The air smelled of the mulch freshly laid around new plantings, and salvaged ones. Roses, hydrangeas, spirea and old-fashioned weigela, and beds of hopeful new perennials, eager annuals already blooming insanely.

More to come, she thought, more to do. But here was progress. Tear-out time was done. Renewal time was here.

She thought of Charlie’s photo album. And breaking off from the work, ran in to get her camera to document.

Shirtless men slick with sweat and sunscreen high on scaffolding. Shanna in shorts and a bright pink T-shirt and ball cap working with Brian on a low, dry stone garden wall. The bones of her stairs, the half-finished back veranda. And around front, the completed one.

For a moment, in her mind’s eye, she saw Janet, leaning on the jamb of the open front door, smiling out.

“It’s coming back,” Cilla said softly.

Turning, she saw Ford and Spock walking down the drive.

The dog trotted up to her, leaned on her legs, then sat back to look up at her, all love and cheer. She rubbed, petted, kissed his nose.

“Brought you a present.” Ford handed her one of the two Cokes he carried. “I swung in to see Steve. He tells me they’re going to spring him in a couple days.”

“He’s coming back strong.” Like the farm, she thought. “I’m pushing to get the AC up, and I’ve got a bed coming.”

“You want him to recoup from having his skull fractured in a construction zone. Do you hear that?” Ford asked, tapping his ear.

Cilla shrugged off the buzzing, the banging, the whirl of drills. “To people like me and Steve, that’s chamber music.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it. But he could bunk at my place. I’ve got the bed, the AC. And digital cable.”

She took a long drink, watching him. “You really mean that.”

“Damn right. I pity anyone without digital cable.”

“I bet. But you’re not going to take on my ex-husband. He’ll need to be… Who’s this?” she wondered as a black Lexus turned cautiously into her drive.

“City car,” Ford commented. “Big city.”

“I don’t know who… Crap.”

Ford lifted his brows as men exited from both sides of the car. “Friends of yours?”

“No. But the driver’s my mother’s Number Five.”

“Cilla!” Mario, handsome as sin, Italian style, in Prada loafers and Armani jeans, threw out his arms and a wide, wide smile. His graceful forward motion was spoiled when he stopped, then sidestepped around the sniffing Spock.

The sunglasses hid his eyes, but she suspected they were dark and sparkling. Tanned, panther lean, dark hair flowing, he crossed to her, caught her in an enthusiastic embrace and kissed her cheeks. “Look at you! So fit, so competent.”

“I am. What are you doing here, Mario?”

“A little surprise. Cilla, this is Ken Corbert, one of our producers. Ken, Cilla McGowan, my stepdaughter.”

"It’s a real pleasure.” Ken, small and wiry, silver-winged black hair, pumped Cilla’s hand. “Big fan. So…” He scanned the farm. “This is the place.”

“It’s my place,” she said coolly. “Ford, Mario and Ken. I’m sorry, I can’t ask you in. We’re a work in progress.”

“So I see.” Mario’s smile never dimmed. “And hear.”

“Spock, say hello,” Ford ordered-after his dog had finished with the tires. “He wants to shake,” Ford explained, “to make sure you’re friendly.”

“Ah.” Mario studied the dog dubiously as he put the tips of his thumb and forefinger on the offered paw.

Spock didn’t appear to be impressed.

Ken gave Spock’s paw the same salesman pump he’d given Cilla’s.

“Lovely country,” Mario continued. “Just lovely. We drove down from New York. We had some meetings. Such scenery! Your mother sends her love,” he added. “She would have come, but you know how difficult it is for her. The memories here.”

“She’s in New York?”

“A quick trip. We barely have time to catch our breath. Fittings, rehearsals, meetings, media. But Ken and I must steal you away, a late lunch, an early drink. Where can we take you?”

“Nowhere, but thanks. I’m working.”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Mario let out a hearty laugh while Spock squatted on his haunches and stared at him with suspicious eyes. “Cilla is the most amazing woman. So many talents. You can spare an hour, cara.”

“I really can’t. Especially if this is about performing in Mom’s show. I told her I wasn’t interested.”

“We’re here to persuade you that you are. Perhaps you’d excuse us,” Mario said to Ford.

“No, he won’t.” Cilla pointed at Ford. “You won’t.”

“I guess I won’t.”

Irritation tightened Mario’s mouth briefly. The grumbling growl from Spock had him eyeing the dog with some trepidation. “You have a chance to make history, Cilla. Three generations performing together. You saw Céline perform with Elvis? We have that technology. We can bring Janet onstage with you and Bedelia. One extraordinary performance, live.”

“Mario-”

“I understand you’re reluctant to commit to doing the full set of duets with your mother, though I can tell you-as will Ken-what that would mean to the show, and to you. Your career.”

“The advertising and promotion we’ve got lined up,” Ken began. “We can all but guarantee sellouts in every venue. Then the cable special, the CD, the DVD. The foreign markets are already buzzing. We may be able to work a deal to attach a second CD, a special package, for you, solo. In fact, Mario and I were kicking around ideas for videos there. And you’re right, Mario, shooting here would add punch.”

"You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” Cilla’s voice was as soft, and as meaningful, as Spock’s growl. “And you’ve been wasting your time. No. I’m sorry, Ken, I don’t believe Mario made it clear. I’m not looking to be persuaded or revived or promoted. You have no business talking to producers, promoters, advertisers about me,” she said to Mario. “You’re not my agent or my manager. I don’t have an agent or a manager. I run the show now. And this is what I do. Houses. I do houses. Enjoy the scenery on the way back.”

She knew Mario would come after her. Even as she turned on her heel to stride away, she heard him call her name. And she heard Ford speak to Ken, caught the extra yokel he put in his voice.

“Spock, stay. So y’all drove down from New York City?”

“Cilla. Cara. Let me-”

“Touch me, Mario, and I swear I’ll deck you.”

“Why are you angry?” There was puzzled sorrow in his voice. “This is an insanely rich opportunity. I’m only looking out for your interests.”

She stopped, struggled with temper ripe to bursting. “You may actually believe that on some level. I can look after my own interests, and have been for a long time.”

“Darling, you were mismanaged. Otherwise you’d be a major star today.”

“I might be a major star today if I’d had the talent and the aptitude. Listen to what I’m saying to you: I don’t want to be a major star. I don’t want to perform. I don’t want that kind of work. I don’t want that kind of life. I’m happy here, Mario, if that matters to you. I’m happy with what I have, and I’m getting happy with who I am.”

“Cilla, your mother needs you.”

“And here it comes.” She turned away in disgust.

“She has her heart set. And the backers will do so much more with this addition. She’s so-”

“I can’t do it, Mario. And I won’t. I’m not just being a hard-ass. I can’t. It’s not in me. You should have talked to me before you came here, and brought him. And you should listen to me when I say no. I’m not Dilly. I don’t bullshit, I don’t play. And she’s already used up all her guilt points with me. I’m not doing this for her.”

His face, his voice, held nothing but sadness now. “You’re very hard, Cilla.”

“Okay.”

“She’s your mother.”

“That’s right. Which makes me, let’s see. Her daughter. Maybe, this time-this one time-she could think about what I need, about what I want.” She held up a hand. “Believe me, if you say anything else, you’ll only make it worse. Cut your losses here. You’re smart enough. Tell her I said knock them dead, break a leg. And I mean it. But that’s all I’ve got.”