Summer Restored

By Brandy Woldstad

Summer plans go awry.

Rita Goodwin inherited her grandmother's house from her estranged uncle.

The house needed a bulldozer. Rita wanted answers.

Left in a small town with no car, Rita uncovers her unspoken past and finds an unexpected friend.

A touching story in a small-town, Summer Restored explores the power of healing, trusting, and loving once again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brandy Woldstad
• Release date: Dec 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393013181

Book preview

Chapter 1

Rita Goodwin squeaked as Gabriel’s Ford Mustang crested the hill on Valley View Lane. She turned her head to look out her window as if doing so would block what she saw out the driver’s side. Gabriel gave her a curious look as he stopped the car where the GPS indicated their destination. He leaned forward, his chest inches from the steering wheel while he looked out Rita’s window. 

He raised his eyebrows and pointed out her window. Is that your summer home? he asked. 

He nodded his head in approval at the white, colonial house complete with bay windows and a large front porch with columns, its red, brick driveway looping in front of the house and stretching to the road. Daffodils and tulips bloomed from the flowerbeds with more early summer flowers getting ready to bloom. 

Without knowing the real estate market for Oak Ridge, you could easily sell this place for $250,000 if not more.

Rita swiped her black, curly hair from her face. She pushed her door open without a reply and got out. Her ankle-length, turquoise patterned skirt billowed in the gentle, May breeze as she walked around the front of the car toward a line of scraggly lilac bushes across the street from the colonial house. Only a handful of lilac bushes had leaves. 

No. It isn’t that one.

She continued across the road like an accused person walking the gangplank as if doing so would change the awful sight before her. Her bejeweled sandals tapped the backs of her heels along the pavement. Goosebumps formed on her arms from the mid-morning chill. Her white, short-sleeved blouse with lace trim provided little warmth, and she wished she had grabbed her navy blue blazer from the car. She wrapped her arms around her chest for warmth, the gesture feeling like a hug. The mid-afternoon sun peeked through the drifting, gray clouds offering brief warmth before disappearing again. 

She stopped next to a rusted mailbox which leaned at almost a forty-five-degree angle. The door of the mailbox hung from a tiny corner, and the flag had disappeared. Small twigs filled the inside, most likely from a wren hoping to attract a mate. Her scrap of paper with Uncle Jerry’s address rustled as she unfolded it to compare the house numbers even though her childhood memories told her she stood in front of the correct place. Only the number three sticker remained on the box. The house number, partially hidden by spindly branches of honeysuckle matched the address Rita had written down. A knot formed in her stomach with the visual confirmation.

A steel cable, with two red strips of cloth tied to it, stretched from one side of the hidden driveway to the other. Dried stems of goldenrod mixed with long grass filled in the space below the cable. Rita covered her mouth with her left hand to muffle any sounds of shock as she took in the truth with her eyes. Beyond the unkempt barricade rested her dilapidated inheritance. 

She dropped her arm to her side while counseling herself to breathe deeply. What she saw before her was fixable; everything was, once she figured out a solution. Disappointment continued to swirl around her as the realization that her plans to rest and rejuvenate in Oak Ridge, Wisconsin for the summer couldn’t happen in Uncle Jerry’s house. She tried to convince herself it wasn’t a big deal, but the lump of powdered mini-donuts threatening to come back up told her otherwise.

The techniques she counseled teenagers to use to help them articulate their feelings during tough times felt dreadfully inadequate. No words, despite her many years of schooling, could fully articulate the turmoil of emotions inside her. She felt more than surprise, anger, disappointment, and hurt as she took in the awful sight before her. Shock, betrayal, devastation, all of these words described something inside her but still not accurate. 

The driver side door clicked open and closed with a thud. Gabriel’s oxfords tapped lightly on the pavement as he came closer. Rita didn’t turn to him. Her eyes remained locked on the odd assortment of items: two roller coaster cars, aquariums the size of a couch, barrels of small wheels, a small pile of car tires, old batteries, broken down cars, a canoe with a large hole, and pieces of what looked like a mini-railroad track piled haphazardly around the yard. Many more odd shapes of items Rita didn’t know what they belonged to covered nearly every foot of the front yard. All of the items in the yard had been around long enough that tufts of last summer’s grass tangled around the base of the larger items. 

