Blueprints: A Novel (5 page)

Tucking nostalgia back inside, Jamie took a sticky bun from one of the bakery bags, a mini scone from the other, and napkins from the drawer. After refilling the iced-tea glass from the pitcher she had brewed the night before, she tucked a slim package with a red bow under her arm. Unsure, she set it back on the counter. Seconds later, she grabbed it again and headed back out to the porch.

She reacted more sharply this time to the slap of the screen door. “A pneumatic closer would eliminate that,” she advised, placing the refilled glass on the swing’s wide arm beside Caroline’s phone and bandaged wrist.

“But I like the sound,” Caroline said without apology. Taking the sticky bun from the dish Jamie held, she bit a pecan from the top. “The slap of a screen door adds something.”

“Noise.”

“Flavor. It’s part of what I love about this place. MacAfee Homes builds a great house—we
renovate
a great house—but recycling and repurposing and replicating, say, period millwork can only go so far in adding character. Character has to mature. It takes years for that.” The love seat shifted when she lowered her legs for Jamie to pass. “I have it here now.”

Jamie sank down beside her. “Air-conditioning has nothing to do with character. That sun’s heading for brutal today. You need central air.”

Caroline slid an indulgent glance at the paddle fan whirring softly overhead. After taking a full bite of the bun, she offered one to Jamie.

Jamie shook her head. Having deprived herself of bacon, she had every intention of eating the scone. How else to deal with frustration? She
so
wanted to do something for her mother. Caroline just gave and gave. She was too independent to ask for much, and now, if she was going to lose something she loved, there had to be something Jamie could give in exchange.

“Okay. Forget air. What about the kitchen? We could punch out a wall and double the space.”

“Why do I need more space?”

“Wouldn’t you like more counters? Even a desk, think of
that
. Dedicated laptop space in your kitchen? If you don’t want granite or quartz, we can use butcher block or maple or hand-painted ceramic tile, any one of which would work with this house. I’d add an eating island with barn board siding and bookshelves—”

“—for the cookbooks I don’t own, because I rarely cook.”

“Don’t laugh at me, Mom. You have tons of other books. You read all the time.”

Setting the bun aside, Caroline twined their forearms and gave Jamie’s hand a squeeze. Her palm was callused, another occupational hazard, and though hand lotion partnered with scented soap at every sink, it could only do so much. Not that Jamie minded. Her mother’s skin was unique. Had it been smooth, it wouldn’t have been Caroline’s. Hell, viewers loved her toughness, too.

“Which is why,” Caroline was saying, “I fell in love with this house. It came with shelves in most every nook and cranny, and what wasn’t there, I built myself. I love the claw-foot tub in my bathroom and the antique fixtures in the hall, and the farmhouse sink in the kitchen is an original.”

“It’s porcelain.”

“What’s wrong with porcelain?”

“You need copper.”

Caroline’s silence said, quite eloquently, that she did not need copper.

Resigned, Jamie rested her head on her mother’s shoulder. The ceiling beadboard was mint, a shade lighter than the outer shingles. Her gaze slid to the railing, which was the same pale blue as the rest of the trim, then the wood floor, which was a shade darker. The wicker swing was pure white only because its cushions were alive with florals that would mirror the riot of color in the flower beds at summer’s height.

Jamie had to admit that the overall effect held appeal. Still, she would love to redo this place. “I want to design something special for you,” she tried to explain. “Rehabbing old houses is what we do, but you’ve done nothing here.”

“Not true. Look at my newel post and the crown molding in the bedroom and the detail work on the panels in the parlor. And my garage.”

“That doesn’t count.”

Jamie realized her mistake even before an indignant “Excuse me?” came her way. Caroline adored her garage, which she had doubled in size and outfitted with new electrical and air systems even before she’d moved in. This was her prized workshop, where she made many of the more intricate pieces that other carpenters had neither the eye nor the hand to make. Oh yes, Caroline was a master carpenter with the years of experience to prove it.

Feeling like a traitor in light of what she knew that Caroline did not and how wrong the whole thing was, Jamie snuggled closer. She didn’t care about sweaty skin. The heat couldn’t compete with this deeper need. “The garage is for work. I meant living space.”

