The realtor keeps saying it needs "a little TLC."
"A little?" Jamie mutters. "This place needs a prayer circle and a miracle."
But Julie is smiling. She walks up the steps carefully, testing each one. She peers through the windows, cupping her hands around her face to see inside. "Can we go in?" she asks the realtor.
"Of course."
The inside is worse than the outside. The floors are scratched and stained. The kitchen is from the 1970s. The original Craftsman colonnades on the exterior and almost all of the millwork on the interior need extensive restoration. But Julie doesn't seem to notice.
She walks through each room slowly, running her fingers along the walls, looking up at the crown molding, studying the built-in bookshelves. "The bones are amazing," she says.
Jamie looks skeptical. "The bones are the only thing that's not falling apart."
"Exactly." Julie turns to me. "What do you think?"
I look around. At the high ceilings. The original hardwood under the grime. The bay window in the living room that would be stunning with the right light.
"I think it has potential," I say. "A lot of potential."
Her smile widens. "Right? I can see it. This could be stunning.”
"This is more than a full gut. This is a complete head to toe restoration. And for all the things you can see, there are five more buried beneath the floorboards and in the walls. All of the systems will have to be totally redone," I point out. “A good restoration always costs more than you think and takes longer than you hope.”
"I know it’ll be hard. But I have the money,” she laughs. “And I can see myself on the porch. On a swing. I can picture a garden in the yard. A clawfoot tub in one of the bathrooms. I can look for antique light fixtures. This place could be amazing.”
I can see it too, now. The house she's describing. The home she's imagining. "It's a lot of work," I say.
"I know." She looks at me, her eyes bright. "But I want to do it. I want to take something broken and make it beautiful again."
The metaphor isn't lost on me. "Then you should do it. I’ll help in any way I can,” I say.
She grins. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Jamie sighs. "You're both insane. But okay. Let's make an offer."
Julie starts going back to the shop, but only to make products in the back room. "I can't handle the front yet," she tells me one night over tacos. "People recognize me. They ask questions."
"What kind of questions?"
"'Are you the one who was married to Asher Stevens?' 'Is it true he cheated with his stepsister?' 'Did you get a big settlement?'" She glares at her taco. "I just... I can't."
"You don't have to," I say. "Take your time."
"Jamie's been great. She hired three more people to cover the front. But I feel guilty."
"Don't. You're doing what you need to do to heal. That's not something to feel guilty about."
She nods, but I can see the doubt in her eyes.
"Julie." I wait until she looks at me. "You're allowed to protect yourself. You're allowed to set boundaries. You don't owe anyone an explanation."
"I know. It's just... hard."
"I know it is."
She takes a sip of her wine. "Have you heard anything? About Asher?"
