Lost And Found Family

She waited until her voice sounded steady. “Your girls are typical of that age. Let me show you what I’m thinking.” She leaned down to pull the sketches she’d made from her bag. “Their room is a good size. I love this arched window with the built-in seat, but in addition to more storage the twins will need a clear area for play.”

She let Melanie study the drawings.

When she’d finished Emma said, “You have a beautiful home. Together we can polish the girls’ room to perfection.” She added, “The first step will be sorting. One pile to keep, another to give away or donate to charity, a third to throw out.”

Melanie groaned. “I don’t think we can include the girls for that task. They’ll want to keep everything. I’ll warn you. There will be drama.”

Emma tried to smile. “Don’t I know. Grace was fourteen when I married Christian. And there’s still drama.”

Melanie grinned. “Oh, yes. Grace has always been a queen.”

Emma smiled at last. “It’s not easy to persuade people of any age to let go of...a lifetime’s accumulation of clutter.” She gave up trying to eat. “That’s all it is, really,” she said. “Emotional junk.”

“So we’re all like those people on Hoarders?” Melanie asked.

Emma nodded. “I tell my clients to photograph an object, instead, so they can keep the memories they associate with it. But why hang on to the actual Easter hat you wore ten years ago—or whenever people wore Easter hats? Or that shapeless sweater you bought for your first date with the man you married?” With Christian.

Melanie rolled her eyes. “Outdated pants, moldy teddy bears...”

Or sheer hypocrisy on Emma’s part? How could she even think about sorting someone else’s clothes when Owen’s toys and books were still in his room? She hadn’t gone inside since the day everything had changed and she’d wrapped her own guilt around her like a quilt.

Emma cleared her throat. “If people would get rid of one item before making room for something else—the ‘new one in, old one out’ rule—in no time clutter wouldn’t be a factor.”

“‘No More Clutter,’” Melanie said with a quick smile.

“That’s my goal.” She hesitated. “Still, it’s amazing how hard it can be to give up the past.”

Melanie studied the drawings again. When she glanced up, her smile was even wider.

“This is really cute, Emma. It has the style I want.” She turned the sketches so Emma could see. “I’m a little concerned, though, about where to put their clothes. The closet in that room is tiny.”

“So are their clothes,” Emma reminded her with an answering smile she couldn’t quite feel. Fake it till you make it. But she kept seeing the unfinished playroom in her own house, the bedroom where Owen’s clothes lay untouched in the drawers, his hamper still filled with dirty shirts and pants to be washed.

“What about an armoire here?” she asked. “You could get one with shelves above and below. There’d be space to hang dresses and so on in the middle. Dress-up hats, small purses, glittery shoes can go on the upper shelves. Which—I should point out—lets you keep some of that under control. No costume parties unless you give permission.”

Melanie picked at her crab salad. “But then the closet...?”

“You can use that to store winter coats and bulkier items, extra bed linens and blankets. Unused toys. Some parents like to rotate items so some of them always seem ‘fresh’ and appealing all over again.” She pointed on the drawing to the wall space on either side of the window seat. “Right here we could put bookshelves. The girls can show off their favorite toys or, later on, books, prom pictures...”

“What about beds?” Now Melanie was frowning. “I was thinking bunk beds to save room. So they’d have that extra floor space they need to play.”

“There’s enough right here and your girls are still little. Maybe twin beds with drawers beneath would be better for now? No climbing. When they’re bigger, we can rethink.” Assuming Melanie still wanted to work with her then. “With the right furniture this room can carry your girls straight through until college—unless they want separate rooms by then.”

“I doubt that will ever happen. They’re inseparable, which isn’t uncommon with twins. After all, they’ve been sharing from the very start.”

“Then the room will grow and change with them. I think you’ll like what our suppliers have to offer.”

They discussed the needed play space, a budget, and scheduled their next meeting, when Emma would present her formal bid. Then she held out her hand. She hoped Melanie didn’t notice she was shaking. Can I do this? I have to. “So. We’re in business?”

Melanie beamed. “Of course. I’m delighted.”

Emma let out a breath. Difficult. But done.

Or rather, just beginning.

* * *

STARTING A NEW PROJECT always recharged Emma’s batteries and this one was no different, even though it was fraught with feelings she didn’t want to face. By the time she parked in the lot at No More Clutter on Market Street, after first checking the progress at another job site, she was still riding high. Though she’d been nervous, her meeting with Melanie had gone well. She couldn’t wait to tell Grace.

“Guess what?” she said, opening the door to the shop. “Great news. Your mother has hired us to do part of her house!”

But as she entered the store, she remembered that it might not be hers for much longer. Grace didn’t answer and Emma saw her loading up her backpack. It was only three o’clock. This wasn’t the first time her new assistant had cut her hours short.

Watching her, Emma bit back a sigh. Until now, this had been one of her better days. Certainly she wasn’t in the mood to quarrel.

She nodded at Grace’s bulging bag. “Business slow this afternoon?”

Her eyes, the same gray-green as Christian’s, didn’t meet Emma’s. “The only person who came in was Mrs. Turner. She doesn’t care for the drawer pulls she picked out after all. I showed her some other samples and a few catalogs.” She stuffed a cardigan sweater into her bag.

“Grace, we have several hours before closing. Two people have promised to stop by late this afternoon. What did you plan to do, put the closed sign on the door and walk away?”

Grace looked down at the pad of paper on her desk. Emma saw a few scribbles there. “I was going to leave a note.”

Not good enough. “What if I’d gotten tied up? And one of those people turned up at four thirty wanting to ask about a whole house makeover?”

“They could call tomorrow.”

This time, Emma did sigh. Their relationship was generally good, but there was always some underlying tension between them. After all, Emma had partly taken the place of Grace’s mother.

“This is the third time, Grace. You can’t just pick up and go. I understood the first time because you had a dental appointment. And the second you had to change and meet Rafe before dinner with friends, but this can’t continue.”

“Hey, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth—so to speak,” Grace said.

“If you’re going to tell me again that you’re practically free labor, please don’t.” Emma counted to ten. “I’m paying you a decent wage, the most I can afford right now. You know business has been off—”

Grace’s mouth tightened. “Which is exactly why I was leaving.”

“—but unless we maintain certain standards here, it will fall off even more.” Emma wanted to groan. The rosy glow from her lunch with Melanie had vanished. “Let’s face it, no one really needs us. We’re a luxury product. That’s why we have to up our game, offer things no one can resist.”

She knew she sounded stiff, and didn’t mean to, but Grace didn’t seem to have a strong work ethic. Maybe Emma couldn’t blame her for that. Had she and Christian spoiled her? Right along with Melanie?

And now there was Rafe, who also tended to indulge her. At thirty, he was ten years older than Grace and although he might’ve been ready for marriage, Grace hadn’t been—that’s what Christian said, anyway. They’d eloped in July, little more than six months after the accident, breaking Christian’s heart all over again.

Grace continued to pack her bag, her long, light brown hair—like Melanie’s—swinging. She crumpled the half-written note, then threw it at the wastebasket beside her desk. She missed and the wad of paper fell to the floor. Emma wasn’t surprised when she didn’t bend to pick it up. Grace would fit right in with Melanie’s twins.

“If you need to get home early, Grace, maybe we should officially cut your hours—and your pay. I love you,” Emma said, “but when we’re in this store I’m not your stepmother. I’m a business owner and I can’t afford to be lenient. If you don’t want to work, that’s fine. But I won’t make an exception, even in your case, for whatever whim has you cutting out now.”

“It’s not a whim.”