"Absolutely!" Nina jumped to agree.
Julia cleared her throat and watched Nina and Caroline turn to glare at her, as if they'd just found a secret stash of frozen cheesecakes that she'd been bringing to family reunions, passing off as homemade. She stepped inside the small bedroom where Lance was leaning against the windowsill, an "I tried to stop them" expression on his face.
"Julia James!" Caroline snapped. "This is where you have this poor man sleeping? Have you even seen this room? How can you stand yourself?"
Julia hadn't given much thought to where Lance was staying, but it was true that of all the rooms in the house, this one was in the worst shape. It was where she piled boxes of office supplies, out-of-style clothes, and things affectionately labeled "miscellaneous junk." The mess had never bothered her, probably because the door was usually closed, its contents out of sight and out of mind.
"How can you look him in the eye after making him wade through your trash like that?" her sister asked. "You ought to be ashamed."
"Well, Caroline, I wasn't expecting a houseguest."
"But don't you keep a guest room?" Caroline seemed bewildered. "Julia, with all the money you make, you don't even keep a guest room?"
"No," Nina said. "She doesn't."
"He's staying in the guest room!" Julia defended the situation. She looked to Lance for support, but he raised both his hands in a gesture of surrender, as if he'd been fighting that fight himself and had decided to leave it to a professional.
"Julia," Caroline asked, "where does Cassie sleep when she stays over?"
"Cassie sleeps with me," Julia said, but kicked herself instantly when Nina chimed, "Well, if it's good enough for Cassie—"
"Nina!" Caroline cut her off. "This is ridiculous; we've got to clean out this room. Today." Julia turned to Lance, defeated.
Caroline threw open the windows, and soon the fresh, cool breeze began to waft inside and dilute the smell of mothballs. Boxes and bags of junk morphed from unorganized piles into a wave of debris that seemed to swell and resurface every time the bed was hauled from one side of the room to the other. Lance and Nina moved every piece of furniture at least a dozen times, so within an hour, sweat was glistening on his arms and Nina was finding excuses for him to stretch or bend over.
"Can I tell you how nice it is to clean a room that won't be immediately occupied by a five-year-old?" Caroline asked as she scrubbed the hardwood floors with gusto, but Julia barely heard her; she was too busy tearing into boxes and bags like it was Christmas morning. She sifted through the last ten years, finding newspaper clippings of book reviews and old short stories, half-finished afghans and baby blankets, coupons and calendars five years out of date. When most everything was sorted, Julia knew more than half of it was going to have to be thrown away. That was the thought that filled her mind as she stared into a crateful of photos she'd never made time to frame.
"What we need now is bedding," Nina was saying. "Something with color. Something that pops."
"All I need is a place to sleep," Lance said, sounding apologetic.
"Everyone sleeps better in a beautiful bed. It's a scientific fact," Nina said, and Lance cut a look at Julia, who didn't bother trying to explain science according to Nina.
After scanning the room, Nina pointed to a flash of color on the top shelf of the closet. "What's that?"
Lance walked to the closet and pulled down an old patchwork quilt that slid into his arms. "It's heavy," he said as Nina helped him pull back the quilted layers to reveal the framed painting it had been protecting.
"This is gorgeous!" Nina exclaimed.
"It's your granny picture!" Caroline rushed toward the old oil painting and examined it like a lost treasure. "Why do you have this hidden up here?"
Julia gazed at the painting that her grandmother had painted of two little girls in the middle of a field. For years, the painting and its twin had hung in her parents' bedroom. But when Caroline married and Julia moved back to the state, Madelyn took the two pieces of art and gave them to her daughters, with strict instructions to give them good homes. It was one of the few things Julia had from her grandmother, and one of the few truly beautiful things she owned.
"Julia," Nina exclaimed. "Why leave something this beautiful crammed in a closet?"
"I'll hang it up eventually," she said. "With the remodeling, I didn't want to risk it getting damaged. When the house is finished, I'll hang it up."
"What do you mean, when you finish " Nina asked. "Have you started?"
"Well, maybe if my decorator hadn't quit—"
"Hey!" Nina jumped to the defensive. "I stuck with you through five types of tile, six cabinet finishes, three professional ranges, seven industrial sinks, two dishwashers, and thirteen cabinet knobs. Do you know how many cabinet knobs are too many? Thirteen. Thirteen is where any self-respecting design professional draws the line."
"Fine," Julia said. "Point taken. Now, can I have my painting back, please?"
"No." Nina pulled it to her chest. "We're using the quilt on the bed, and this is going downstairs. You're going to pick out a place to hang it."
"Nina, I don't think that's—"
"I'm coming back as your decorator for one job only, and this is it."
"What time is it?" Nina asked over the steady pop, pop, pop that was coming from the microwave.
Caroline looked at her watch and answered, "It's half past five."
Nina's eyes flew open and she yelled, "I almost missed Decorating Derby]" She jumped off the barstool and ran into the living room, where she grabbed the remote control from Lance's hands and told him, "Scoot over, stud."
"Hey, I was watching ..." Lance started, but Julia took a seat beside him and said, "Duke loses in overtime."