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“Well, you did help side my house, so it’s the least I can do. And it’s going to be the last night you spend in that dull bedroom.”
“It’s never dull when you’re in it.”
She toasted him, drank. “Littlefield. That’s a very clever thing to say.”
“Maybe, but true.”
“The next time you find me not dull in the bedroom, it’ll have a brand-new look. While you’re wrapping the mudroom tomorrow, I’ll be scraping popcorn off the ceiling. So Sunday, I’m priming the walls. If that goes smooth enough, it’ll get its first coat—Decorator’s White on the ceiling—the trim, too—and Cloudy Day on the walls.”
“I could send Robo in to do all that.”
She added thin strips of carrots to the salad bowl, then shot him a steely look. “You don’t think I can handle it, Littlefield?”
“I haven’t seen you not handle anything so far, Sarge. But he’s quick, thorough, and damn good.”
“You can take a look at my work tomorrow. I need to get my hand in, plus I need the mental health break. I don’t want to think about work tomorrow, especially what I’m doing on my own time.
“I think I found another one last night. I don’t want to get into the details, not now, but she fits the pattern for me.”
“And we’re in the first week of April. That weighs on you.”
“It does. So I’m taking a break from it.” She sliced some black olives for the salad, then smiled at him. “Besides, I have a date.”
In the morning, she stripped off all the bedding and hauled it down to the washer. Since Nash had already helped her cart out her dresser, the nightstands, she tarped the bed, the floor, taped plastic to the walls.
She got her new garden sprayer, added a touch of fabric softener to the water. After tying a bandanna over her hair, she wet down the first section of the ceiling.
As she worked, section by section, and the softened texture fell in gloppy piles to the mud pan, she heard the dogs barking.
Crews are here, she thought, and kept wetting, waiting for the softening, scraping.
In less time than she’d estimated, and with her shoulders burning a bit, she had a popcorn-free ceiling.
She cleaned up the mess, switched the laundry—maybe for the last time in the serial killer basement—then made a pile of sandwiches.
When she walked out the kitchen door, she walked into a room with walls, a window opening, a doorway, and a ceiling going up.
“Wow, just wow! I should’ve made steaks instead of sandwiches!”
The dogs surrounded her as she turned in a circle.
“Come in! Take a break. I’ve got food and drinks. Woo!”
Since five grown men couldn’t fit into her kitchen, they scattered. Standing, sitting at the table, on sawhorses in the under-construction mudroom.
Nash tugged at her bandanna. “Cute.”
“Does the job. And so do I. Popcorn is no more.”
Sandwich in hand, he walked out and into the bedroom. “Good job.”
Behind him, Dean nodded. “That’s my girl. Going to need to sand it some.”
“Yeah, that’s next.”
She spent the rest of the day in remodeling heaven. Even teared up when she watched Dean and Jonah finish installing her new front door. Stable style, painted a rich navy with a window to let in the light.
“It’s beautiful. Dad, it’s just beautiful.”