The smell of Gabriel’s sweet aftershave grabbed her attention as he stopped next to her. She heard the soft swish of fabric as Gabriel slid his hands into the pockets of his khakis. He stood close enough to her that she felt the softness of his cuffed, brick red, cotton shirt brush along her arm.

He ruined it. Rita’s voice came out as a pained whisper. Her gaze shifted to the brick Tudor house further in the yard.

Gabriel grunted. This is your place? He shook his head in astonishment. The one you inherited?

The desire not to claim it felt strong and yet … childhood memories of visiting Grandma Cookie and Uncle Jerry trickled into her mind. Rita hadn’t been to this house since Grandma Cookie died and Uncle Jerry had inherited it. Among Uncle Jerry’s junk, she spotted the tire swing hanging from a maple tree in the center of the yard, remnants of the ropes that once held her canvas hammock were tied around two elm trees close to the driveway, and Grandma’s empty flower boxes rested on the porch railing.

She let out a deflated sigh. Yes. This is Uncle Jerry’s house. Grandma Cookie passed it to him when she died. 

It pained Rita to say it. Doing so felt as if she were confessing to a crime she didn’t commit. Thanks to Uncle Jerry, she became the third generation of the Goodwin family to own the place. An honor she eagerly accepted when she received notice about Uncle Jerry’s desire for her to have it. Now she didn’t want it, not like this.

Gabriel let out a whistle. Some inheritance. In all our conversations, this is not what I imagined.

For the last six weeks, Gabriel and Liz listened to Rita’s bubbling excitement about inheriting Uncle Jerry’s place. She told them how the place had been her second home as a child for large chunks of the summer while her mom traveled for work. Grandma Cookie and Uncle Jerry took her to Nana’s Ice Cream Shop, Monroe Park, and Smidge’s Cafe. The more she talked about it, the more magical Oak Ridge and Uncle Jerry’s house had become. For the first time in many years, Rita eagerly counted down the days to the end of the school year for something other than getting a break from the high energy, sometimes overly dramatic, teenagers.

She let her arms fall to her side as she exhaled. All I can say is that I’m glad you drove me here and not Liz. Liz would probably shove me into the car and drive me back home without giving me a chance to look around.

Gabriel chuckled as he smoothed the front of his shirt. He shook his head. You got that right. Liz wouldn’t be impressed. But as your dear friend, I will confess I’m tempted to do the same. He nudged Rita with his elbow. However, as Liz’s husband, she’d be angry with me if you told her I forced you to leave. In this case, she’d be on your side no matter what you decide.

Rita gave a little smile as she turned to Gabriel. You could be right about that too.

To be perfectly truthful, I’m not sure what proper protocol is right now. Liz may be angry with me if I leave you here. Many of those piles are taller than you. What if you get buried under them?

Rita straightened to her full five-foot height as if doing so would put Gabriel at ease. That, my friend, is a terrible quandary to be in, but I promise you, I won’t get buried. 

Gabriel frowned as he looked at the condition of the yard. This is just my professional opinion, but you may be better off bulldozing the place and building a summer home from scratch. He stepped forward so that the steel cable touched just above his knees. From here, the house looks worse than the yard.

It may not be that bad.

Gabriel rolled his eyes at her and snorted. Sure. If you say so. Why take input from a real estate guy? he teased.

She opened her mouth to argue and then closed it. Gabriel spoke the truth. Other than identifying what she liked and didn’t like about a house, she knew very little about the actual structure of them. 

All right, Mr. Real Estate Professional, from here, what do you see?

Garbage. Gabriel pressed his lips together to suppress his smile. He moved his head back and forth to scan the property. Junk.

Rita let out a groan that sounded similar to the ones she heard expressed at school. Wow. What insightful information coming from a professional.

He held up his hands. Sorry, I couldn’t resist. He pointed to the roof with its curled shingles, the missing gutters, and the cracked window next to the front door. Even though this is a brick house, the mortar is crumbling. The front porch sags quite a bit. So does the edge of the roof.

