COMFORT PLANS
by
KIMBERLY FISH
Genre: Contemporary Women's Fiction
Date of Publication: May 23, 2017
Number of Pages: 320
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As a San Antonio architect, she’d have vowed her career was to investigate the history and create new functions for the structures everyone else saw as eyesores. The old German farmhouse in Comfort, Texas, might be the screeching end of that dream job. The assignment seemed so ideal at the start; generous clients, a stunning location, and a pocketful of letters that were surely meant to explain the ranch’s story. All that goodness crashed louder than a pile of two-by-fours when her grandfather announced he’d lured Colette’s ex-husband back to San Antonio to take over the family architecture firm. Now, not only does Colette have to endure the challenges posed by Beau Jefferson, the client’s handpicked contractor, a house that resists efforts to be modernized, and letters that may hold the secret to buried treasure, but she also has to decide if she has the courage to fight for her future.
Set against the backdrop of the Texas Hill Country, Colette and Beau have to rely on plans neither of them constructed in order to navigate the changes of a house with a story to tell, and a future they couldn’t even imagine.
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"Kimberly Fish's unique writing style snatched me out of my easy chair and plunked me down into the middle of her character's life where I was loathe to leave when my real life called me back. Her descriptive visual writing drew me in on the first page. Can't wait to read more stories by Mrs. Fish."
--Vickie Phelps,Author of Moved, Left No Address
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Interview with Gianna Du
Paul—80-year-old grandmother to Colette Sheridan
A
reporter from a leading architecture magazine has arrived at Gianna Du Paul’s
spacious home in Castroville, Texas to take pictures of Colette Sheridan’s
first treehouse construction project. The reporter thinks this will be an
interesting sidebar to the profile he’s writing to feature Colette as one of
the “up and coming trendsetters under forty.” She’s built (or at least,
designed) several, multi-layered and delightfully quirky treehouses across the
San Antonio area and he finds this first one a fascinating peek into Colette’s
psyche.
It’s
a breezy day in Castroville, but Gianna has insisted they sit under her pergola
on the back porch to visit. She’s provided a French press of dark-roasted
coffee and apricot cookies to entice her guest—a gentle fragrance of hyacinth
drifts down from the vine interwoven on the pergola’s beams.
She
arranges her broomstick skirt to disguise the knee brace she’s wearing after a
recent fall as she waits for the reporter to finish photographing Colette’s
treehouse down on the banks of the Medina River. Colette’s dog, Henri—aka Cornbread—snores at
her feet.
“That
is a hobbit-sized treasure box,” the reporter says as he sits on one of the
iron chairs around the bistro table. “What kid wouldn’t want to play for hours
in a treehouse with secret doors, private drawers, and a fire pole that lands
in the shallow water of the river?”
Gianna
shrugged. “It’s the delight of every single child who visits, and the bane of
every parent. Not only does every child want a duplicate at their own home, but
I haven’t had a guest yet that could leave here without getting soaked.”
“A
problem for their parents?”
“Just
my housekeeper who must run a quick load of laundry.”
“So,
why did Colette build it?” He asked pressing the record button feature on his
cell phone. “She doesn’t have children of her own.”
Gianna
sighed and folded her arms across her middle. “It was a test of courage. She
was at the bottom of her confidence and needed to do something creative to find
her way back to the top and also to prove to herself that she could complete a
vision.” She decided to add one more tidbit. “But mostly because she was mad at
me for letting her grandfather’s original treehouse rot.”
“She
speaks of you fondly; you two must be close.”
“Yes,
of course. As long as she does what I tell her we get along famously.”
He
smiled. “And does she do what you tell her, even with her architecture business
in downtown San Antonio?”
“Almost
never. It is the Sheridan in her; she must figure out things on her own—in her
own time. But because she has the best of all her relatives in her heart, she
is almost always darling to be around. She gets that from me.”
The
reporter reached for the French press, “May I?”
“Please,
help yourself. I would pour for you but I was at my daughter’s goat farm
recently and fell in the pasture. My shoulder doesn’t hold up as well as it
used to.”
“I’m
sorry to hear that—do you have many children and grandchildren?”
