At Home on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [14]
“My solution was to fill them in and make a patio,” admitted Bridget.
“Well, there you go,” said Lindsay smugly. “You want something done, you ask someone with a little ambition.” She sipped her wine. “I have a feeling fixing up an old house and living close to nature are going to seem a lot less romantic to Lori—and college dorm life a lot more appealing—before this summer is over.”
There was a moment of silence in which they knew Cici was trying to convince herself Lindsay was right.
Then Cici said, “Should we be worried about the social worker’s visit?”
Lindsay gave a half chuckle. “It’s just Carrie from town. She’s the one who came up with the idea for us to share guardianship with Reverend Holland in the first place, and she’s already approved the living situation once. It’s just a formality. But I wanted Noah to think we should be worried.”
“I think Lori is right,” Bridget said. “We are a little manipulative.”
“It’s one of those self-defense skills they teach you in Mother School,” Cici said.
“What is this about wanting to move back out to the woods?” Bridget wanted to know. “He’s not serious, is he? After we practically broke our necks last fall sneaking things down there to him to keep him from freezing—and starving—to death!”
Lindsay rocked thoughtfully for a moment. “I’m not sure. Part of it is just his Davy Crockett fantasy, I guess. But I think it might have more to do with the fact that he doesn’t know how to be part of a family. It can’t have been easy, all the adjustments he’s had to make this year.”
“Well, he’s not moving back to the folly,” Bridget declared.
“I think we can all agree on that,” said Cici.
“I don’t think we’ll hear much more about those plans for a while,” Lindsay said with a wry tilt of her head, “since it’s going to take him most of the summer to pay off that traffic fine.”
They were silent for a while, listening to birdsong, watching the colors deepen over the mountains and the shadows swallow up the lawn. Then a sudden stream of lamplight poured into the dusky shadows of the porch as the front door opened, the screen door squeaked, and Lori burst out. “I’ve got it!” she exclaimed. “I’ve got the plan.”
She bounced to a stop in front of them, a yellow legal pad in her hands, a very pleased expression on her face. “What we’ll do,” she declared, “is turn this house into a bed-and-breakfast.”
Cici lifted an eyebrow. The other two sipped their wine and said nothing.
“I was talking to Ida Mae this afternoon,” she went on. “Did you know this place used to be a boarding house for military wives in the forties?”
Cici said, surprised, “I didn’t know that.”
Lindsay and Bridget looked at Lori with new interest. “Is that right?” Bridget said.
And Lindsay added, “A boarding house?”
Lori nodded. “That’s probably how we ended up with all those bathrooms. A house full of women . . .”
Cici grinned and lifted her glass to sip. “How about that? And sixty years later, it’s still a house full of women.”
“With plenty of bathrooms,” Bridget pointed out.
“So here’s the thing.” Excitedly, Lori leaned forward so that they could see the drawing she had made in the light that spilled from the open door. “This whole front part of the house—the living room, dining room, the bedrooms, of course, and the upstairs sitting room—would be public space. That little room off the living room could be the office. The kitchen is already outfitted for preparing big meals, and, Aunt Bridget, you know you’ve always wanted to run a restaurant.”
Bridget gave a conciliatory nod of agreement.
“The back part of the house,” Lori went on, “would be our living space. We could turn the sunroom into our family room, and we eat in the kitchen, anyway.”
Cici inquired politely, “Where would we sleep?”
Lori turned a page. “This,” she declared, “is a sketch of the cellar—as it could be. All it would take is a little remodeling, putting in some windows, a few walls . . . it’ll be a snap.”
“A snap,” repeated Cici, careful to keep her expression neutral.
Lori went on, “A room