Tribute

Maybe she’d have a party after all. And even thinking about pla

“Knock, knock!” Cathy Morrow poked her head in the front door. “Brian said you wouldn’t mind if I came right in.”

“I don’t. How are you?”

“Just fine, except for dying of curiosity. Brian’s been telling us how wonderful everything looks, so Tom and I just had to come by and see for ourselves. Tom’s out there in the back where you’re having the stone wall built up. For shrubs, Brian said.”

“It’ll add height and depth to the yard and cut back on the mowing.”

“I don’t think Brian’s ever done so much work for a private client-noncommercial, I mean. He’s just… Oh, Cilla! This is just beautiful.”

With a flush of pride, Cilla watched Cathy walk around the living room. “It’s finished except for refinishing the floor, and we’ll do all of them at the same time. And for furniture, and accessories, art, window treatments and a few minor details such as…”

“It’s so open and warm. I love the light. Are those shamrocks on the collar, or whatever you call it?”

“Medallion, and yes. Dobby did an amazing job. And the fixture’s true to the architecture of the house. I don’t know what was there originally. I couldn’t find any pictures showing it, and my father couldn’t remember. But I think the straightforward Arts and Crafts lines and the design, with the diamond shapes of amber and deep blue, work.”

“It’s just lovely. But, oh my God, the fireplace.”

“Focal point.” Walking over, Cilla stroked her hand down the deep blue of the granite. “I wanted it to pop against the walls, the way the sky pops against the mountains. And a strong color like this needed a strong mantel.”

“Wasn’t it… Yes, it was brick before.”

“Smoke-stained and pocked, and the hearth didn’t meet code, which you can see by the burn marks from stray embers in the floor.”

“It’s fu

“Lord, I was younger than you the last time I was here-in that era, I mean. So much time between,” she said with a wistful sigh. “The last time was a Christmas party. All the decorations, the lights. Champagne, endless glasses of champagne, music. That amazing couch. People begged her to sing until she gave in. There was a white baby grand over by the window, and… Oh! Who was it, who was it everyone thought she was having a blistering affair with… the composer? And it turned out he was gay. He died of AIDS.”

"Le

"Yes, yes. God, gorgeous man. Anyway, he played, and she sang. Magic. It would’ve been the Christmas before your uncle was killed.

“I’m sorry,” Cathy said suddenly. “I’m daydreaming out loud.”

“No, I like hearing about the way it was. The way she was.”

Cathy tucked back her swing of glossy hair. “I can tell you no one shone brighter than Janet. I think, yes, Maria

She let out a laugh now, tickled by the memory. “We never did take, Tom’s mother and I. Yes, he did look handsome that night. You’d never have believed cancer would take him so horribly just twelve years later. They stood right in here, Janet and Drew-Andrew, Tom’s daddy. And then they were both gone.

“Now, I am sorry. How did I take such a morbid turn?”

“Old houses. They’re full of life and death.”

“I suppose you’re right. It’s about life now, isn’t it, and what you’re doing here. Oh, I completely forgot. I brought you two mimosas.”

“You brought me drinks?”

Cathy laughed until she had to hold her stomach. “No. Trees. Well, they will be trees in a few years, if you want them. I started a couple dozen of them from seed, to give as gifts. I have a pair of lovely old mimosas. You may not want to bother with them, and I won’t be offended if you don’t. They’re barely ten inches high at this point, and you won’t see blooms for several years.”

“I’d love to have them.”

“They’re out on your veranda in some old plastic pots. Why don’t we take them around to Brian, see where he thinks they’d do best for you?”

“They’re my first housewarming gift.” Cilla led the way out, and picked up one of the black plastic pots holding the delicate, fa

“Oh, you should! What fun.”

“Problem being, the house won’t be completely finished, and I won’t have it furnished or decorated, or-”

“Who cares about that!” Obviously already in the swing, Cathy gave Cilla an elbow bump. “You can have another when you’re all done. It’d be like… a prelude. I’d be happy to help, and you know Patty would. Ford’s mother, too. In fact, we’d take over if you didn’t whip us back.”

“Maybe. Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

AFTER THE CREWS HAD GONE, and the house fell silent, after two fragile seedlings with their pink, powder-puff blossoms still years from bloom had been planted in a su

She imagined it crowded with people, beautifully dressed, beautifully coiffed. The colored lights of Christmas, the elegance of candle and firelight glowing, glittering, glimmering.

A lipstick-pink couch with white satin pillows.

And Janet, a light brighter than all the rest, gliding from guest to guest in elegant blue, a crystal glass bubbling with champagne in her hand.

The granddaughter sat on the overturned bucket, hearing the dream voices and drawing in the ghost scents of Christmas pine.

Ford found her, alone in the center of the room, in light going dim with the late summer evening.

Too alone, he thought. Not just solitary, not this time. Not quietly contemplative, and not basking, but absolutely alone, and very, very away.

Because he wanted her back, he walked over, crouched in front of her. Those spectacular eyes stared for another instant, two more, at what was away, then came back, came back to him.

“There was a Christmas party,” she said. “It must have been the last Christmas party she gave, because it was the Christmas before Joh

“It’s just paint, Cilla; it’s just fabric.”