driveway she barely registered them. The lookie-loos, gawkers, even the ones she imagined took photos, didn't have to be a problem. Sooner or later, she thought, they'd grow accustomed to her, so the best solution to her way of thinking was to ignore them, or to toss out the occasional and casual wave.
To become part of the community, she determined, she had to demonstrate her intent and desire. So she shopped at the local supermarket, hired local labor, bought the majority of her materials from local sources. And chatted up the salesclerks, the subcontractors, and signed autographs for those who still thought of her as TV Katie.
She considered it symbolic, a statement of that intent, when she took Ford's advice and followed her first instincts and had the gates removed. To follow up, she planted weeping cherry trees to flank the drive. A statement, Cilla thought, as she stood on the shoulder of the road and studied the results. New life. And next spring, when they burst into bloom again, she'd be here to see it. From her vantage point, she looked down at the house. There would be gardens and young trees as well as the grand old magnolia. Her grand old magnolia, she thought, with its waxy white blooms sweetening the air. The paint on the house would be fresh and clean instead of dingy and peeling. Chairs on the veranda, and pots of mixed flowers. And when she could squeeze a little more out of the budget, pavers in earthy tones on the drive cutting through lush green lawns.
Eventually, when people slowed down to look, it would be because they admired a pretty house in a pretty setting, and not because they wondered what the hell the Hollywood woman was doing with the house where Janet Hardy had swallowed too many pills and chased them with vodka.
She stepped back toward the wall at the sound of an approaching car, then turned at the quick beep-beep as the little red Honda pulled to the shoulder.
It took her a moment-and brought on a twist of guilt-to recognize the pretty blonde in cropped pants and a crocheted cami who hopped out of the car.
"Hi!" On a bubble of laughter, Angela McGowan, Cilla's half sister, rushed forward to catch Cilla in a squeeze.
"Angie." The fresh, sassy scent enveloped her as completely as the arms. "You cut your hair. Let me look at you. No! Don't hug me again. I'm filthy."
"You really are." On another bubble of laughter, Angie pulled back, met Cilla's eyes with her own enormous hazel ones. Their father's eyes, Cilla thought. Their father's daughter. "And you smell a little, too." Beaming, just beaming, Angie gripped Cilla's hands. "You shouldn't still be so beautiful, considering."
"You look amazing." Cilla brushed her fingertips over the very abbreviated ends of Angie's hair. "It's so short."
"Takes two seconds to deal with in the morning."Angie gave her head a quick shake so the sunny cap lifted, ruffled, settled. "I had to practically have a blindfold and a cigarette to get it done."
"It's fabulous. What are you doing here? I thought you were at college?"
"Semester's done for me, so I'm home for a while. I can't believe you're here. And this." She gestured toward the house. "You're actually living here, and fixing it up and... all."
"There's a lot of all."
"These are so pretty. So much prettier than that old gate." Angie touched one of the curved branches with its blossoms of soft, spring pink. "Everyone's talking about what's going on here. I've only been home for a day, and already I've had my ears burned by all the talk."
"Good talk or bad talk?"
"Why wouldn't it be good?" Angie cocked her head. "This place was an eyesore. So yeah, it's not so pretty right now, either, but you're doing something. Nobody else has. Is it hard? I don't mean the work, because obviously... I mean is it hard being here, living here?"
"No." But Angie would ask, Cilla knew. Angie would care. "In fact, it's easy. It feels right, more than anything or anywhere else. It's strange."
"I don't think so. I think everyone's supposed to be somewhere, and the lucky ones find out where it is. So you're lucky."
"I guess I am." The bright side of optimism, Cilla remembered, was where Angie lived. Her father's daughter. Their father's daughter, Cilla corrected. "Do you want to come in, take a look? It's in serious flux right now, but we're making progress."
"I would, and I will another time. I'm