Lost in La La Land(46)

The windows were new, casings and all, and the doorframes were replaced with modern ones, and no more doors that creaked and groaned with every movement.

As she walked to the office, I noticed Lana was filling out again. Our improved diet and forced time on the treadmill in the guest room might actually be saving our lives. I hadn’t told her but the inactivity was essentially killing us. Every year spent sitting and lying about removed eight from our life span.

We needed more than the meager stroll about the house to get food or to use the bathroom. I was carefully and slowly implementing the changes. Having workmen about the house constantly was helping as well. We couldn't hide here and pretend everything was fine, distracted by a different world.

I pulled my thinned hair up into a bun and sauntered into the office, closing the door behind me.

She closed the drapes, another thing I wouldn't miss. The custom blackout blinds we added to the bedrooms upstairs were perfect, sleek, hidden when open, and clean. No more dusty drapes and ancient smells.

The main floor would be the hardest. The tiles were broken and needing replacement and the wood floors were damaged well beyond repair. We were stripping the entire floor: plaster, banisters, crown molding, bathrooms, kitchen, windows, and everything.

It was going to be a difficult three weeks. The demolition would be the worst of it. Dust and noise and constant shouting as they joked and laughed with one another. The crew seemed jovial enough, but they also appeared to despise the old house. Only Mr. Daley, the owner of the company, saw the older home for what it was.

The rest constantly spoke of lighting a match.

As Lana lay on the bed and began hooking herself up, I sat and turned on all the tablets and monitors. As the construction progressed, my time in the machine lessened. And when I did go in, it went by too quickly. Even Lana was doing short trips, four hours at a time.

Lana slipped off, no doubt enjoying the relaxing day spent with her husband and child, as I did a crossword puzzle by candlelight. The smell of the burning beeswax reminded me of home.

A subtle knock on the door lifted my gaze. I jumped up and hurried to the door before they knocked again, and opened it.

“It’s done.” Mr. Daley nodded his head at the stairs.

“The whole top floor?” I asked softly, slipping out into the hallway. I glanced back at Lana, certain she would be fine for the moment.

“Wanna see it?” His eyes widened, filled with emotion I hadn’t seen before.

“Of course.” I closed the door and followed him.

“We changed a couple of things: opened the attic up more so it’s now a third floor and we removed the stairs that pull down. The halls are so large we had tons of space to create a new full set of stairs. Better for resale down the road. Especially if the new owners had kids or wanted to make this an inn. The attic is massive, over three thousand square feet.” His eyes darted to my face the way they always did. “Are you feeling better?” he asked boldly.

“What?”

“Well, you two are sick, right? Like cancer or something?”

“Why do you ask?” I assumed he meant the hooking up to the beds all the time.

“Well, the treatments you get every day seem to be working. You look better. I think it’s working. When I got here you looked pretty rough.” He said this as if it were a compliment. “The guys thought you were witches. I think a couple still do.”

My insides tightened, taking the verbal blow. “Yes,” I lied. It was easier than explaining that our bodies lived in one dimension, barely acknowledged, while our spirits lived elsewhere, receiving all the sustenance.

As we got to the top of the stairs I noted they didn't wind me as before.

He smiled wide, expectantly. “Well?” He held a hand out and I brought my fingers to my lips. “It’s perfect.” The floors were done to resemble the color of driftwood and the walls were a paler version of soft sky blue, almost white blue. The doorframes were almost cream, matching the doors, done in an antique white. The knobs were antique style, but brand-new and chrome.

The sand-colored blinds were half drawn, adding softness to the hall. Each room was the same, clean and beachy. The ensuites were all done with white marble and antiqued cream-colored vanities. The showerheads were large, so the water felt like rain, with sand-colored pebble bases in the stand-alone showers with glass surrounds. The claw-foot tub in each ensuite stood off to the side, in front of the window he had matched in every room.

The floors in all the bathrooms were marble to match the countertops. Everything was crisp and bright and coordinated. The upstairs no longer smelled dank or moldy.

He led me from room to room, showing the small details he was obviously proud of. I ran my hand along the banister, an ornate wrought iron. I hadn’t been able to picture the black complementing the space but it did. In fact, it became the showcase, looking like Spanish lace on a flamenco dancer’s dress.

As we rounded the corner, I gasped again. The stairs to the attic were beautiful, done with the same banister and driftwood floor, they were wide and clean. I could see up into the attic perfectly, admiring the pale-colored cedar ceiling he’d put in with tongue and groove boards.

As we ascended the stairs, my mouth fell open. He’d made a library with massive round windows with benches in them. The walls were bookshelves, dozens of them. The enormous attic could have been a ballroom, but a library was better suited for us.