Tribute

say. No harm in trying.
    “Gonna make it,” she stated aloud and stepped back from the framing with a nod of approval. “Gonna kick exam ass . Cilla McGowan, Licensed Contractor.”
    Gathering her tools, she started out to check on the progress of her exterior office stairs with a quick peek at the tile work on the way. She joined the carpenter crew as the painters, working on her new scaffolding, added the first strokes of red to the barn.
    The air smelled of the mulch freshly laid around new plantings, and salvaged ones. Roses, hydrangeas, spirea and old-fashioned weigela, and beds of hopeful new perennials, eager annuals already blooming insanely.
    More to come, she thought, more to do. But here was progress. Tear-out time was done. Renewal time was here.
    She thought of Charlie’s photo album. And breaking off from the work, ran in to get her camera to document.
    Shirtless men slick with sweat and sunscreen high on scaffolding. Shanna in shorts and a bright pink T-shirt and ball cap working with Brian on a low, dry stone garden wall. The bones of her stairs, the half-finished back veranda. And around front, the completed one.
    For a moment, in her mind’s eye, she saw Janet, leaning on the jamb of the open front door, smiling out.
    “It’s coming back,” Cilla said softly.
    Turning, she saw Ford and Spock walking down the drive.
    The dog trotted up to her, leaned on her legs, then sat back to look up at her, all love and cheer. She rubbed, petted, kissed his nose.
    “Brought you a present.” Ford handed her one of the two Cokes he carried. “I swung in to see Steve. He tells me they’re going to spring him in a couple days.”
    “He’s coming back strong.” Like the farm, she thought. “I’m pushing to get the AC up, and I’ve got a bed coming.”
    “You want him to recoup from having his skull fractured in a construction zone. Do you hear that?” Ford asked, tapping his ear.
    Cilla shrugged off the buzzing, the banging, the whirl of drills. “To people like me and Steve, that’s chamber music.”
    “I’ll have to take your word for it. But he could bunk at my place. I’ve got the bed, the AC. And digital cable.”
    She took a long drink, watching him. “You really mean that.”
    “Damn right. I pity anyone without digital cable.”
    “I bet. But you’re not going to take on my ex-husband. He’ll need to be . . . Who’s this?” she wondered as a black Lexus turned cautiously into her drive.
    “City car,” Ford commented. “Big city.”
    “I don’t know who . . . Crap.”
    Ford lifted his brows as men exited from both sides of the car. “Friends of yours?”
    “No. But the driver’s my mother’s Number Five.”
    “Cilla!” Mario, handsome as sin, Italian style, in Prada loafers and Armani jeans, threw out his arms and a wide, wide smile. His graceful forward motion was spoiled when he stopped, then sidestepped around the sniffing Spock.
    The sunglasses hid his eyes, but she suspected they were dark and sparkling. Tanned, panther lean, dark hair flowing, he crossed to her, caught her in an enthusiastic embrace and kissed her cheeks. “Look at you! So fit, so competent.”
    “I am. What are you doing here, Mario?”
    “A little surprise. Cilla, this is Ken Corbert, one of our producers. Ken, Cilla McGowan, my stepdaughter.”
    "It’s a real pleasure.” Ken, small and wiry, silver-winged black hair, pumped Cilla’s hand. “Big fan. So ...” He scanned the farm. “This is the place.”
    “It’s my place,” she said coolly. “Ford, Mario and Ken. I’m sorry, I can’t ask you in. We’re a work in progress.”
    “So I see.” Mario’s smile never dimmed. “And hear.”
    “Spock, say hello,” Ford ordered—after his dog had finished with the tires. “He wants to shake,” Ford explained, “to make sure you’re friendly.”
    “Ah.” Mario studied the dog dubiously as he put the tips of his thumb and forefinger on the offered paw.
    Spock didn’t appear to be impressed.
    Ken gave Spock’s paw the same salesman pump he’d given Cilla’s.
    “Lovely country,” Mario continued. “Just lovely. We drove down from New York. We had some meetings. Such scenery! Your mother sends her love,” he added. “She would have come, but you know how difficult it is for her. The memories here.”
    “She’s in New York?”
    “A quick trip. We barely have time to catch our breath. Fittings, rehearsals, meetings, media. But Ken and I must steal you away, a late