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They look at each other and shrug, almost as if they don’t know where to start.
“I cleaned the outside of the castle. We didn’t know there was a spigot out here, so I drove the water buckets back and forth from the house and used dish soap and a rag. It took most of the week, and I almost fell off the ladder a few times, but it wasn’t a bad job.”
I point a finger at him in disbelief. “You cleaned this entire thing by hand with a rag?”
“It was my punishment for lying to Tara about driver’s ed.”
A bubble of amusement rises up my chest and comes out of my throat. “She punished you?”
“Yeah. She was pissed.”
“Man, Tara is meaner than I am,” I joke, and my kids actually laugh. I ask Molly, “What did you do wrong that you had to help out?”
“Nothing. I wanted to help. I cleaned out the pond. It was gross. I threw up twice. Tara said it was good for me. A woman should never be afraid to get her hands dirty and should always know how to do everything a man can. We’re the superior species, you know?”
I smile at my daughter’s new self-assuredness on life. “You don’t say.”
“Tara did a lot of this too. The weeding was mostly her, but we cleaned and planted the flowers ourselves,” Jesse adds. “She showed me how to trim the hedges with a gas hedger we rented. Don’t look too closely because they’re not perfectly straight.”
“And I learned how to use a leaf blower, power washer, and how to cut corners when painting.”
I cover my mouth with my hand as I look at the room again, amazed that my children did all this.
“The furniture?” I wonder out loud.
“Bought from the Salvation Army in town. Tara says we should try to recycle furniture instead of buying new when possible. It’s also good for the budget. No need to overspend.”
I am shocked by the words coming out of my son’s mouth.
Jesse takes a step forward and nods his head toward the staircase. “You should look upstairs. That was Tara’s space. She did it all herself.”
The wrought iron stairs are small but easy to climb. I follow the swirl of the banister up to the second floor.
If I wasn’t shocked before, I am now.
An easel sits by the arched window with a canvas on the wood. On a table in the center of the room, which I assume is so the supplies don’t get wet when it rains, are art supplies. They’re not what I would pick, but they’re all here. Brushes, paints, pencils, charcoal … everything I have in my basement studio, but now, I have a place for myself out here.
There was a time when my art was a burden to my family. A nuisance in the house.
Not only has Tara brought this space back from the dead, but I’m pretty sure she brought me back from the dead too.
“Are you crying, Dad?” Molly’s voice startles me.
I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand. “No.”
Jesse laughs. “It’s okay to cry, Dad. This is really cool. If we weren’t part of the process, we wouldn’t believe it either. We helped, but it was all Tara. She didn’t do this for us. She did it for you.”
I place my hands on my hips and shake my head. “I don’t understand why. I was pretty mean to her at times.”
“Not all the time. You smiled a lot when you were around her.” Molly looks like she’s making a serious point.
Jesse swallows and looks at the ground. “Dad, she didn’t mean to hurt you by helping me. I’m glad she was around that night. I was really frightened, and she raced to get me. I know why it was wrong, but if it’s worth anything, if she wasn’t around, I don’t know who I would have called.”
“I know, son. I’m sorry it couldn’t be me. I’ve been hard on you because I worry so much. I’d die if anything happened to you.”
Now, it’s Jesse’s turn to cry. “I know, Dad.”
Molly rolls her eyes. “You two are acting like a bunch of babies—you know that? I think we can all agree you’ve both been boneheads.”
