The Restoration of Celia Fairchild - Marie Bostwick Page 0,41
job, Miss Fairchild. I have to. You’re my last resort too.”
Of course, I hired him. How could I not? I haven’t met many men who were willing to own their mistakes and be vulnerable. Also, I didn’t have another option. But even if I had, I felt sure that hiring Lorne was the right decision. Looks aside, he seemed very different from his brother.
Trey had a searchingly serious expression, especially in his eyes, as if he were steeling himself for the next bad thing that could happen. But Lorne seemed always to be laughing, at himself and everything around him. I guess it makes sense: happy-go-lucky types don’t usually gravitate toward the law as a career.
Without Trey, I’d have no money and no contractor. But if I had to pick which brother I would have preferred to come into contact with on a daily basis for the next two months, Lorne would win hands down. He just seemed like more fun. Trey was just so careful and lawyerly. For example, he insisted there be a signed contract between Lorne and me and that Lorne send him copies of all the invoices. I understood about Lorne’s checkered past and all, but it just seemed kind of weird, like he didn’t quite trust his own brother.
“Don’t worry about it,” Lorne said when I handed him the contract. “Trey’s just doing his job, watching out for you. Let’s see what we’ve got here,” he mused, eyes shifting left to right as he scanned the documents. “Scope of work. Timelines. Budget and estimates. Oh, and will you look at that? A clause that says I don’t get paid if I’m arrested. Very nice. Gotta hand it to my brother; he’s nothing if not thorough.”
The display of brotherly tension was awkward. For a moment, I thought he might say thanks but no thanks. Instead, he looked up and said, “Can we go see the house? Might be a good idea to get inside and see what I’m dealing with before I sign anything.”
LORNE TURNED SIDEWAYS and squeezed through the canyon of refuse that was the only path through what once had been the dining room. I turned as well to follow, skittering sideways like a crab crossing a sandy beach.
Lorne let out a low whistle. “Damn. When you said the place was a wreck, you weren’t kidding, were you?”
My cheeks flushed. The mess wasn’t of my making but it was embarrassing just the same. We exited the canyon to the somewhat more open area in the center hallway. Lorne stood at the bottom of the nearly impassable stairway and stared toward the upper floors.
“It’s terrible, I know. Really awful. But if you—”
He waved his hand to cut me off but didn’t lower his eyes from the dim, cavernous stairwell. “It’s okay. I’m just trying to figure out where to begin.”
His eyes narrowed and he made three popping sounds with his lips. Apparently, this was his thinking noise.
“Exterior first,” he said after a long moment. “We’re going to need a dumpster asap. I’ll go through the junk in the courtyard, toss everything that’s not worth saving—”
“So basically everything.”
“Well, that’s up to you but . . .” He popped his lips again. “Yeah. Pretty much. That’ll keep us busy until we’ve got the permits.”
“How long will that take?” I asked.
“Hard to say. Trey knows a couple of people at City Hall. Hopefully that will speed the process, but I’ll let you work that out with him. In case you haven’t already picked up on it, we don’t talk.”
I had noticed and was dying to find out why. Sure, there was the whole prison thing, but aren’t lawyers used to dealing with criminals? Reformed and otherwise? And Trey didn’t seem like the kind of person who would cut someone out of his life because of that. There had to be more to the story.
“Once the paperwork is approved,” Lorne said, “I’d rebuild the porch, fix the chimney, replace the roof, the rotted casement windows, rehang the shutters, all the stuff that’s listed in the contract. But the problem with buildings this old is that you never really know what you’re dealing with until you start opening up walls.”
“But that’s why we added that extra fifteen percent on the budget, right? For contingencies? Should be enough, don’t you think?”
I flashed a hopeful smile, waiting for him to confirm this. Instead, he murmured noncommittally, craned his neck backward to gaze at the ceiling, then popped his lips again.