The last thing she remembered was falling onto her bed, and the way her hair smelled as it spilled across her pillow. Like cigarette smoke and lake water. And something else.
Like freedom, she thought, right before she passed out.
Phoebe
Hemorrhage was such an ugly word. It implied blood. Internal workings. Spillage of the gravest kind. The mention of it made Phoebe nauseated. But she had to admit it, there was no other way to describe what was happening to their renovation budget.
The sill work had gone better than planned. Dave was able to get a beam delivered and had the crew working on it the very next day. The jacking up of the house, which could have resulted in other issues altogether, thankfully went seamlessly: there were no cracks or mishaps. Phoebe had stopped by that first morning with the boys and stood at the edge of the lawn watching with grave interest as the house was lifted clean off its foundation and several feet into the air.
“We’re going very slowly, an inch at a time,” Dave said. “We don’t want anything to shift suddenly, or we risk cracks.”
Phoebe could barely watch. It was discombobulating, seeing the cavern of light fill the space between house and ground.
“It’s like watching surgery,” she mused. “The house looks so vulnerable, just hanging in the air like that. All its insides exposed.”
Dave shook his head, laughed.
“What?” she asked.
“Can’t say I’ve ever worked with anyone like you before.”
“How do you mean?”
He regarded her curiously. “This house. It means so much to you.”
“I would think most of your clients feel that way about their houses.”
“You speak of it like it’s a person.”
Phoebe shrugged. “I wouldn’t go that far. But it’s seen a lot of history, this old place. Surely it has a soul.”
Dave didn’t say anything.
Normally, Phoebe cared a lot about what Dave thought. Thus far his guidance had been invaluable, and she trusted his expertise. But right now she didn’t care if Dave thought she was crazy. She gathered the boys and loaded them into the car. As she backed out of the driveway, she glanced uneasily at the space of lake visible between the stone foundation and the base of the house.
Later that day, when the sill repair was complete and the house was eventually lowered back into place, Phoebe received a text. It was from Dave.
“All buttoned up. The old girl recovered nicely.”
As Dave had assured her, it had all gone well. The following termite treatment was nothing to worry about; they’d tent, spray, and air everything out. But the costs were still a punch in the gut. The previous disbursement she’d had from the bank had been earmarked for kitchen work and replacement windows. The windows were done, and the electric started, but none of the kitchen renovation had even begun. She had about fifteen thousand left over, but the remaining work for the next phase of the renovationsrequired thirty-two. Phoebe had kept Rob apprised of the incoming issues and subsequent costs, but she hadn’t exactly spelled out the fact that they’d leached into other expense allotments. They at least had personal savings left over from her job, but they had agreed not to dip into it except for emergencies. Did this qualify as an emergency?
At night, in bed beside her husband, Phoebe could feel the burgeoning space between them, not unlike the house being lifted from its foundation. Rob was entrenched with the new marketing campaign his firm was trying to secure, staying late at the office and working into the night at home. And Phoebe was equally rooted in the renovation. It didn’t leave much energy for family time. Couple time was an outright joke.
But even though they’d agreed she would take the helm with the renovation, it was time to loop him in. She needed his input and as much as he wouldn’t like it, he needed to know what was going on.
She decided to tell him that night after dinner. But the interruptions were endless. For starters, his cell kept ringing. It was his partner, Chris, from work. Then her mother called to ask, again, if they wanted to move in for a while. “All that dust! It can’t be good for you and the kids to breathe.”
“Mom, I appreciate all of what you’re saying. But I don’t think it’s necessary. Besides, you’ve got your hands full getting ready for the engagement party.”
Jane clicked her tongue on the other end of the line. She didn’t like being dismissed. “Still.”
“So far much of the work has been external or in the basement. Plus, the weather is great. The house aired out all day.” It was true—construction was messy and loud, and it got tiring having crews in and around all the time. Sometimes Phoebe had to scoopthe boys up and leave for whole parts of the day, just to get away and alsoout of the way. “I admit it’s not ideal, but we’re managing.” In truth, they were. But just barely. The renovation they’d planned on was much less intensive than the one they were actually now doing. But Phoebe wasn’t too worried; she’d heard that was common. Once the workers were on-site and the equipment was there, why not go ahead and tackle refinishing the floors? Why wait to upgrade the plumbing? Better (and cheaper!) to do it now.
Her mother was not buying it. “Well, when it gets to the kitchen I don’t think you’re going to have much choice. Try going without a sink, stove, or fridge with kids. Impossible! Better to plan ahead and move the boys now before things get out of hand.” Phoebe’s mother had her there.
But as inconvenient and messy as the construction had been so far, it was also exhausting to even think about packing up and moving. Already, most of their belongings had been tossed into storage. Knowing they’d be renovating, she and Rob had rented a unit—which turned into two—so they wouldn’t fill up the house with too much stuff until the work was complete. As it was, she was driving to the storage unit almost as often as she was to building supply stores, to fetch one thing or another. Pots and pans. More of Rob’s business suits. The container of beach gear for the boys.
When she hung up with Jane, she was so drained the last thing she wanted to do was cook, clean up, and then start on the budget with Rob. Her head positively throbbed. But Rob was home early, for once, and working at the dining room table on his laptop. Phoebe popped two Advil and pulled taco ingredients from the fridge. “Honey, I was hoping we could talk about budget stuff,” she began. Then she dumped a package of ground beef into the fry pan.
