The Restoration

Nina leaned over the sink with her nose nearly touching the mirror and carefully penciled in her upper lash line. The sickly fluorescent lights of the 24 hour gym were doing her under eye bags absolutely no favors. She startled as the locker room door suddenly slammed and the pencil scraped her eye.

A yellow mop bucket rolled in, followed by a yawning employee.

Nina pressed a palm to her tearful eye and fumbled for a paper towel.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here,” the young woman said. “There’s not usually anyone here this early. I can come back later.”

“No, it’s fine, I’m almost done. I’m sorry.”

As Nina bent down to wash the smudged makeup from her face, she knocked her notebook, and the delicate arrangement of personal care items upon it, directly into the basin. She scrambled to save them, but each motion of her hand set the water off again.

Nina laughed, a little manic.

“Are you okay?” the employee asked.

Nina laughed harder as she wiped tears from her eyes.

“Sorry. I’m fine. Thank you.”

She washed the rest of the makeup off her face and patted it dry with a paper towel, suddenly calm. She scooped the water-logged milieu into a duffel bag and left without a word.

...

Outside the diner, Nina granted herself a brief moment to rest her head on the steering wheel of her car. It was going to be a good day. She was determined to make it a good day. She rifled under the tangle of blankets and pillows in the backseat from the night before for her work apron.

...

The first twenty minutes of her shift were usually slow, and Nina spent them drinking a last minute cup of coffee and adding to the collection of drawings in her journal. She cradled the soft, black leather of its spine and thumbed through the still-damp pages to assess the damage. Some of the ink ran in the top right corners, but it was mostly salvageable.

The bell chimed as early morning commuters began to filter in and the morning rush kicked off. Nina set the notebook down and got to work.

When she rounded the corner of the bar again after a flurry of breakfast orders, she noticed an older woman, maybe in her seventies, bent over a book. As she approached to take her order, Nina was shocked to realize it was her notebook the woman was flipping through.

“Pardon me,” she said in the most cheerful tone she could manage. “Do you mind?”

She gestured to the book. The woman seemed not to notice.

“Are these your drawings?” she asked.

Nina nodded, her hand still expectantly outstretched.

“Not bad,” the woman said as she handed it over.

Nina tucked the notebook under the counter and set a water glass and roll of silverware in front of her wordlessly. The woman pointed at a menu a few seats down the counter. Nina passed it to her.

“Do you have any training?” she asked.

Nina sighed. She really preferred the customers who called her “Hey, miss” and only asked for extra ketchup.

“In my past life,” she said.

“Your past life!” the woman laughed. “How old are you?”

“26.”

“You’re hardly on your first life.”

She smiled at a group of kids waiting at the host stand. Nina waved to indicate she’d just be a moment.

“Can I get you something to eat?” she asked the woman.

“Nooo,” she said. “The food here is terrible.”

“Then why are you here?”

“The company,” the woman offered her a cheeky smile. “I will take a coffee.”

Nina plopped a mug on the counter and filled in to the brim before turning away to help the other guests. When she returned to check on her, the woman wasted no time.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“I work here,” Nina stated, bewildered.

“Right, but why are you here?” the woman insisted.

“You’re very rude,” Nina replied.

“I’m inquisitive,” the woman waved a hand dismissively. “You’re newly divorced, you live in your car... you could go anywhere.”

Nina froze. She searched the bar for her notebook, but it was missing, again.

“Ma’am, give me back my journal!”

The woman placed the notebook on the counter and leaned over it protectively.

“I have a proposition for you,” she said.

“I am wholly uninterested,” Nina replied.

“My house needs to be repainted.”

“Fascinating.”

“It’s delicate work though. It needs an artist’s patience and precision.”

“Try craigslist.”

“I have a spare room as well, if you’re looking, which I assume you are.”

“I’m not.”

“20 grand for the whole project. It’ll take a month or so, depending how quickly you work.”

“Why would I trust you?” Nina asked.

“What do you have to lose?”

...