I think I can fix it, Rita said.

Gabriel shook his head. You may be able to fix some things on your own, but you’ll need to hire help for other projects. It’s the costs of restoring your inheritance that could add up quickly. Unless your uncle left you a nice sum of cash too?

Rita wrinkled her nose. I’m afraid what you see is what I get. She sighed. Thanks for your opinion.

Gabriel ran a hand through his hair. But you aren’t going to heed it. He made a face as he scanned the yard. Stubborn as always, but based on your attachment to the place, I guess I can relate.

I have some savings, and maybe I can learn a few new things. Rita’s skirt caught on the steel cable as she stepped over it. She gently tugged her skirt while wishing she had opted to wear something more practical like jeans and a t-shirt instead of something flowing and pretty. Let’s take a closer look, she said.

Gabriel spread his arms out wide as he shrugged and followed her.

A narrow path, a generous description in Rita’s opinion, wove past an unreachable garage with barrels and cars blocking it and around the piles to the front porch currently holding what looked to be an entire living room’s worth of furniture. She followed it, grateful for her somewhat thin figure to avoid bumping the items, as Gabriel’s portly one did when they walked by. As she walked, she felt as if she were playing a childhood game of don’t touch an item or you’ll get burned as she twisted her body one way and then another to avoid getting dirty. 

A squirrel clambered on a large maple tree branch that touched the roof. It chattered and swished its tail angrily as if warning Rita and Gabriel that they needed to turn back. A robin flitted from the nest it built in the corner of a bookshelf on the porch. Golden paving stones mostly covered by dandelions appeared a few feet from the porch. The smell of wet, rotting furniture grew stronger as Rita stopped at the warped front steps. Time had worn the white paint away, and in its place was weather-worn gray with soft bits of black. The first step looked sturdy enough to step on, but the second one looked rotted enough. Rita opted to step over it. 

Gabriel stopped on the small portion of walkway a few feet from the porch. He leaned against a rusted, metal barrel filled with metal scraps. He shook his head. I’ve seen some rough houses in my day, but this one might rank in the top two of absolutely terrible.

Thanks for your vote of confidence. You haven’t even seen the inside yet, Rita said with humor. As we walked through the yard, I couldn’t help but notice all the treasures this place holds. She shoved a large, soft chair aside. You should be jealous.

Gabriel’s chuckle blended in with the scraping sound of the chair legs. It sounded as if Rita peeled off a thin layer of wood from the porch boards. The chair moved a foot, giving her just enough space to walk sideways to the couch which held a table and two chairs on it. The small section of porch beneath the chair looked preserved, the paint displaying only a few small chips, and solid enough to hold her weight. She wondered how many years the chair had been there if it protected that section of the porch from the elements.

Behind the chair, a couch sandwiched between a metal desk and a torn rocking chair holding boxes of vinyl records blocked the door. Rita tried to shove the couch one direction and then another. She grimaced at the smell of mildew so strong she could almost taste it each time she pushed the cushions. Raccoons had enjoyed using the couch for bathroom duty. Other rodents, most likely mice and squirrels, had discovered the white cotton made great liners for the homes. She tried not to think about all the grime and germs her hands mingled with. Thankfully, she had hand wipes in her purse back in the car once she finished investigating the premise.

 Any ideas on how to get this thing out of the way? she asked, tapping the side of the couch with her sandals. The floorboards on the porch groaned as she stepped back.

A sly grin spread across Gabriel’s face. She raised an eyebrow as he rubbed his jaw. You aren’t going to like my answer, he said.

Rita tilted her head. It can’t be any worse than stepping in a pile of hidden poo.

It might be. Because the obvious answer is that I could help you move it. But, I really don’t want to get all dirty.

Rita scoffed. You are such a pretty boy. I don’t know what Liz saw in you.

My good looks, Gabriel said. He raised his index finger in the air in response to Rita’s eye roll. Which I’ll have you know comes from not getting myself covered in whatever is on that couch. 