“I painted,” Caroline said in an indulgent way. “And installed new systems for heat, plumbing, and electricity. And added Wi-Fi.
And
got rid of the termites in the basement and removed the mold growing behind the bathroom wall, and what about the metal underlayment I added to my whole new roof?”

“I’m talking renovation, as in making it bigger.”

“I don’t need bigger. I live alone. Besides, this is my private space. I don’t want a crew in here.”

“You let Dean in.”

“Dean’s different. He’s a friend.”

“With whom you agree to disagree on a dozen little things.”

“We have different tastes. That’s all.”

“Is he coming over later?” She tipped her head when her mother’s phone chirped. “Speak of the devil. “

“No, baby. Dean’s ring is a gray owl. That’s a whippoorwill, which means Annie.” Jamie was a chickadee and her grandfather a trumpeter swan. Her father, bless his misguided soul, was a duck with an annoying honk. Not that Roy called Caroline much, but even Jamie would recognize that sound.

Misguided soul.
No more so than now,
she thought, but, really, what else was new? Sensitivity had never been Roy’s strong suit where Caroline was concerned. Phone calls to the house, gossip around town, photos with his arm around pretty young things—he wasn’t fazed. And Caroline’s lows when the divorce was finalized? He was oblivious. Not Jamie. She was twelve when he moved out, and in the subsequent months, she had been the one who followed nighttime footsteps to where Caroline stood in the dark kitchen staring out at an inky world. Jamie was the one who saw her ignoring the phone and avoiding people and moving more food around the plate than ever reached her mouth.

Eventually, she had found strength. Jamie never knew from where; she suspected it had been a combination of work, Jamie’s increasingly complex tennis schedule, and a dawning realization that the judge-of-all-things was now gone from the house. The change didn’t come overnight, but once the emergence began, it was steady. Anyone watching her now could see how comfortable she was with her life.

Indeed, her soft voice held confidence. “Hey, A. Yeah, I’m good. Jamie’s here, can I call you back? Promise. Thirty max.” She ended the call, put the phone in her lap, and picked up where she had left off. “Dean’s bringing lunch.”

Jamie had been counting on that. She didn’t know if she could get back until late afternoon, and though Annie would be only one of a stream of other visitors, Dean knew his way around Caroline’s house. And he was good company. They might argue about what she should do with the house, but Caroline did let him speak his mind. Maybe when he saw her laid up, he would talk her into making the place more liveable.

That said, the Victorian had its strengths. Taking a long breath, Jamie sank into the cushions as the swing gently rocked. She might fault Caroline’s refusal to renovate, but she had to admit that the house was serene. Serene went beyond quiet. Her condo was quiet, but it didn’t have the feel of home that this did.

The screen door gave a quick creak and slap. Seconds later, the swing jostled, and Master was settling his big body onto a sliver of cushion. He ended up half on Jamie’s thigh, which should have been too much in the heat but was not.

“Oh, baby,” Caroline warned, “he’ll shed on your skirt.”

“I don’t care.” She ran her fingers through the thick coat, from his wide collar to his bushy tail, then did it again. The resulting purr was hypnotic. “I’d get my own cat if I wasn’t gone so much of the time.” She sighed as she stroked Master. “Aren’t I lucky you’re willing to take the cats I fall for?” While Roy scoured the
Williston News
for useful buzz, Jamie beelined it to the weekly shelter column. Kittens went fast. Older cats? Harder to place, but they were the sweetest, most mellow creatures. Master was one of three Jamie had given Caroline. The other two stayed inside, largely on the upper floors where the sun was strong and Master was scarce.

“I nearly got you a fourth for your birthday,” she said now.

“Good thing you didn’t. I told you, three’s my limit.”

“She was abandoned,” Jamie went on. “By the time she was brought in, one of her eyes was so infected that they had to remove it. They’re guessing she’s eight or nine.”

“Jamie…”

“Don’t worry. She was adopted by the time I called.”

Content with that, Jamie let the cat go. Just then, she was content with most everything. The air was hot and so much of her life murky, but as she sat here on the porch swing, with her fingers in the oddly cool hair of the cat and her mother’s familiar scent spread by the ceiling fan, she was revived enough to pull out the thin package with its red ribbon. “I know you don’t like me buying you gifts, Mom, but since you won’t take another cat, this’ll have to do. It’s totally self-serving. Read the card.”

