A little before seven,Delphine arrived at my house. I went out to the wraparound porch to greet her. She looked as great as always in jeans and a striped top.
“Welcome to my home.” I took both her hands in mine and pecked her on the cheek. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She turned to take in my house. “It’s lovely.”
“Been in my family for three generations. Just an old farmhouse. Nothing too fancy. But I’ve done a lot of work on it the last few years. Updates that were long overdue. My mother wasn’t one for change.”
Delphine stepped back a little, her gaze traveling slowly over the front of the house, and I found myself watching her rather than the place I knew with my eyes closed. In the evening light, the old white boards had gone soft and creamy, the porch wrapping wide around the front. Two dormer windows broke the long roofline, and the stone chimney rose along one side, rough and solid, built with my grandfather’s own hands. The porch swing that had been there since my mother was a child moved faintly in the breeze.
“Your yard’s gorgeous,” Delphine said, eyeing it with a gardener’s sensibility.
“I’ve spent a lot of time on it.”
The yard was ringed by old trees, currently filtering the last gold light into long shadows across the grass. I’d spent the better part of two summers trying to bring the place back to itself—cutting back what had overgrown, replanting the borders, repairing what time and neglect had worn down. Lavender and Russian sage lined the walk now, and the beds along the porch were full again instead of straggling and bare. It wasn’t grand, not like some of the houses perched above town, but, to me, there was no place I’d ever called home.
“Do you want to see inside?” I asked. “I’ll show you all the updates I’ve made. Not that you knew what it looked like before. But imagine the 1970s olive green palette, and you’ll get a good idea.”
“Green appliances,” Delphine said. “I remember them from my grandmother’s house.”
I opened the front door and stood aside for her. Delphine stepped into the house, stopping to take it all in.
My living room opened just off the entry. I’d painted the walls in a soft ivory, bought a new rug, refinished the wide plank flooring, and added cream-colored furniture. Built-in cabinets flanked the fireplace. Windows on either side were dressed simply, letting in the soft evening light.
“It took some doing to make it look like this,” I said. “Mom was fond of dark furniture, and there was so much clutter, much of it sentimental. Most had to go.” When my mother had passed, I’d had several yard sales, many trips to the donation center, and just as many to the dump. I’d kept what I wanted and knew I would use and let the rest go.
“Lila helped me,” I said. “As you can probably tell.”
“You both did a great job. I love it.”
Delphine walked farther in, glancing at the mirror above the mantel, the baskets tucked beneath the side tables, the soft throws folded over the arms of the chairs. Fresh white flowers sat in a crock on the coffee table, clipped from the garden that afternoon.
I leaned one shoulder against the doorway and watched her walk across the room, seeming to take it all in. She trailed her fingertips lightly over the back of one armchair. “It feels homey but also has an elegance to it.”
I led her through to the kitchen, which was the room I was proudest of. The vaulted ceiling was crossed by dark wood beams. White cabinets ran the length of the room, bright against the worn wood floor, with brass pulls catching the light. At the far end, beneath the big bank of windows, a built-in bench overlooked the yard.
Delphine stopped at the threshold and let out a soft breath. “This is spectacular.”
“I think so too. Again, Lila helped.’”
I came up beside her. “The old kitchen was tiny and kind of closed in. My mother liked things the way they’d always been, but I wanted light, so we put in windows and took down walls. Total rebuild in here.”
“No green appliances in sight.” Smiling, she walked to the sink and looked out over the yard, where the garden had gone dusky and green. “The beams, the windows, the floors—love the details.” She turned, taking in the whole room again. “It somehow manages to feel fresh and vintage at the same time.”
“That’s what I asked Lila to do. Almost verbatim.”
She glanced back at me then, her expression almost tender. “I can see you in here. Do you cook much?”
“A little but not like my mom did. She was a great cook. Food that stuck to your bones.”
“You must miss her.”
“I do. But I feel like she’s still here with me.”
“What happened to your dad?” Delphine asked.
“Died when I was a baby.”
“Oh. I never knew that. Poor Maureen.”
