Page 44 of Echoes at Driftwood Cottage

“Do you think I’m disloyal for wanting to get new furniture?”

“No. It’s your house. Your gran would’ve wanted you to make yourself at home. Otherwise, why would she have left everything to you? She had to know you’d be starting over. Starting over means getting rid of baggage you no longer need to carry around.”

“Did you do that with your uncle?”

“Course I did. It was difficult but I knew he’d want me to wipe the slate clean.”

Rowan made a face. “That sounds so harsh.”

“Do what’s best for you.” He gulped down his remaining coffee in the mug. “I gotta go. I need to check and make sure the freezer’s still working.”

“What about breakfast?”

“I’ll grab something later. I’m still stuffed from last night’s pot roast.” He kissed her goodbye in his rush to get out the door and left her standing there feeling ditched.

“Well, that was interesting. Couldn’t get out of here fast enough,” Rowan murmured to herself. “Scott’s right about one thing. I do talk to myself—a lot. Wonder when I picked up that quirky habit? Next thing you know, I’ll be getting a cat, then a second one. Before I know it, the neighborhood will be calling me the pathetic cat lady who talks to herself.”

She went to the freezer and took out two frozen spinach frittatas, popped them in the microwave, and devoured them with leftover carrots and fingerling potatoes.

After unloading the dishwasher so she could add her dirty plate, she went out to the dining room to retest the technical aspects of the software she planned to use for her presentation. When that all checked out, she moved into the bedroom.

The countdown had begun.

An hour ahead of time, she brushed her teeth, making sure there was no lingering spinach hanging around. She applied her makeup, the first time in four days she’d bothered. She changed into a white blouse, put on a matching suit jacket and skirt in power black, and worked on her hair, getting it styled into the simple messy bob she preferred. If she did say so herself, she looked like a younger version of Julia Roberts without the millions of dollars in the bank.

That aside, Rowan pronounced herself ready to take on her biggest client. The public relations outfit consisted of three hard-to-please, demanding individuals—all women, who were no-nonsense PR veterans.

After exchanging the prerequisite pleasantries and small talk, Rowan got into the nitty-gritty of sustainable brand building versus flash-in-the-pan strategies, what worked and what didn’t. Balancing her know-how with a clever artsy flair, she wowed them with a steady flow of chic designs meant to capture the attention of the eighteen to fifty crowd, the targeted market. With such a wide swing in age groups, the campaign had to be solid. And yet, it seemed all over the place.

After the call ended, she couldn’t tell if she’d hit a home run or struck out. She wasn’t disappointed in herself but rather the realization that the entire presentation hadn’t been the least bit fulfilling. Nor was the response she’d longed to get. It hadn’t escaped Rowan that none of the three women seemed impressed. They had sat there motionless, rarely commenting, with a certain degree of annoyance on their faces. Maybe fancy, upscale Los Angeles PR firms weren’t the right fit for her.

For some reason, Rowan wasn’t crying her eyes out over it. Instead, she took off the suit, hung it neatly in the closet, and reached for a pair of well-worn jeans and a pullover sweater in periwinkle blue. She pulled on her well-worn boots and grabbed her truck keys. Maybe she’d take Daniel to lunch.

She headed back to the kitchen to drag out the roast from the fridge. Standing at the counter, she made up beefy sandwiches from the leftovers, pulled out the plastic sandwich bags, and stuffed them into a grocery sack before heading out the door.

For as long as Rowan could remember, Ferguson Hardware was the only place in town where you could pick out a colorful bathmat in floral red in one aisle and head to the next to order a porcelain commode or any number of appliances from the pages of a catalog. With an entire aisle dedicated to power tools and another to gardening equipment, she perused the rows of manual tools like hammers and screwdrivers, wondering if Gran had kept all her granddad’s collection of stuff. His tools had to be ancient by now. She went past long shelves filled with all manner of nuts and bolts and stopped next to an assortment of lightbulbs. She finally discovered the paint section at the back next to the plumbing fixtures and wondered what genius knew she was in the market for both.

She looked around for help and waved at a man with a nametag that read Matty Cruz.

“Need some help?” Matty asked.

She relayed the problem with the toilet.

“Easy fix. You probably need a new flapper. Sounds like it’s not sealing properly. Is it old?”

“Is it old? Let’s put it this way, Davy Crockett and his coonskin cap might’ve been the hottest fashion craze when they installed that model.”

Matty burst out laughing. “Sounds really ancient. Before you buy a new flapper, there’s a way to test out the old one. Take the lid off the tank, get a stick and use it to hold down the flapper. If the running water stops, then you know it needs replacing.”

“Does this flapper come with instructions about how to install?”

“I can print those out for you at the register. I’ll tell you this much. You start by shutting off the water supply valve under the toilet. It’s easy after that.”

“I trust you, Matty. I’ll take one and try to fix it myself. Now I need paint samples.”

Matty led her over to the paint counter. “Do you want paint cards or the eight-ounce container? Eight ounces allows you to paint as big a spot as you need to see how it looks. You just hold the paint card up to the wall to see if it’s in the general neighborhood of the right color you’re after. Paint cards are free. The little jar of paint costs five bucks. If you want us to match a color you already have and we need to mix it up, then that sample costs six bucks.”

“I think I’ll start with the paint cards and go from there. I’ll make another trip for sample paint when I pick the colors I want to try out on my doors and the walls.”

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