Page 104 of The Treasure House

“Hi.” Flo didn’t get the reference.

“She used to own our house,” I said carefully, bracing myself. I never knew what Flo might say next.

“Our house?” She looked up at Marly. “All that junk was yours?”

“No, the house was mine,” Marly said, sounding amused, “the junk was all Jake’s mom’s.”

“Wait. What?” Flo turned to me and Jake, outraged. “Your mom? Why don’t I know about this?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want you to.”

Flo took her 7Up can back. “I think I’m going to need this.”

“It’s delightful meeting you both. I’d love to talk more but the kids are coming back to my house for coffee and cake,” Marly said, suppressing a smile. “I’d best be going so I can get the coffee on.”

“Maybe you can come and see the house when it’s done?” I blurted.

Her expression clouded and became unreadable. “Maybe.” And then she was gone, off into the tangle of family.

“Did I say something wrong?” I felt a beat of panic.

“Nah. She’s just got a complicated relationship with the house,” Jake said ruefully.

“Don’t we all.” Flo stepped out of reach as I tried to take the soda can off her. “Let it go, Mom. I’ve earned it.”

Twenty-Three

“I thought we were going to buy a new oven,” Flo said as she watched me approach the old kitchen range like I was approaching a sleeping grizzly bear.

I had planned to buy a new oven, until I saw the prices. Fixing up the basics of our house had been pricey, and I was short of cash—especially with Christmas coming. It had been Doris who suggested I get over my fear of the existing kitchen range and save the money.

“What do you need a new one for, you’ve got a great one already. You got any idea what people pay for wood-burning stoves like those?” she’d said last time she’d popped by.

I had no idea what people paid, but I looked it up. Some of them were well over ten thousand dollars. At first, I considered selling it—I could do a lot with that money—but then I remembered Jake’s comment about houses losing their identity when they were modernized too much. The range was part of the house, and in some way, I felt selling it would be like ripping the heart out of the house. I’d grown attached to the big sleeping dragon of a thing.

“I don’t trust anything that doesn’t have dials,” Flo told me now as I inspected the range. It was a gusty, rainy Saturday and the rain was lashing at the tall kitchen windows.

“People have cooked on these for hundreds of years,” I said reassuringly, trying to soothe myself more than her. “How hard can it be?”

“Oh my God, Mom. People used to go to the toilet in pots they kept under their beds. I really don’t think we should look to the past for solutions. The black-and-white times were nasty.”

I ignored that. “I watched some YouTube videos. I don’t think it’s that hard. Look, this here’s the firebox.” I pointed. “You make the fire in there. Easy.”

“Is it easy?” Flo groaned. “Let’s just microwave things.”

“We can do this,” I told her firmly. “I believe in us.” I showed her where the ash drawer was and the baking oven. “Just imagine the cakes we can bake.”

She perked up at that. “Can cake be the first thing we bake?”

“Sure.” Anything to get her on board. “And we’ll make the best Christmas turkey ever.”

“Followed by more cake.”

I rolled my eyes. But at least she was involved now.

“What’s this handle?” she asked, yanking on a handle between the cooktop and the firebox.

“I think that’s the chimney bypass?” I bit my lip. “It pumps the heat around… or you can shut the heat off, cooling the oven down. Maybe we should watch another video…” I was feeling out of my depth.