Tucked under the ribbon, the card was handmade, as Jamie’s to her mother always were. Caroline kept every one, occasionally pulling them out to show Jamie the progression. This year’s was part computer-assisted, part cut-and-paste construction paper, all geometrically shaped navy and mint. And the note inside?

Caroline read it, set the card on her lap, and gave Jamie a chiding look. “A weekend with you at Canyon Ranch. I can’t refuse that, which you knew.” Slipping her good arm around Jamie’s neck, she gave her a hug. “Thank you, honey. I will
love
it.” Her eyes lit. “Let’s go tomorrow.”

Grasping the fingers at her shoulder, Jamie laughed. “We can’t, because (A) your wrist has to heal, (B) I’m in Atlanta tomorrow, and (C) my calendar is crammed with meetings for the next ten days. The taping backed things up, speaking of which—” She hitched her chin toward the DVD case that lay on her mother’s lap. Though its cover wasn’t as handsome as what fans would eventually see, the red bow couldn’t hide its identity.

“The uncut tape,” Caroline said excitedly. “Perfect timing. I’ll watch it later.”

“No typing notes.”

“I’ll call Claire with a critique.”

Oh no. Not good.
“I’d hold on that, Mom. She wanted time off.”

Without responding to that, Caroline angled herself and looked Jamie over. “I got used to seeing you in slacks while we taped. This is dress-up. Big meeting day?”

Grateful for the change of subject, Jamie gave her a rundown of appointments. She didn’t mention having had breakfast with Roy and felt even more duplicitous for that. Wondering again whether Roy was behind the hosting change, she asked, “Is everything okay between you and Dad?”

“As okay as it ever is,” Caroline mused lightly. “I rarely see him.”

Jamie doubted her mother would have continued to work for MacAfee Homes if regular encounters with Roy were part of the job. They went their separate ways, his big-picture marketing to her detail carpentry. On the rare occasion that she went to the MacAfee Building, it was either to meet with the budget director or visit with Theo. She didn’t seek out Roy.

“Which is good,” Jamie said, considering.

“Which is good,” Caroline confirmed.

“What’ll you do when Theo retires and Dad takes the throne?”

“Work, same as always. Unless your father cuts my pay or tells me to use inferior material. I’ve been spoiled. Theo believes in top-notch everything, and he gives me free rein.”

“He respects you.” Jamie lifted her hair to cool her neck. “Besides, having a family business was always his dream. You may not be Dad’s wife, but you’re still my mom, which makes you family in Theo’s eyes.”

Truthfully, if Caroline had left the company after the divorce, Jamie might not have gone to MacAfee Homes straight from college. She and Caroline had always dreamed of working together, though, and her mother being on the family payroll was the clincher. The path to licensure was rigorous, and while Jamie’s mentor at MacAfee had been patient and instructive, he was male. Her emotions weren’t on his radar screen. But they were on her mother’s. Caroline might glaze over when Jamie got going on a new piece of architectural software, but she was immediately, entirely present when Jamie needed encouragement.

And now this? Competitors for the same job?
Jamie might have wanted that job in theory one day, but no way,
no way
could she take it today.

“You look troubled,” Caroline said.

She gave a little headshake. “Sorry. I have a gazillion things on my mind and half of those on tap for today.”

“But making wedding plans is not on the list. I thought that was Priority Number One once the taping was done.”

“No,” Jamie corrected, half-wondering if Brad had called Caroline to see how she was doing and mentioned his frustration, “wrist surgery was. You’re key to my wedding plans. I can’t go looking at venues with you laid up.”

Caroline’s phone cooed like the dove in the maple. “That’s the hardware store. I gave them a tone because they call so much. They open early.” She touched
IGNORE.

“Maybe it’s something important.”

“Nothing’s more important than this. Tell me what’s going on with Brad.”

three

Caroline liked Brad. He was a sweet guy who was a good lawyer and had a solid future with MacAfee Homes, which meant that Jamie would be taken care of whether she chose to work or not. And he loved Jamie. Caroline didn’t doubt that. Other things, yes. But not that.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t discuss those other doubts. For one thing, they were vague, more a niggling in the back of her mind than anything concrete. For another, expressing them might hurt her relationship with her daughter. Besides, Caroline didn’t need to love Brad. Maybe all they needed was an easy rapport.