Chapter 7 - Cleaning House
The rehabilitation of my life moved forward like a train that had finally broken through a mountain tunnel.
With Gavin in federal custody awaiting trial and Brenda held at a county facility after her bail request was denied, I turned my attention to restoring the Craftsman house. I hired local contractors to repair the hidden compartment in the hallway, refinish the scratched hardwood floors, and repaint the entire interior in bright, warm shades of cream and sky blue.
One afternoon, while helping the crew clear out the attic, I found an old wooden box hidden under a stack of Gavin’s discarded golf travel bags.
Inside were my aunt Evelyn’s old photo albums, framed sketches of architectural designs she had drawn in the 1980s, and a small silver key attached to a handwritten tag: 1422 Elmwood - The Real Garden.
I took the key down to the backyard.
For six years, Gavin had neglected the rear yard, letting the grass die out and using the old greenhouse near the back fence as a storage shed for broken lawnmowers and rusted tools. Brenda had once called it an eyesore and demanded Gavin tear it down to build a concrete patio for her sunbathing.
I unlocked the rusted padlock on the greenhouse door and stepped inside.
The glass panels were covered in dirt and moss, but the structure itself was solid redwood. Beneath the clutter of Gavin’s old junk lay rows of raised wooden planting beds filled with rich, dark soil, along with dried bundles of lavender and rosemary that my aunt had hung from the rafters decades ago.
I stood in the center of the greenhouse, smelling the damp, earthy air, and felt a sudden spark of inspiration that had been dormant for years. Before I met Gavin, I had studied landscape architecture at the university, dreaming of starting my own boutique nursery and garden design firm. Gavin had laughed at the idea, calling it a "hobby for housewives," and forced me to abandon my applications to fund his consulting firm instead.
I pulled out my phone and dialed Arthur Pendelton’s office.
“Arthur,” I said when he answered. “I need to set up a new commercial entity under the Sterling Trust.”
“Certainly, Clara,” Arthur replied warmly. “What’s the name of the business?”
May you like
I looked up through the glass roof at the clear blue sky above.
“Evelyn’s Rose Landscape & Design,” I said, a genuine smile spreading across my face. “And I want to purchase the commercial lot at the corner of 5th and Main.”
