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Chapter 18
The sight of her parents’ house, nestled in a little cul-de-sac near downtown, gave Callie an unexpected pang of nostalgia. Her mother and father had purchased the house shortly after they were married, intending for it to be their “starter” house until they could afford something bigger and more upscale. Instead, especially after having three daughters in five years, they’d become deeply attached to the house with the fenced-in backyard and massive oak tree.
Callie’s childhood memories were all about growing up in the little house where her solid, secure father sequestered himself away with his books, her mother experimented with baking recipes in the kitchen, and she and her sisters argued, played, and laughed an awful lot.
Those moments, she was certain, had beenamazing. She just hadn’t realized it at the time.
After parking in the driveway, she knocked on the front door and pushed it open. “Mom?”
“In here, honey.”
Callie stopped in the living room doorway and stared. All of the furniture had been moved to the center of the room, and drop cloths covered the floor. Her mother was standing on a ladder, dressed in jeans and an old shirt, painting one of the cream-colored walls a bright robin’s-egg blue.
“What’s going on?” Callie stepped into the room.
“Oh, I’m redecorating.” Eleanor smiled and set the brush down. “This room…heck, the whole house…is long overdue for a makeover. I can’t even remember the last time we painted. I’m brightening it up.”
“Mom, you shouldn’t be on a ladder when you’re alone in the house.” Callie couldn’t stop herself from pointing out the obvious. “Especially when you’re painting.”
“I’m fine.” Eleanor descended the ladder and took off her bandana. “Do you need help with groceries?”
“I didn’t bring anything. Why? Do you need to go shopping?”
Chuckling, Eleanor wiped her hands on a rag. “No, but you always bringsomethingwhen you come over. Groceries, cleaning supplies, recommendations for a new HVAC company.”
Callie shrugged, a little embarrassed that she’d arrived empty-handed. “Today it’s just me.”
“That’s the best offering of all.” Eleanor smiled. “Would you like tea or coffee?”
“No, thanks.” Callie opened one of several home-decorating books on the coffee-table. “When did you decide to redecorate?”
“A few weeks ago. I’ve been researching and planning the interior design scheme. I’m going to get new furniture too, after I finish painting.”
“Why didn’t you tell me all this?”
Eleanor arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize I had to.”
“It’s just…” She indicated the furniture, her insides twisting. “You’ve had that furniture forever. This room hasn’t changed in as long as I can remember.”
“Exactly my point.” Eleanor pursed her lips and studied the walls. “It’s become stale.”
Stung, Callie closed the book. “Our home isn’t stale.”
“No, but the décor is like two-week-old bread.”
“What are you going to do with Dad’s chair?” Callie put her hand on the back of the old, comfortable leather wing-backed chair covered with a plastic tarp. Her father had spent countless hours reading in that chair. When he hadn’t occupied it, Callie curled into the indentation left by his body and read her own books about history and myths.
“The Salvation Army said they’d pick everything up before the new furniture is delivered,” Eleanor said.
Callie’s heart stuttered. “You’re giving away Dad’s chair?”
“Honey, it’s just a chair.” Eleanor took a step toward her, concern rising to her eyes.
“It’sDad’schair.”
“ItwasDad’s chair. Now it’s just a chair with broken coils and torn leather.”
Tension threaded Callie’s spine. “Do Aria and Rory know about this?”
