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They climbed the three wide planked stairs to the porch. Margaux stopped at the door with her key poised at the lock. “I’ve done a lot of redecorating since you left.”
“You sent me pictures. Remember?”
Margaux nodded. “Personally, I don’t think pictures do this place justice.”
Before she stepped inside her aunt’s home, she turned slightly. Across the street, there was a wide section of lawn. It was private lawn space for the residents along the road and cared for by a homeowner’s association type company the residents hired. Technically, each home on the road owned the section in front of their house. On Margaux’s portion, two Adirondack chairs faced the water with a small table in between them. Along the side, before the private space started, was a well-worn path leading to the beach. People from up the street and sometimes blocks away would walk and use this path, often pulling wagons full of chairs, umbrellas, and whatever else they needed for their beach day. Thankfully, all the beaches in town had restrooms, which were paid for by the annual beach pass every resident needed or the tourist who visited.
“We’ll have wine later,” Margaux said as she went into her house.
“I’m not . . .'' Eloise's words cut short when she stepped into the entryway. The once dark floor was now a neutral hardwood. The space opened to the formal living room which had pale teal walls, and one of her grandfather’s paintings sitting above the mantled fireplace. Eloise made her way into the kitchen, bypassing the dining room. They were a “kitchen” family, always gathering there, even when it wasn’t time to eat. The dining room was rarely used except for the holidays. Eloise had remembered the kitchen as cherry with its yellow walls and matching Formica countertop. As she stepped in, her mouth dropped open and a quiet wow escaped from her. She tried to imagine her grandmother in there, standing at the now stainless-steel countertop, chopping vegetables from her garden, and wearing her apron. She laughed at the thought. The yellow had been replaced with a light gray. The cabinets were now white, and some were without doors, showing off Margaux’s impressive collection of Pyrex.
Margaux stood next to her. “Grandma probably wouldn’t like it, but I do.”
“Is that stainless-steel?”
“It is. Perfect for when I’m cleaning my brushes. I added a small slope as well, so if I set a wet brush down, the excess water trickles toward the sink.”
“Smart.”
“I thought so. Come on, let me show you what I did upstairs.” Eloise set her bag down on the counter and followed her aunt down the hall, to the staircase. She climbed the first eight stairs to the landing, where she used to have to stand on her tippy toes to look out the porthole, and then climbed the next eight to the second floor.
“Oh my,” she said as she stepped into her aunt’s studio, noting the mint green walls and French doors leading to a small terrace where she had an easel set up. From there, Margaux had an amazing view of the bay. A Jack and Jill bathroom led to the room Eloise used to stay in as a child. It was now a soft yellow, much like the previous color in the kitchen, and had a matching terrace. Eloise stepped out and inhaled the salty air.
“This addition is breathtaking.”
“I found that I was having a tough time leaving my studio at night so when I started the remodel, I asked the contractor to remove the wall and make it all windows. He took it one step further and added the terrace. It was definitely worth the extra expense.”
“Has my dad seen the house?” Eloise had a feeling she knew the answer even before her aunt started shaking her head. Her father was difficult and that was putting his temperament mildly. He was boring and had strict rules on how everyone should live. It was his way, by the proverbial book he wrote, or no way. Eloise and Margaux were definitely on the no way side.
“One more floor,” Margaux reminded her.
“Oh yes, the attic,” Eloise said sarcastically.
Margaux laughed and climbed a narrower staircase. She opened the door and grinned widely when Eloise gasped.
“Holy . . .'' Eloise walked out onto wide plank flooring and turned in a circle. Gone was the attic she used to hate as a child. The dark wood with its creaky floor and cobwebs in the corners had been a place of nightmares. Her grandparents had used it for storage and often sent poor Eloise up there to retrieve whatever it was they needed. It would take her what felt like hours to step over the threshold and into the space, fully expecting a gargantuan spider to be living there, with her millions of babies, ready to eat Eloise as a snack.
The place of Eloise’s childhood fears was gone.
The walls were white shiplap, with one wall opening up to another terrace with a high wall to prevent you from falling over. They were three stories up, with the most spectacular view of the bay. It wasn’t the ocean that caught her attention, but how she imagined the sunset to be from where she was. She couldn’t wait to start painting. “How come you don’t have an easel up here?”
“I’ve been coming up here to get away from it all.”
“This looks nothing like the house I remember.”
“I know. It’s a labor of love, and believe me, I’m definitely in love with my house.”
“Are you going to sell it?”
She shook her head slowly. “Not in a million years.”
“Good,” Eloise said. “I can feel the inspiration here.”
Margaux smiled and motioned for her niece to follow her. They went downstairs, and to the recently remodeled basement before they headed outside to the backyard where the sight of the wrought-iron table and chairs reminded Eloise of the tea parties.
“Do you know what we should do?”
“What’s that?”