The old red brick Victorian sat on the corner at a little stop light outside of town, accompanied on its neighboring corners to either side by Methodist churches. The remaining corner boasted a sprawling cornfield. The house was beautiful, albeit in rough shape. Nina climbed the front steps and knocked on one of the double doors. She waited a few minutes before knocking again, a bit harder.

After a few moments, the door creaked open and a cloud of incense wafted out. The old woman, Judith, she had come to learn, squinted out into the afternoon light.

“I was meditating,” she grunted. “Come in. Take off your shoes.”

The inside was more beautiful than Nina could have possibly guessed. She entered into a spacious parlor lined with shuttered windows. Every corner of the room was filled with oddities. Patterned rugs layered one on top of another across the dark wood and antique sofas sat interspersed by cushions on the floor. Across the room, crystals, candles, feathers, and photographs lined the mantlepiece of the fireplace and bookshelves overflowed on either side of it. But the shining jewel was the ceiling. On it was an intricate mural of celestial spheres, each constellation depicted in its full mythological glory. The paint was wearing thin and peeling in places, but the detail was something to behold. Nina turned in a slow circle, admiring the different angles.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Judith said.

“Stunning.”

“As you can see, the years have worn on it. This is the piece I most need you to restore.”

“Oh wow.” Nina considered, “I’m no Michaelangelo.”

“Not yet.”

Nina followed her further into the corridor and up a winding staircase. Everywhere she turned, there were more murals. Flowers in bloom, abstract shapes, insects on deep green leaves, cartoonish little creatures peering over or around strategically placed furniture.

“Whose work is this?”

“My parents were both artists, my father a painter, my mother a dancer. My father was a great intellectual as well, he loved science and philosophy. My mother loved parties and good conversation. They became a bit of a hub in their social circles. People would come and go at all hours, there was always someone awake in the parlor tinkering with something or other. Friends and artists often stayed here for weeks at a time. My parents would host anyone without question, and they only asked that anyone who visited would leave their mark behind. Most of the things you see were gifts from friends or passing acquaintances. About half of the murals are my father’s, the rest are from guests.”

Judith opened a door and ushered her into a bright little room.

“Which reminds me, there is one catch to all of this that I forgot to mention.”

The space was just big enough for a bed and an antique desk. The walls, unlike the rest of the home, were a pristine white.

“This will be your room,” Judith informed her, “and before you leave I expect that you’ll leave your mark here as well. It’s a blank slate really, you can do whatever you like with it.”

Much to her own surprise, Nina began to cry.

“Oh dear.”

“Sorry, I’m fine,” she said, wiping the tears away. “It’s just, why are you doing this?”

Judith sighed.

“For many years since my parents passed, I’ve just preserved this place. It’s been a sanctuary for me, a time capsule, a memory. Now, it’s started to feel less like a comfort and more like living with ghosts. The home my parents created was alive, it had a pulse, and everyone who came into contact with it could feel it. What I’ve held onto is just the echo.”

Nina watched her gently trace the lines of the wood grain on the antique desk as she spoke.

“This place needs new life. And when I saw your notebook at the diner, it seemed like you needed that, too. There’s something magic about this house. Do you feel it?”

Nina nodded.

“I don’t want to keep it to myself anymore. And I don’t want it to die with me. So, if I can share some of that wealth…”

The sun was beginning to set and streaks of gold filtered in from the windows, bathing Judith in the warmest light.

“Thank you,” Nina whispered.

“Don’t thank me yet,” said Judith. “You’ve got your work cut out for you. Let me show you the studio.”

Judith led her up another set of stairs to the third floor, an open room lined with windows and filled with stacks and stacks of canvases and paints. They crossed to a messy desk pushed against one wall and Judith rifled through a pile of sketch pads. She opened one and laid it out on the desk for Nina to see.

“These are my father’s notes and sketches for the parlor mural. You shouldn’t have too much trouble restoring the imagery. The biggest roadblock will be color. His original paints are all here,” Judith kicked a milk crate, “but are obviously unusable. I will order more of whatever you need, but the mixing is going to be up to you.”

Nina gently flipped through the pages of the sketchbook, which was breathtaking in its own right.

“You sure you’re up to this?” Judith asked.

Nina smiled.

“What do I have to lose?”