Rita tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. So you’re saying you aren’t going to help me?

This is where my second idea comes in. You can step over it.

Rita’s face wrinkled in disgust. She looked at the shredded couch cushions, each one so disgusting she worried she’d catch a disease when her bare toes sticking out from her sandals touched it. 

I was afraid you’d say that. She glanced at Gabriel. While I can respect your choice not to get your khakis dirty, I wish you had thought of something different. She pulled the house key from the front pocket of her skirt. Maybe you’d like to do the honors? She smiled sweetly and fluttered her lashes.

Sorry. I’ve known you too long to fall for your feminine wiles. This could be where Mr. Right would be willing to help you.

I’m not going to date a guy just so he’ll do the dirty jobs for me.

I’m just saying, if you were Liz, I’d climb on the couch because of love. 

Rita pretended to be crestfallen at Gabriel’s double standard. Then love makes you do crazy things.

It sure does. You should try it sometime. He leaned against the ledge of the porch. Rita questioned the sturdiness of it despite it being made of concrete. 

She pretended not to hear Gabriel’s comment as she turned to face the door. She was done with love. If one could declare such a thing. Both times she thought she had been in love, her heart was broken in publicly humiliating ways. 

Rita placed her foot carefully in the center of the middle couch cushion. The indentation from the weight made the raccoon scat roll down to her foot. Her forehead wrinkled as she tried her best to ignore the gross items that touched the sides of her foot. The key slid into the lock on the knob with ease. 

I think we’re— The excitement fizzled as she turned the key and it didn’t move. She tried the other way with no luck. A loud sigh of disappointment escaped her lips. So much for that idea. Too bad the drapes are pulled shut on the windows. It’d be nice to know what the inside looked like.

I bet you a hundred dollars that if the drapes were open, you wouldn’t be able to see inside, Gabriel said. 

I don’t think I’m going to take that bet. I need every dollar I have. 

Carefully, she got down from the couch, not daring to look at her shoes. Instead, she stepped off the porch as if it were the cleanest thing she walked on. 

There’s a door around back, she said. 

She pointed toward a creepy monkey statue wearing a tutu sitting at the corner of the house. Its body leaned forward with one arm extended outward as if to wrap its arm around the person who stood under it. The big eyes that seemed to watch her and Gabriel approach made Rita uneasy

Gabriel shook his head in wonder. I would love to know the story about that beauty.

You and me both, Rita said. 

They slipped around back in a similar manner as they had used to approach the front porch; weaving and avoiding getting clothing caught on the metal items sticking out in their path. The back of the house had a crumbled cement sidewalk wide enough to walk normally. A cement slab porch covered with bright green indoor/outdoor carpet that would have led to the back door if it hadn’t been for piles of filled trash bags narrowing the path. Cabinets lined the back wall and blocked the window which overlooked the porch. Rita ignored her panicked thoughts as the cool bags brushed her ankles. Unpleasant smells escaped the holes in the bags from rodents chewing through. The bags needed to disappear before the temperatures got any warmer. 

This must be the door your uncle used on a regular basis, Gabriel said. I can almost walk without needing to turn sideways.

Rita grimaced. Let’s hope so. I only have this key. If it doesn’t work, I’m not sure it’s worth our time to search for a hidden one.

The metal screen door groaned and squealed as Rita pulled it open. Gabriel held it so that it wouldn’t hit her as she put the key into the water-stained oak door. The lock clicked.

We’re in, Rita said. 

She turned the knob, remembering Grandma Cookie standing in the kitchen and pulling out a tray of cookies just as she walked through the door. What she wouldn’t give for that sweet scent of cookies to meet her nose. A small part of her knew Uncle Jerry would have made changes, but for a brief moment, she felt like the ten-year-old girl coming to visit grandma for the weekend. 

Rita pushed on the door. It didn’t budge. She tried again, this time putting enough weight into opening it that her shoulder stung. The door popped open. Instead of the smell of warm cookies, a powerful stench of rotted food met their noses. Gabriel made a retching noise, which prompted Rita to close the door quickly. She didn’t want the smell of vomit to mingle with the rancid smells from inside.

