Tribute

“I wish you’d called me, Cilla, about the vandalism.”
    “Nothing you could’ve done about it. Give me a second here, I’m nearly done.” She whirled the last screws in place, then set aside the cordless screwdriver before admiring the result. “Yeah, it looks good. I almost went with a plate style, but thought it would look too heavy. This is better. ” She opened and closed the door a couple of times. “Good. I’m using the same style on the back entry, but decided to go with an atrium on . . . sorry. You couldn’t possibly be interested.”
    “I am. I’m interested in what you’re doing.”
    A little surprised by the hurt in his tone, she turned to give him her full attention. “I just meant the odd details—knob or lever style, sliding, swinging, luminary. Do you want to come in?” She opened the door again. “It’s noisy, but it’s cooler.”
    “Cilla, what can I do?”
    “I . . . Look, I’m sorry.” God, she was lousy at this father-daughter thing. How could she be otherwise? “I didn’t mean to imply you don’t care what I’m doing.”
    “Cilla.” Gavin closed the door again to block off the noise from inside. “What can I do to help you?”
    She felt guilty, and a little panicked, as her mind went blank. “Help me with what?”
    He let out a sigh, shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m not a do-it-yourselfer, but I can hammer a nail or put in a screw. I can fetch and carry. I can make iced tea or go pick up sandwiches. I can use a broom.”
    “You . . . want to work on the house?”
    “School’s out for the summer, and I didn’t take on any summer classes. I have some time to help, and I’d like to help.”
    “Well . . . why?”
    “I’m aware you have plenty of people, people who know what they’re doing, that you’re paying to do it. But, I’ve never done anything for you. I sent child support. I was legally obligated to. I hope you know, or can believe, I’d have sent it without that obligation. I didn’t teach you to ride a bike, or to drive a car. I never put toys together for you on Christmas Eve or your birthday—or the few times I did you were too young to possibly remember. I never helped you with your homework or lay in bed waiting for you to come home from a date so I could sleep. I never did any of those things for you, or hundreds more. So I’d like to do something for you now. Something tangible. If you’ll let me.”
    Her heart fluttered, the oddest combination of pleasure and distress. It seemed vital she think of something, the right something, and her mind went on a desperate scavenger hunt. “Ah. Ever done any painting?”
    She watched the tension in his face melt into a delighted smile. “As a matter of fact, I’m an excellent painter. Do you want references?”
    She smiled back at him. “I’ll give you a trial run. Follow me.”
    She led him in and through to the living room. She hadn’t scheduled painting this area quite yet, but there was no reason against it. “The plasterwork’s done, and I’ve removed the trim. Had to. Some of it needed to be stripped, and that’s done. I’m still working on making what I need to replicate and replace damaged areas, then I’ll stain and seal. Anyway, you won’t have to tape or cut in around trim. Oh, and don’t worry about the brick on the fireplace, either. I’m going to cover that with granite. Or marble. There’s no work going on in this area right now, so you won’t be in anyone’s way, and they shouldn’t be in yours. We can drop-cloth the floors and the supplies stored here.”
    She set her fists on her hips. “Got your stepladder, your pans, rollers, brushes right over there. Primer’s in those ten-gallon cans, and marked. Finish paint’s labeled with the L.R. for living room. I hit a sale on Duron, so I bought it in advance. You won’t get past starting the primer anyway.”
    She ran through her mental checklist. “So . . . do you want me to help you set up?”
    “I can handle it.”
    “Okay. Listen, it’s a big job, so knock off anytime you get tired of it. I’m going to be working on the back door if you need anything meanwhile. ”
    “Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”
    “Okay. Ah . . . I’ll check in after I’m done with the kitchen door.”
    She pulled away twice during the process of replacing the door—once for the sheer pleasure of walking up and down her newly completed outside stairs. They required staining, sealing, and the doorway cut into what would