Nora and Liz Read Online Free PDF

for a name: The Tree House. But Liz and Jeff had held out for Mom’s suggestion of Piney Haven, and Dad had agreed, saying that way, if he carved the sign and Liz and Jeff did the painting, they’d each have had a share in it.
    “There are three more rooms off this one,” Liz said, turning abruptly away from the windows and opening the doors that led off the big central room where she’d spent the rainy summer days of her childhood, building castles and railroad stations with the blocks that were still in their box in the corner by the fireplace, drawing or coloring, working endless picture puzzles, playing Monopoly with Jeff, and reading all of Nancy Drew and every baseball book she could find in the small library in the village. “They’re small, but there are a couple of rooms upstairs as well. I guess the house would be good for a fairly big family or for people who have a lot of guests. Or maybe for someone who wants a small playroom and a downstairs study or computer room or something.”
    Nodding palely, Georgia peered into each of the three rooms, Liz’s room, Jeff’s, and the guest room, while Liz made mental notes of the acorn shells on the window sills and bureaus, the mouse droppings on the yellowed newspapers that covered the bare mattresses, the grime and cobwebs clinging to the brightly painted chairs. Mom had decorated most of the cabin’s simple wooden furniture, painting one downstairs room’s yellow, another’s blue, and the third one’s green.
    “Charming furniture,” said Georgia, and Liz, sad again and aching for her parents, replied simply, “Thank you. Come on upstairs. Watch your head as we go up. The ceiling’s low on the landing.”
    The two rooms above were larger. A ceramic vase that Jeff had made in middle school, still sporting a dusty bouquet of faded dried flowers, graced the large lavender bureau in their parents’ room. And in the other room, Dad’s huge desk, stripped at the end of the last summer they were there of the papers and books with which it had usually been strewn, sat regally in its place under the window—which, Liz saw, had somehow cracked open. A large water stain discolored the wall nearby. Liz tugged the window closed, trying not to picture her father slumped at his desk back in New York, ten blocks from her own apartment, where she’d found him after his heart attack.
    “It’s a shame about that stain,” Georgia said softly.
    “Yes. The window needs fixing.”
    “I know a good carpenter.” Georgia rummaged in her large handbag. She held out a card. “ Here. ”
    “Thank you,” Liz said, pocketing it. “I guess I may need one.” But she’d already decided to tackle the window herself.
    “And of course,” Georgia went on as Liz led her to the bathroom, “you can add the cost of any repairs to your asking price. Nice big bathroom,” she said approvingly, looking in. “I do so like a sunny one. That makes all the difference, sometimes. Clients are fussy about kitchens and baths especially, you know. And what a quaint tub!”
    “Yes, isn’t it?” Liz remembered their deciding, the summer before Mom’s cancer diagnosis, to redo the bath. Mom insisted on buying an old-fashioned tub. “With claw feet,” she’d said, “like a big friendly hippo one can bathe in.”
    “Hippos don’t have claw feet,” Jeff had said, and Mom had winked at Liz, saying, “My hippos do.” The hand-painted sign, “MOM’S HIPPO,” still hung over the tub. Georgia looked at it curiously, but didn’t mention it.
    “Well, that’s about it,” Liz said briskly. “I’d offer you coffee or something but I doubt there’s any here. And if there is, it’ll be five years old. Besides, even though I’ve had the pump re-installed, the water’s not on yet.”
    “That’s all right.” Georgia started down the stairs. “You’ll be turning the water on soon, though, won’t you, if you’re staying here? And cleaning? Or having someone clean? I can recommend