That’s awful, Gabriel said once he regained control.

Rita nodded. She walked to the edge of the cement porch and sat down. Her feet touched the rocks in the rock garden that was almost completely uncovered except for a few broken garden gnomes. Gabriel sat next to her.

I’m sorry about the house, he said.

Rita rested her elbows on her knees and her chin into her palms. The backyard looked like an amusement park graveyard. Gone were Grandma Cookie’s carefully tended flower gardens; in its place were old, broken carousel horses with their poles pushed into the ground, an angel statue nearly three feet tall with a missing nose stood where the herb garden once was, and an old skeeball machine tipped on its side under a large oak tree which once held a swing. 

Gabriel shifted his wrist to look at his watch. He frowned. So as much as I’d love to sit and enjoy the view, I need to head home to make it in time to help Liz prepare for Matt’s sports party. He turned to her. I’m assuming you’re riding back with me?

Rita looked up at the sky. Cumulus clouds drifted slowly along the cerulean sky. Memories of laying in the middle of the backyard soaking up the sun flitted through her mind like butterflies. There was something about this place that tugged at her. 

She let out an exhale of regret. I can’t leave.

Gabriel huffed in disbelief. You’re joking, right? You can’t stay. There’s no place to sleep. You don’t have a car.

Rita pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her shins. I’m not joking.

Gabriel stood up, ran his hands through his hair, and then down his face. He studied her for a moment. I’m sorry to tell you, but you’re going to have to tear this place down. Based on the yard, I don’t trust it to be structurally sound.

I know it sounds crazy, but this place needs me. 

As soon as Rita said the words, she knew them to be true. The house needed her in a way that she couldn’t explain. She turned back to look at the cabinets on the porch. Sure the house and yard were messy, but she could fix it up in a few weeks and have most of her summer to enjoy her efforts.

You’re not making any sense. Did the smells get to you? The Rita I know would run away from this place.

Rita stood up and smoothed the front of her skirt. In doing so, she noticed dirt marks on her white shirt. She met Gabriel’s eyes. Maybe that is why I can’t go. I don’t want to be like the old Rita.

Gabriel looked at the house, the yard, and then back to her. He sighed. Liz is going to kill me if I let you stay, but I can tell from your posture that the only way I can bring you home is to carry you. He patted his large belly. I’m afraid I’m not in the shape I once was to manage such a feat.

I promise, I’ll be fine, Rita said. If you wouldn’t mind driving me downtown to a store to get a few cleaning supplies, I’m sure I can have a spot to sleep before sunset.

Gabriel scrunched up his eyebrows with doubt. Did you forget what the kitchen smelled like when you opened the door? It could take days to clean it.

Rita gently pushed him toward the crumbled sidewalk. Let’s get the cleaning supplies for now. I have my phone. I can figure out the rest.

Promise me this. If you get inside and discover the place is extremely terrible or you can’t get the smell out, call me. I’ll come and get you no matter how late. Gabriel gave her a pleading look. 

But it’s nearly a two-hour drive from here to your place.

I don’t care. You don’t know what it’s like to live with Liz when she’s mad.

Rita smiled. Yes, I do. We were roommates for two years. Rita played with the gold bangles on her wrist. She does have a way of making you regret whatever you did to make her mad.

Gabriel nodded. So, this is for my peace of mind. You call if you need Liz or me, and I won’t force you to go back.

Fair enough, Rita said. 

They wove their way back to the road on the narrow path through the yard. Gabriel kept his opinions to himself. It was an unusual deviation from his normal behavior since she had first met him in college, but one she was grateful for. There were enough doubtful thoughts flowing through her mind. She didn’t need help adding to the list. 

She slid into the passenger side of the Ford Mustang.

Ready? Gabriel asked.

Her seatbelt clicked as she fastened it. As ready as I can be. And I know the house doesn’t look like much, but you’ll love the downtown.

Gabrel snorted. Sure. You forget we drove through it to get here. It’s not shiny and pretty.

It will be lovely, darling, she said in the best heiress impersonation she could muster, which