put a wall there, anyway? What architect in their right mind would separate the living room from the dining room and block all that glorious light from flowing through the downstairs?
Thea swung again, and a second hole joined the first. A chunk of drywall dropped to her feet as dust swirled into the air and coated her arms. Holy crap, that felt good.
Panting from exertion, Thea let the hammer fall to the plastic tarp she’d bought to protect the hardwood floor. Massaging her shoulder with one hand, she turned and surveyed the living room. Yes. Right there. Right by the French doors to the backyard. This was the perfect spot for her easel and paints. Someday, after finishing her degree, maybe she’d have her own art studio. But for now, she’d be satisfied just to paint again. She hadn’t touched a blank canvas since the girls were born. Her greatest creative accomplishment these days was dyeing her white T-shirts to make the stains seem intentional.
She’d tried to make it work, the wall. She’d hung family photos in quirky patterns. Framed the girls’ handprints and artwork. Displayed Gavin’s favorite bat from high school. All with the idea that someday she’d fix it. Someday she would paint it a more vibrant color. Or maybe add built-ins. Or someday just knock down the entire damn thing and start over.
Thea knew someday had arrived the instant she woke up this morning, her eyes still swollen from a weak moment in the middle of the night when she’d cried in the bathroom with a fist pressed against her mouth to smother the sound.
Tears were pointless. Regrets wouldn’t help her start over. There was only one way to move forward, and that was to come out swinging.
Literally.
So after breakfast, Thea sent the girls off to dance class with her sister, Liv, who’d been living with her since Gavin left. And then Thea dug out her old paint overalls, drove to the local hardware, and bought the sledgehammer.
“You know how to use this?” the man at the counter asked. His arched eyebrow screamed “mansplainer.”
Thea curled her lips into a semblance of a smile. “Yep.”
“Make sure your strongest hand is at the butt of the handle.”
“Yep. I got it.” Thea shoved the change in her pocket.
The man tugged on his suspenders. “Whatcha knockin’ down?”
“Patriarchal power structures.”
He blinked.
“A wall.”
“Make sure it’s not load-bearing first.”
The need to hit something surged again like a bad case of Twitter rage. Thea hoisted the sledgehammer onto her shoulder, but just as she started to swing, the front door flew open. The girls ran inside, their tutus bouncing over little pink tights and their blonde pigtails swinging in unison. Their golden retriever, Butter Ball, patiently followed behind like a K9 nanny. Her sister, Liv, brought up the rear, holding Butter’s leash.
“Mommy, what are you doing?” Amelia asked, screeching to a halt, a combination of awe and trepidation in her tiny voice. Thea didn’t blame her. Mommy probably didn’t look like Mommy right now.
“I’m knocking down a wall,” Thea said, keeping her voice light.
“Aw, yeah,” Liv said, rubbing her hands together. “I’m getting in on this action.” Dropping Butter’s leash, she crossed the room and reached for the sledgehammer. “Can I pretend it’s his face?”
“Liv,” Thea warned quietly. She knew her sister wouldn’t intentionally say anything bad about Gavin in front of the girls. They’d both learned the hard way that the only people who suffer when one parent bad-mouths the other are the children. But Liv’s mouth had a way of acting on its own sometimes. Like now.
“Whose face, Aunt Livvie?” Amelia asked.
Thea shot an I told you so look at her sister.
“My boss,” Liv answered quickly. Liv worked for a notoriously tyrannical celebrity chef at a famous Nashville restaurant. Liv complained about him enough that the girls didn’t question whether Liv was telling the truth or not.
“Can we hit the wall too?” Amelia asked.
“This is dangerous grown-up work,” Thea said. “But you can watch.”
Liv swung hard with a Tarzan cry and knocked another chunk of drywall to the floor. The girls cheered and jumped up and down. Ava let out a whoop and karate kicked the air. Amelia attempted a cartwheel. It was officially on in the living room.
“Damn, that felt good,” Liv said, handing the sledgehammer back to Thea. “We need music for this.”
As Thea took possession of the tool once again, Liv dug out her cell phone, swiped the screen a few times, and then the Bluetooth speakers throughout the house