“I
have fourteen grandchildren and four children. Monique, Colette’s mother, is
the one who recently married a goat farmer, and she’s moved to the backside of
the moon. I don’t know why she persists in putting more mileage between us. It
is most cruel of her.”
“Colette
doesn’t live far from you, does she?”
Gianna
sighs. “Ma belle, Colette. She will
not decide on a house for herself. She is living in her grandfather Sheridan’s
house in Terrell Hills because he has retired to an assisted living facility
for the foreseeable future. It is so unfortunate to see such an obstinate man
brought down, but that is what stress will do to you—it will kill you one day.”
She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. “Listen to what I tell you: life is
too short to live it in a constant state of greed and competition. There must
be room in your life for love and pleasure.”
The
reporter’s eyes widened. “Well, I, uh, appreciate your thoughts.”
“Are
you married? Serious with anyone?”
“I,
um, not really.”
She
shook her finger at him. “Do not waste another moment. Find someone to share
life with; passion brings down blood pressure.”
“You’re
French, aren’t you?”
“I
am a Texan.” Her accent gave her away. “But my parents were born in France. I
can see you are very smart. Are you writing a pleasing picture of Colette for
your magazine, or are you going to bring up that nasty business with Julian
Bertolini?”
“The
Bertolini angle is certainly part of her story.”
“It
is more of that greed and competition—a blight on the soul.”
The
reporter stared into his cup of coffee. “So, about the treehouse—Colette used
plans?”
“Of
course,” Gianna patted her left breast. “She built from the heart. It is where
the best designs come from—passion.”
“Okay,”
he set his cup down. “I think I have what I need for the feature.”
“You
must want to know about our family. We are very tight knit; my son, Jean-Mark
lives here in Castroville. Did you know that Castroville was settled by the
French Alsatians? It has a unique style of construction and design that clearly
separates the houses and businesses from the limestone buildings those Germans
built all over the Hill Country.”
The
reporter glanced to Gianna’s long, L-shaped, stucco white house with wide,
green shutters. Its rooflines were tucked into the shade of tree branches. “So,
this is an example of that architecture?”
“Yes,
of course. My husband was a very successful business man. We bought this land
along the riverbank in the sixties and have added on to it over the years.” She
placed a cookie on a linen napkin and pushed it toward the reporter. “The
DuPauls are quite well known in this area. My son runs the ranch we started
when beef cattle became one of our investments.”
“About
the treehouses -- did Colette have a template that she used to create the
multi-storied platforms? How did she run electricity for the chandelier?”
She
waved her hand in the air. “I don’t know about electrical lines, but I know she
sketched her plan on notepaper she had in the tote bag. She sat where you are
sitting just now, and drew out her designs and her supplies list, then went to
the lumber store and built it. Now that I think about it, it was very near my
80th birthday party, and I insisted she clean up the yard of all that debris
before the tent company came to install my outdoor dance floor.”
“I’m
afraid to ask, but do you enjoy dancing?”
“What?
You think I’m too old? I love to Salsa, but my partners can never keep up.” She
turned a bit in her chair, her shoulder raised a bit higher. “Beau thinks I
dance divine. He’s not very good at the Salsa, but he’s marvelous at the
two-step. That man can glide across a dance floor like a sailboat on a lake.”
The
reporter glanced at the leather watchband on his wrist. “I probably need to
head back to the city now. I’m supposed to meet Colette and Beau for a lunch
interview.”
Gianna
had not lived 80-odd years to not recognize a man who had a decided urge to
flee. It was a shame that these young men didn’t have enough grit to be willing
to enjoy a solid conversation with an intelligent companion. She shuddered to
think what the future of the world would be when men—people in general—couldn’t
bear to be spontaneous in the company of an exceptional woman. But, then maybe,
she was a dying breed. Very few women she met had the same verve that DuPaul
women seemed to have.
She
hoped Colette would plan to have children. Maybe they would name a daughter
after her—a little dark-headed Gianna to carry on the family line. That would
be fitting end to the Master Plan for her life.
She has since published in magazines, newspapers, and online formats and in 2017, released the first novel in a series set during the World War II years in Longview, Texas—The Big Inch.
She lives with her family in East Texas.
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