Me Without You. Jessica Bird

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      As a cold November wind gusted up from the lake, Cassandra put her hands on her hips and surveyed the ruins of the White Caps Bed and Breakfast. When she stepped toward the house, she heard the five people behind her move along like a small herd. Frankie and Nate, Joy, Gray and Sean had all come for the tour.

      Wow, what a house this is, she thought, measuring the structure’s superb, Federal lines. Sitting regally on a bluff that jutted out into the lake, the place was a real charmer, all white clapboards and shiny black shutters. The fire damage in the back was jarring, like a bruise on the face of a beautiful woman.

      “Thomas Crane was the architect, right?” she asked as she walked over to the kitchen where the destruction was the most severe.

      “It was one of Crane’s last commissions,” Frankie replied.

      “Do you have the original plans?”

      “Fortunately, yes. The set has always been kept out in my father’s workshop so it survived the fire.”

      Cassandra lifted a sheet of thick plastic and stepped through what had been the kitchen door. Even though the fire had been a month ago, the pungent stench of smoke and ash hung in the air.

      “This part of the house wasn’t added on later, was it?”

      “No, it’s in the plans,” Frankie said. “When our father converted the mansion into a B and B in the seventies, all he did was bring up the kitchen to restaurant code. He didn’t make any changes to the structure.”

      Cass looked around, assessing the load-bearing walls. They seemed mostly solid, though someone had buttressed one with a couple of two-by-fours to make sure it didn’t sag. She glanced upward. The ceiling was burnt through in places so she could see past the joists to the second floor.

      She pointed over to the scorched back staircase. “I’d like to go upstairs, but not using those.”

      “The ones in front are safe,” Nate replied.

      A half hour later, the group was out on the lawn again.

      “So what do you think?” Frankie asked as they piled into Sean’s massive Mercedes-Benz.

      Cass gathered her thoughts before answering. “I’d have to see the plans and reflect a little before I could give you even the roughest estimate of time and cost.”

      “But you don’t think we need to tear the wing down and rebuild it from scratch, right?”

      “God, no! Although you will have to go slowly because you should save as much as you can. Given the historic nature of the house, a contractor who has respect for its pedigree will be the best choice for you.” Her voice drifted. “I tell you, the workmanship on the moldings in those front rooms is remarkable. The hours of labor…Thank heavens that balustrade going up the main stairs wasn’t ruined. You just don’t see that kind of curvilinear detail very often. Amazing what the human hand can do with a tool, isn’t it?”

      She closed her eyes, savoring the images she’d stored up.

      What a house.

      When they pulled up to Gray’s, the group unpacked themselves and went through the back door into the kitchen. From around the corner, Ernest came barreling at them, stopping to greet each of the arrivals like he was the official ambassador of the household.

      “So will you do it?” Frankie asked.

      “Do what?” Cass replied while taking off her coat and stepping into the kitchen.

      “Be our architect and general contractor.”

      Cass stopped, but not only because of the question. Alex was across the room, sitting at the table.

      With a flush, she saw his body arching up under her hand.

      She looked down quickly.

      Which was actually a good thing. Because she’d just dropped her coat on the dog.

      “Well?” Frankie prompted. “We can pay you. The insurance company is going after the manufacturer of the gas stove that started the fire. Money’s not going to be a problem.”

      “I, uh—”

      Actually, I’d like to go lie down now. Because being in the same room with your brother this morning is making me dizzy and incoherent.

      Sean stepped forward. “Cass, are your bags packed? We gotta hit the road, woman.”

      She cleared her throat. “Yes. They’re in my room.”

      “I’ll get them.” As Sean strode through the kitchen, he nodded at Alex. “Moorehouse.”

      “O’Banyon,” СКАЧАТЬ