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nothing to do with my age.”
    Buddy wiped his mouth with his napkin.
“Tell her how you let ol’ Deacon Stone have it.”
    “ Alex? What did you
do?”
    Her sister toyed with a green bean.
“Oh, nothing really. I just refused to bow at the altar of the
almighty ruler baron of Jacobs Mill.”
    “ Meaning?”
    “ Meaning,” Buddy answered,
“that among other things, your sister threatened to rat him out for
swindling all these old folks around here out of their
property.”
    “ Dad, you know that’s not
what hap‌—‍”
    “ How on earth did you get
involved in that ?” Tracey stared at her.
    Alex placed her silverware on her
dinner plate. “That’s a long story for another day.”
    “ Go on, Alex. Tell her,”
Buddy pressed.
    She stood, gathering their dishes.
“No, Dad, I really don’t want to talk about all that
tonight.”
    “ But what will you do?”
Tracey asked. “Are you looking for another teaching
position?”
    Her sister scoffed. “No point in that,
not as long as Deacon’s still on the School Board.”
    “ I’m so sorry. I had no
idea.”
    “ Don’t be sorry. Besides,
I think I’ve decided to make a new start. Do something different
for a while. Someday I may go back to teaching, but in the
meantime, take a look under the tablecloth.”
    Buddy looked at her then at Tracey
then back at Alex. “What are you talking about?”
    “ Here, let me show you.”
She set the dishes back down and reached down to pull the cloth
back.
    “ Is this a new table?”
Tracey asked.
    “ No. Look
closer.”
    Buddy moved his tea glass out of the
way and pulled the cloth back on his side. “Well, I’ll be. That’s
our old table, isn’t it? What’d you do to it?”
    Alex cocked her head to one side.
“Gee, Dad, thanks for the vote of confidence.”
    Tracey studied the finish
on the surface of the large oblong table, then leaned over to look
beneath at its elaborate legs. The old cherry finish had been
painted over with a creamy ivory paint of some kind then distressed
in all the right places to show some of the dark cherry. “This
is beautiful ,
Sis. Isn’t this what they call shabby chic? Who did it for
you?”
    “ Nobody. I did it
myself.”
    Tracey sat back up. “You
did it yourself ?
When did you‌—‌did you take a class or something?”
    “ No, I learned how to do
it from one of those HGTV shows. I’d been wanting to do something
with this old table for a long time. It was all scuffed up and
scratched and desperately needed refinishing. But I wanted
something different, so I got some paint and voila! New
table.”
    “ She’s right, Alex,” Buddy
said. “This looks great. How come I never noticed it
before?”
    Alex picked up the dishes again. “Oh,
I don’t know, Dad. Could it be you’re a bit décor-challenged? Which
would explain why you’ve probably never noticed the hutch over
there and the armoire back in the den.”
    Tracey and her father got up to check
out the other pieces of furniture. “This is amazing, Alex!” Tracey
said, admiring the hutch. Its broad counter, doors, and open
cabinets all finished to match the dining table. “Seriously, when
did you do all this?”
    “ Couple of weeks ago, I
think,” Alex answered, following them into the den. “It was when
you were on that trip to New Orleans, Dad.”
    “ No kidding? These are
fantastic, Alex.”
    “ Oh, and check out the
armoire,” Tracey added. “It’s gorgeous! How’d you get this look?
Paint it black then sand it?”
    “ Actually it’s a color
called Typewriter. That’s pine under there, so I use a milk paint that gives it
a natural chippy look. I love this paint because basically, it
distresses itself. It’s really fun because every piece responds
differently.”
    Tracey looked more closely, running
her finger along the inset panels of the armoire’s door. “So, is
this what you meant when you said you wanted to do something
different?”
    “ Actually, it’s exactly what I meant.
I’m