pretty!” Patty stepped closer to the French doors. “Was this patio here?”

“It needed work, and we redesigned it. The gardens have been a job. Your son does good work,” she said to Cathy. “And he’s got a real talent for landscape design.”

“Thank you. We certainly think so.”

“The dining room opens to the patio, and from the interior flows into this area I’m going to use as a sort of sitting/TV room off the living area. Powder room there’s getting new tiles, new fixtures. Coat closet here off the entryway. It’s a lot of space. It’s good space.”

“I love that you can step outside from every room.” Angie turned a circle.