By Design Read Free

see the inside?” she
offered. Jameson nodded.
    Candace
spent the better part of the next hour ushering Jameson through her home. She
explained the history of ownership and reveled in the attentiveness of the architect. Jameson remained quiet, listening to
each detail and every anecdote with fascination. Candace watched Jameson’s eyes
study each room methodically. It was clear that the architect was noting even
the finest details. Jameson’s eyes seemed to twinkle when Candace would offer a
short story about some historical moment in the home, or some treasured memory that
had been passed down.
    “So....this
house has been in your family for a while,” Jameson commented as the senator led her toward the kitchen .
    “Five
generations, so yes. Can I offer you something?” Candace asked as they entered
the kitchen. “Wine, coffee? Water?” she asked as she set about starting a pot
of coffee. “I know; it’s late. It’s my addiction.”
    “It’s
never too late for coffee in my book,” Jameson replied. “I’d love a cup.”
    “Well
then, I suppose we have at least two things in common.”
    “Two?”
Jameson asked.
    “We
share a love of old houses, history, and coffee.”
    “Three,”
Jameson said.
    “What?”
Candace asked as she pulled the cream from the refrigerator.
    “That’s
three things we have in common; unless I counted wrong.”
    “Ah,
I suppose so. So, tell me, J.D.; I’ve seen your portfolio; you’ve designed some
impressive buildings. Why an interest in this old place? And interior design?”
    Jameson
smiled. The truth was that Jameson had not had an opportunity to work on any
historical projects in a long time. Her time and efforts had been consumed with building her firm. She had
deliberately taken on larger projects for the last few years, designing
corporate buildings and industrial complexes. Her success allowed her to bring
on four additional architects and a robust support staff. Now, she was ready to
take a small step back and return to her roots. This project had come about at
the perfect time.
    “Well,
it’s true; the last seven years have been full of larger projects. And, those
are always challenging, but not nearly as exciting as something like this,” Jameson said. She noted the curious glint in the
senator’s eye. “I have a secret passion for American History,” she explained.
“My mother was a teacher. My father worked in construction. I guess the two
were destined to meet in me,” she
shrugged. “As far as design; I don’t know how you dismiss one from the other. A
home is the sum of all its parts. It’s what makes projects like this so much more
interesting than designing office buildings. There is history; memories . The buildings I design have yet to
tell their story.”
    “A
soft spot for history, I see.”
    “Like
I said, it was destined,” Jameson answered. “I spent years with my father
traveling to jobs. I loved to watch him work. Every house he worked on, he
would remind me that it was someone’s treasure; their home; never a structure,
always a story,” Jameson explained. “Crazy?”
    “Hardly,”
Candace said before shifting gears. “What do you think about it? The house, I
mean,” Candace clarified as she placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of
Jameson. “Is it doable?”
    “Doable?
Anything is doable , Senator,” Jameson
quipped.
    Candace
nearly spit out her coffee. Jameson had a
dry humor and a quick wit. “You sure you aren’t a politician?”
    “Nope.
No politics here. Safer that way,” Jameson answered. She was surprised to see
Candace’s cheerful expression dim slightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” Candace smiled. “To
answer your question; I think the house could be restored very closely to its
original look. And, yes; I am confident we can design an addition off of this room that will appear seamless. Of
course, with all the modern conveniences. We’ll look to blend the old and the
new