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Authors: Jennifer Crusie
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drink.
She put her hand over Chickie’s. “Then they’re lousy people and you shouldn’t pay attention to them.”
“Oh.” Chickie blushed with pleasure. “Well, I don’t know much, you know. I never went to college. I’m just a wife.”
Daisy scowled. “We need to talk, Chickie. You are not just a wife.”
Chickie patted Daisy’s hand. “Well, that’s just sweet of you, sugar, but that’s pretty much what I am.” She waved her hand at the window and said, “Now, this is a nice neighborhood to start out in,” and Daisy realized they’d left the downtown and turned into a side street of old houses in various stages of repair. One had a sign in front that said PRESCOTT VETERINARY.
“The houses here are reasonable, and it’s walking distance of the campus,” Chickie told her.
And the vet’s
, Daisy thought. Nice and close for Liz and Annie. Except she wasn’t going to be living here.
Then they turned down Tacoma Street, and she saw the house. It was a slightly tumbledown Victorian cottage with diamond panes in the front window and a big front porch with most of the gingerbread missing, and a picket fence that needed paint badly, and—best of all—a For Sale sign in front of it.
“Oh,”
she said, and Chickie stopped the car.
“That one?” Chickie looked doubtful. “Honey, it’s in awful shape.”
“I could fix it,” Daisy said. “If the foundation’s good, and it’s not loaded with termites, I can fix everything else. I’m an artist. I can fix anything.”
Chickie perked up. “You’re an artist? Well, isn’t that interesting? Linc didn’t tell us that. Wait until I tell Bill.”
“I’d paint it yellow,” Daisy went on, half to distract Chickie and half because she was starting to love this story. “With blue and white trim. And I’d put the gingerbread back up. See where there’s still some left at the side? I could use that as a pattern and cut more. It would be so beautiful.”
Chickie looked back at the house, squinting to see it through Daisy’s eyes. “Wouldn’t you like something new?”
“No,
” Daisy said with passion. “People throw away too many things because they always want new. But if you look at old things, they have history and personality and spirit. The things that I have that I love best are the old things that I’ve rescued. They have stories of their own, and then I fix them up and they’re part of my story too.” She looked back at the house, seeing the proportions under the peeling grayish paint, and the light that would certainly flood through the long, dingy windows once she’d cleaned them. Liz would stretch out and sleep on the hardwood floors Daisy knew were inside, and Annie could climb the porch rail and screech at people and birds. And Julia could come to visit… “I could make that house a wonderful part of my story.”
“I’d like to see that,” Chickie said softly, still looking at the house. She sounded wistful, and then she turned to look at Daisy. “I’d like to watch you fix that house. Would that be all right?”
Daisy swallowed at the loneliness in Chickie’s voice. “Sure,” she said, hating herself for lying. “Of course, we don’t know if Linc will get the job—”
Chickie turned back to the house. “He’ll get the job.” Her voice sounded grim with determination, and Daisy had a feeling that even if Linc had just given the most abysmal speech of his life, Chickie would see to it that Crawford hired him. If only the whole thing hadn’t been a lie—no, a
story
—she’d have felt better.
If it had been true, she’d have felt wonderful, coming to live in this little town, in this little house, with a vet a block away and a great movie theater nearby and a gallery that might show her work in a couple of years, and a husband like Linc to take care of her—
That last thought brought her back to earth. A husband like Linc would take care of her, but he’d also make her be something she wasn’t and
She put her hand over Chickie’s. “Then they’re lousy people and you shouldn’t pay attention to them.”
“Oh.” Chickie blushed with pleasure. “Well, I don’t know much, you know. I never went to college. I’m just a wife.”
Daisy scowled. “We need to talk, Chickie. You are not just a wife.”
Chickie patted Daisy’s hand. “Well, that’s just sweet of you, sugar, but that’s pretty much what I am.” She waved her hand at the window and said, “Now, this is a nice neighborhood to start out in,” and Daisy realized they’d left the downtown and turned into a side street of old houses in various stages of repair. One had a sign in front that said PRESCOTT VETERINARY.
“The houses here are reasonable, and it’s walking distance of the campus,” Chickie told her.
And the vet’s
, Daisy thought. Nice and close for Liz and Annie. Except she wasn’t going to be living here.
Then they turned down Tacoma Street, and she saw the house. It was a slightly tumbledown Victorian cottage with diamond panes in the front window and a big front porch with most of the gingerbread missing, and a picket fence that needed paint badly, and—best of all—a For Sale sign in front of it.
“Oh,”
she said, and Chickie stopped the car.
“That one?” Chickie looked doubtful. “Honey, it’s in awful shape.”
“I could fix it,” Daisy said. “If the foundation’s good, and it’s not loaded with termites, I can fix everything else. I’m an artist. I can fix anything.”
Chickie perked up. “You’re an artist? Well, isn’t that interesting? Linc didn’t tell us that. Wait until I tell Bill.”
“I’d paint it yellow,” Daisy went on, half to distract Chickie and half because she was starting to love this story. “With blue and white trim. And I’d put the gingerbread back up. See where there’s still some left at the side? I could use that as a pattern and cut more. It would be so beautiful.”
Chickie looked back at the house, squinting to see it through Daisy’s eyes. “Wouldn’t you like something new?”
“No,
” Daisy said with passion. “People throw away too many things because they always want new. But if you look at old things, they have history and personality and spirit. The things that I have that I love best are the old things that I’ve rescued. They have stories of their own, and then I fix them up and they’re part of my story too.” She looked back at the house, seeing the proportions under the peeling grayish paint, and the light that would certainly flood through the long, dingy windows once she’d cleaned them. Liz would stretch out and sleep on the hardwood floors Daisy knew were inside, and Annie could climb the porch rail and screech at people and birds. And Julia could come to visit… “I could make that house a wonderful part of my story.”
“I’d like to see that,” Chickie said softly, still looking at the house. She sounded wistful, and then she turned to look at Daisy. “I’d like to watch you fix that house. Would that be all right?”
Daisy swallowed at the loneliness in Chickie’s voice. “Sure,” she said, hating herself for lying. “Of course, we don’t know if Linc will get the job—”
Chickie turned back to the house. “He’ll get the job.” Her voice sounded grim with determination, and Daisy had a feeling that even if Linc had just given the most abysmal speech of his life, Chickie would see to it that Crawford hired him. If only the whole thing hadn’t been a lie—no, a
story
—she’d have felt better.
If it had been true, she’d have felt wonderful, coming to live in this little town, in this little house, with a vet a block away and a great movie theater nearby and a gallery that might show her work in a couple of years, and a husband like Linc to take care of her—
That last thought brought her back to earth. A husband like Linc would take care of her, but he’d also make her be something she wasn’t and
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