Chapter 24
It’s happening.
Two days after Coco at Exquisite Interiors received our tape, she called to ask if their crew could come shoot some footage,
and a week later, here we stand at the Daniel House, cameras at the ready. It’s not a deal, but it’s certainly a step in the
right direction. We arrived first thing this morning, me dressed in a paisley maxi dress and Fitz in a slate-blue blazer.
It’s now early afternoon, and we’re comfortable with the small crew that surrounds us with their cameras and boom mics and
a few light reflectors.
“I’d love to get a shot of you opening the front door.” Erica is our cameraperson-slash-director for the day. She also has
a sound operator, Lucas, who moves about nearly silently, and a few other crew members overseeing lighting.
Fitz and I nod and file into place.
“Action,” Erica calls out.
I lean and unlatch the door, allowing it to swing open.
Erica carries the camera in on a perfect glide, then yells, “Cut!”
“The floors are all right to walk on, but if possible we’d like to keep traffic light on them for the next few days,” I say.
“They’re freshly restained. We’ve been working on the back patio if you’d like us to talk through that.”
“That’s perfect,” Erica says. “Like we discussed, this is truly just to get a sense of your personalities and how you work in front of the camera. Your portfolio knocked it out of the park, so we’re already convinced of the actual design acumen. Plus, these historic builds? To die for. Why don’t you start introducing the patio work while we walk back?”
We smile and head to the back.
Erica rolls the tape.
“We’ve actually got some of our crew working back here right now. We’re removing the old decking that was thrown on in the
late ’80s.” I pull a face. “Needless to say, it did not complement the historical facade, and we aren’t certain it was engineered
correctly—even as low to the ground as it is, we don’t want anyone stepping through.”
As we approach, the hammering and cracking and snapping grow louder, and above the racket, voices call out to one another.
I wave to our lead contractor, Mateo, and he seems relieved to see me.
He eyes the camera. “Is now an ok time?”
“Well, that depends on if you’re all right with potentially showing up on reality TV,” I say.
Mateo chuckles. “Well, my wife loves these shows, so she’d think I’m cool again. For me, I’ve had enough home construction
by the end of my real day. I don’t need to watch it.”
Erica throws a thumbs-up for us to go on, and Lucas nods like we’re hitting our stride.
“Show me what you’ve got,” I say to Mateo.
“Well, let the record show: You asked. Because you’re not going to love this news,” Mateo says.
He climbs over the rubble and grabs a loose plank of wood from the partially deconstructed deck. He runs his fingers over
a section. “Here. You see that?”
I groan. “I see it, and I know what it is.”
Fitz speaks up from over my shoulder. “Let me guess. Termites?”
Mateo nods and turns to the camera, pointing to a crawling bug. “So what this—live termites—means is we’ll have to tent the
house and fumigate to make sure everything is killed off.”
I turn to Fitz. “Do we have any tequila, because this is not what I was expecting out of today.”
“Honey, we don’t even have a cabinet or a single glass here,” Fitz says. “Not that that’s stopped you before.”
I laugh. “Fine, I’ll take you making me laugh. Gosh, what’ll that do to our timeline?”
“It’ll be two days we can’t work,” Mateo says. “The guys can come tomorrow and tent, if you’re ok with it.”
“Might not be the worst timing with needing the floors to cure,” Fitz says.
“Fair enough,” I say. “Consider that a green light on the tent. Will you keep me updated?”
“Sure thing,” Mateo says.
“Cut!” Erica yells and lowers the camera. “Ok, did you guys stage that or what?”
We shake our heads in unison.
“Honestly, if I had to make up a problem, termites would be one of my last choices,” I say.
“It’s quite the expense,” Fitz adds.
Erica beams. “It may be bad news for the project, but it’s great news for the footage. You guys are naturals, and the comfort
and candor between everyone—it’s perfection!”
I’m distracted by the sound of footsteps on the porch. No one is inside working because of the floors, and my instincts say
I need to stop anyone from crossing inside without shoe covers in place.
“I think someone’s here,” I say. “Will you excuse me?”
I don’t make it to the porch before the footsteps stop, and a familiar figure rounds the corner of the house, teetering on
heels toward the backyard. It’s Magnolia in a skirt suit, tweed in blue to match Fitz. It’s St. John; I can tell even from
here.
She’s a fashion warhorse.
I stop and wait for her to arrive from across the shabby side yard.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “You told me you couldn’t make it.”
Hallie is playing Little Red Riding Hood in her year-end school production. She invited her grandparents, but Magnolia sent
her regrets. Delta and Ned accepted immediately.
“Delta swayed me,” Magnolia said. “She was right that I could have someone cover for me at the club and that I shouldn’t miss
my granddaughter’s star role. And quite frankly, we’ve been trying to save the whales since the ’80s. I think it’s about time
they carried a bit of their own weight.” She removes her sunglasses slowly and sets a steely look on me. “But it seems if
the cat’s away... You’re up to something.” Her words stop as her eyes land on the small camera crew.
“I’m here on my worksite,” I say, doing my best to calm the flurry of panic inside. “Getting work done.”
“Funny. It’s sort of my worksite, too, isn’t it?” Magnolia wobbles in place on the soft ground. “Since you needed a hand up,
some good work, and I was here to help.”
Magnolia is still quick. She would’ve made a good politician if she were more likable and less prone to insults. She knows
how to use her position of power to diminish me; we’ve done this dance a million times before, and I go along with it. She
makes me feel small so she can be big, so she can hold on to me.
And I hate that I play into it because of the unsaid thing that follows us around: she’s the only family I’ve got.
Of course, besides Hallie, who I sometimes wonder if I made out of sheer will to extend my family beyond this woman in front
of me.
“Yes, you gave us the work, and we’re doing it well,” I say.
“I’m not here to challenge that—not now that you took a couple of my design suggestions into account.”
Or so she thinks.
“But I need a full explanation as to why there are people here filming y’all all dressed up on the property I’ve been tasked
with looking over. The Carolina board hasn’t given permission for any of this—”
I step up to her and take her hands in mine. “Please, Mama,” I say, feeling like I’m a teenager again. All the years of strength
and independence I’ve drummed up by doing things my way begin to falter. “I can explain, but let’s not blow this up.”
Her face purses as she looks at me, considering. “Fine, but this isn’t the end of it.”
My phone rattles in my pocket, and it’s a number I don’t recognize. Still, Hallie’s not with me, so I answer.
The voice on the other end is young and perky and decidedly panicked. “Ms. Suffolk, oh my god, I’m so glad you picked up!
Grady’s not answering.”
“I’m sorry, who is this?”
“I’m Lacey, Hallie’s babysitter. We were having dinner, and she asked to try some of my fried rice, and I let her, and she
didn’t see the eggs, and I didn’t know she was allergic, and I have no idea what to do.”
“How much did she have?”
“Only a tiny bite, but I saw her scratching, and now she’s got a nasty rash all over her back.”
I could kill Grady. The very first thing we tell sitters is about Hallie’s egg allergy. Fortunately, if it was really only
a bite, it’s manageable.
“Do you know where he keeps the medication? She needs Benadryl.”
“No, ma’am, but I’ll look.” Her voice shifts. “Hallie, do you know where your dad keeps the medicine?” There are footsteps,
then shuffling and rattles.
“I’m coming,” I say. “I keep Benadryl in my car for occasions like this. Give me fifteen.”