As soon as her rented van was emptied, Leetha called a halt in the shooting. “We’ve got way more footage than we need,” she said. “Trae, reveal first thing in the morning, right?”
Trae yawned widely. “No way. We’ve got window treatments to hang, the bookshelves have to be styled, and then the kitchen and bathrooms and porches still need doing, and the beds have to be dressed. If you’re quitting, I’m quitting too. It’s way past cocktail time.”
“I’ve still got some gas left in my engine,” Hattie volunteered. “If you’ll lay out where you want everything, I can knock that out before I leave.”
“Don’t stay too late,” Leetha warned. “You’ve got an eight A.M. call tomorrow.” She snapped her fingers. “Damn. Almost forgot. I was supposed to text Mo photos of today’s progress. Can you do that before you leave?”
“Probably wants to impress Rebecca while he’s wining and dining her tonight.”
Leetha grimaced. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”
* * *
With the house to herself, Hattie turned on her Pandora playlist, a mixture of classic ’90s rock and current country music. She sped around the house with Ribsy following close at her heels, styling bookshelves, hanging art, making beds, and unpacking dishes and kitchen accessories. She documented her progress by taking cell phone photos of each room. It was after ten o’clock by the time she dropped down onto one of the rattan barstools, and looked around.
Carolyn Meyers had said the kitchen alone could sell the house, and while Hattie actually thought the porches, especially the upstairs one with the view out to the river, were her favorite features here, she had to admit the kitchen was stellar.
She was already having seller’s remorse, for sacrificing this great old cabinet for the island. And she’d probably never again find a matched set of oversized brass ship’s lanterns like the ones hanging here.
It was always like this for Hattie when she finished rehabbing an old house; a mixture of pride, exhaustion, and regret. She shrugged it off and reminded herself that there would be more old houses and more salvaged house parts.
Hattie picked up her phone and began texting the photos of the house to Mo.
Ribsy went to the back door and began scratching.
“Oh yeah,” she said. “I guess maybe you do need to pee. Let’s do that, then we’ll call it a night. Big day tomorrow, right, pal?”
She found his retractable leash and clipped it to his collar. Her phone rang as she was opening the back door. It was Mo.
“Hey. You’re not still at the house, are you?”
Ribsy was straining at the leash, desperate to get outside.
“Yeah. Hang on. I’m just taking Ribsy outside to pee.” She closed the back door and walked off the porch, letting out enough leash to allow the dog to make it to the nearest oak.
The sun had been down for hours now, and a breeze ruffled the oak leaves and rustled the sawgrass palmetto fronds. As she inhaled, the scent of salt water and marsh mud filled her lungs. The moon was nearly full, and Hattie stood for a moment, drinking in the vision of the silvery white orb reflected on the dark waters of the Back River. She’d been so busy these past few weeks she hadn’t taken the time to stop and appreciate the luminous beauty of this stretch of the island. But the view didn’t impress Ribsy, who was intently sniffing at something in the clump of azaleas at the foot of that oak tree.
“The photos look fantastic,” Mo said.
“I hope Rebecca approved.”
“She hasn’t seen them. I dropped her off at her hotel and then went straight back to my place because I had a call with a guy out on the coast.” He hesitated. “I’m working on putting together a proposal for another project.”
“Good for you.” Hattie wasn’t interested in hearing about Mo Lopez’s next project. He’d be on the next flight to California as soon as they wrapped up The Homewreckers.
“Is Trae still there with you?”
“You’re kidding, right? He left along with everyone else. Said it was past cocktail hour.”
“Asshole,” Mo muttered. “So you’re there by yourself? Jesus! It’s nearly eleven. You’ve got an early call tomorrow, you know. There’s something I need to talk to you about.…”
Suddenly, Ribsy lifted his head, sniffed, and bolted toward the boat shed.
“Whoa,” Hattie shouted, nearly dropping the phone. “I’ll call you back. Ribsy’s on the run.”