Page 165 of Hello, Summer
Grayson’s face had a pained expression. “We heard from a contractor this morning. When the porch ceiling collapsed, it pulled away part of the siding on the front of the house. Conley, he says the house is absolutely ridden with termites.”
“But they can, like, spray or tent it or something, right?” Conley asked.
“It’s too late to spray. We’ve got three different kinds of infestation—subterranean, flying, and Formosan termites. He went all around the house. He says the foundation is like swiss cheese, the rafters up in the attic are crumbling, the window frames, everything.”
Conley collapsed back onto her chair. “Does G’mama know? What are we gonna do?”
“She knows,” Grayson said. “I had to be straight with her. And I don’t know what we’ll do. This contractor said it’d be cheaper to pull the whole house down and start from scratch.”
“Can we get another opinion?”
“We can, but I met the contractor over there after he called. You can take a stick and poke it right into the foundation beams. Same with the windowsills. I think it’s true. It’s just a matter of time before the whole damn house crumbles.”
“Will the insurance cover that?”
“I doubt it. G’mama says she used to have a termite bond, but she let it lapse after Pops died because she thought it was just another unnecessary expense.”
“Is she devastated?” Conley asked. “I mean, her grandfather built that house. She’s lived there her whole life. Our whole lives.”
“I was more upset than she was,” Grayson said. “G’mama seems to roll with the punches.”
“I guess if the house can’t be saved, she’ll rebuild?”
“She says not,” Grayson reported. “She says she’s been thinkingfor a while now that having two houses doesn’t make sense at her age. She loved Felicity Street, but the stairs were getting harder and harder for her and Winnie to manage, especially with the laundry room down in the basement. At least at the Dunes she has the elevator, and the laundry room is on the same floor as the bunk rooms.”
“You said the Dunes was a firetrap,” Conley pointed out. “The wiring, the roof…”
“I know. But if she sells Felicity Street, that’s a double lot on the best street in town. The contractor this morning told me flat out he’d buy it to build a spec mansion.”
“Conley!” Lillian poked her head in the doorway. “There’s a whole TV crew out front looking for you. If you and your sister aren’t too busy jib-jabbing in here maybe you could come out and talk to them.”
“Coming,” Conley said.
Selena explained her idea in the car on the way to Felicity Street. “I basically want you to humanize your newspaper story. I mean, it was great, but you distanced yourself from the subject matter. In your story, you were an observer, not a participant. I want you to stand in the living room and talk about how it felt, the moment the deputy kicked in the door—that’s okay, right? I mean, it’s your family house, right?”
“Whoa,” Conley said. “I don’t know that my grandmother wants to invite the whole world into her living room. That seems icky. And invasive.”
“But it puts the viewer right there, with you, in the moment,” Selena said. “I get chills thinking about it.”
“Maybe so, but my grandmother is a proper Southern lady, so no.”
Selena brushed back her fringe of dark shining bangs in frustration. “Well, that puts a crimp in my plans.”
“You’re welcome to shoot outside the house,” Conley said. “After all, I’m sure most of Silver Bay has driven past it today to take a look for themselves.”
She pulled the Subaru to the curb, and the network van pulled up behind them, outside G’mama’s house. The carnage looked evenworse a day later. The velvety green expanse of lawn looked like a stock car dirt track with countless crisscross tire marks. The carefully tended borders of azaleas, camellias, and boxwoods had been knocked down by all the police cars and rescue vehicles. Worst of all, Conley thought, was the pair of deep trenches that ended in the collapsed front porch.
Selena clapped her hands in excitement. “You’re right. This is way better. My God, it looks like a tornado hit.”
They got out of the car.
“When were you thinking of doing your hair and makeup?” Selena asked.
“It’s done,” Conley said. “I’ve showered. My hair is clean, I’m wearing eyebrow pencil and lipstick, and my clothes all match. I’d call myself a fashion triumph.”
“Hang on a sec.” Selena went back to the van, where the camera operator was unloading his equipment, and came back with what looked like an airline-approved carry-on suitcase on wheels.
“Let’s go inside the house and, uh, freshen you up a little,” she said.
