The Restoration of Celia Fairchild - Marie Bostwick Page 0,44
at the hotel and beg him to give me my room back, the doorbell rang.
Caroline Fuller was standing there, wearing a smile and another cute pleated cotton skirt, this one a blue-and-pink plaid, that showed off her amazing legs. A tall man with mocha-colored skin, black-rimmed glasses, and one of those shiny, close-shaved heads that actually makes being bald look sexy, stood next to her.
“Hey! We saw the truck out front so we thought we’d pop over and welcome you to the neighborhood,” Caroline said, then thrust a plate of cookies into my hands.
I stared at the plate for a moment.
“Oh. Gosh. That’s so sweet of you. Do you have time to come in?”
Hopefully not. Caroline was nice and obviously still in the market for a best friend, but now was not a good time. If clearing mountains of junk out of Calpurnia’s house wasn’t enough, now I had to buy monogrammed stationery and write a note thanking Caroline for the cookies. I didn’t have time to make friends!
I smiled anyway. Caroline smiled back.
“Well. Maybe just for a minute. We know you’re busy, but Heath was hoping he might have a chance to talk with you. Oh, gosh!” Caroline giggled, momentarily putting her hand in front of her mouth. “I forgot the introductions! This is my husband, Heath Fuller.” She gestured toward the man with the glasses.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, and opened the door wider so they could come inside. Even after all my work, the foyer was a tight fit for three people, so I left the door ajar, hoping it might feel slightly less claustrophobic.
Heath nodded and shook my hand. “I think Caroline mentioned that I work for the Historic Charleston Foundation, so I was just wondering—”
“Don’t worry,” I said, anticipating his concerns. “This project is a restoration, not a renovation. We’re not making any structural changes or additions to the footprint of the house. Even if I wanted to, there isn’t time. I have three months to clean this place out and make it habitable.”
“Three months?” Heath’s eyebrows popped. “How are you going to manage that?”
“Funny, I was just asking myself the same thing.” I sighed and tried to smile. “Guess I’ll just keep doing what I’ve been doing, hauling out the junk and throwing it in the dumpster as quick as I can. The rest will be up to Lorne. He’s my contractor,” I explained.
Heath frowned. “Throwing everything out without sorting through it first is a mistake. Some of these things may have historic significance.”
Historic significance? Was he serious?
“What? You mean like this?” I reached for the closest pile and closed my fingers around the first thing they touched, a plastic bag containing hundreds of individual packets of synthetic coffee creamer. I fished a packet out of the bag and held it up so Heath could see.
“These are three years beyond the sell-by date, which, considering the shelf life of this stuff, probably does qualify them as historic, but are you seriously suggesting I hold on to them?”
Caroline giggled nervously and I realized that my tone had been a little strident, bordering on rude, and definitely not kind. The fact that she was probably rethinking the whole shopping for a best friend thing didn’t really bother me, but we were going to be neighbors and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m just a little stressed. Look, Heath, I get what you’re saying. But I don’t have the time, energy, or money to sort through every piece of trash my aunt squirreled away in here. I’m only one person!”
“What if I helped?”
I spun around. Pris Browder stood in the open doorway, dressed in a pair of black-and-brown houndstooth trousers with black suspenders over a white cotton shirt and a broad-brimmed black felt hat. Once again, she looked adorable.
“Hey, y’all!” Pris raised a hand to acknowledge the group. “Sorry, Celia. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But I saw the truck and figured I’d come over. Look! I brought kombucha!”
She thrust a six-pack of the fermented tea/vinegar beverage hipsters can’t seem to get enough of into my hands. This brand was flavored with ginger and turmeric, a combination that promised to be simultaneously healthful and vile.
“Pris.” I sighed. “I know I said we’d get together and discuss your blog, but this really isn’t a good time.”
“That’s okay. I was just coming over to say hey and welcome you to the neighborhood. But if you need help sorting through things, I can give you