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It was a cute house, with a bay window in front, the upstairs ceilings pitched, and a main floor office. Perfect for one person. Maybe a dog.
Although, Rembrandt Stone had fit rather nicely into her kitchen, hadn’t he?
She pulled into the driveway, noticed the fresh cut grass, and followed the sound around to the back.
Sams wore a pair of cargo shorts, knee pads, his steel-toed work boots and a grimy t-shirt, his hat backwards on his head as he watched her kid brother, Asher, cutting a long piece of pine planking. Asher was dressed likewise, his hair pulled back in a ponytail, longer now, since school let out.
Fresh cement encased the footings, and an outline of boards formed the foundation.
Sams looked over at her. “Decided to get started on the deck.”
“It looks amazing,” she said, holding her hand up against the spray of sawdust.
Asher stood up, holding the board. “Hey, Sis.”
“Cheap labor?” She asked Sams as Asher set the board in place.
“Couldn’t let him sit around in front of his computer all day and get fat.”
As if. Asher was lean and muscular from his hours waterskiing.
“I’m going to start painting the living room.”
“Need any help setting up? Ash and I were just finishing up for the night.”
“No, I got this.” She stepped through the deck toward the back door. Hoisted herself onto the step.
“Oh, Mom says not to forget the ice cream tomorrow night for the party. It’s going to be a hot one.”
Yes, yes it was.
She stepped inside, to the cool of her kitchen and set her satchel on the counter. Walked through to the dining room.
“Decided on a color yet?”
Sams had walked in behind her.
You might want to try Powell Bluff. I think you’ll like it. For your dining room.
She sighed. Clearly there was no escaping Rem.
“Yes, I think I have. It’s a sort of beige color.”
Sams made a face of half-approval. “Could be good. It’s hard to tell when it’s in the can. You have to get it on the wall, let it dry, and see how it looks from every angle. You can’t tell by the sample.”
She looked at him. “Sams, that’s just about the wisest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
He gave her a smile. “That’s because I’m brilliant.”
She laughed. “Yes, yes you are.” Because maybe it was time for her father to meet the Rembrandt she knew instead of, well, the sample.
“See you tomorrow night, bro,” she said. “And tell Mom, I won’t forget to bring something delicious.”
Everyone just had to calm down. Rembrandt Stone wasn’t the off-the-hook guy they cast him to be. Everything was going to be just fine.
13
In my timeline, the Phillips neighborhood still has a bad rap. Agreed, it has one of the highest murder rates in the city, and the gang activity has thrived here since the mid-sixties. But it’s also the home of a private school, a block of gilded area historical mansions, the Minneapolis Heart Institute and St. Mary’s University. More, it’s the hub of immigration and a thousand delicious hole-in-the-wall restaurants with excellent take out.
