If you're willing to spend about forty thousand for upgrades, you'll earn six times that at sale, no problem. Just replace the kitchen cabinets and countertops. Install new appliances. Floors. Update the bath. Rip out the old carpet. Paint. Update the wiring and plumbing. The furnace.

Kat nodded, looking past Julianna Dubrowski and her file folder to study Phyllis' kitchen, trying to view the room with an objective eye. No luck. All Kat saw was scenes from her lifebaking that chocolate cake from scratch for Aidan's first birthday, the night the pipes under the sink burst and flooded the whole first floor, and the rip-roaring fight she'd had with Phyllis the day Kat told her she'd decided not to apply to a four-year college but to work full-time and move into her own place instead.

No potential buyer would be as sentimental. They'd only see the faded yellow walls, peeling mintgreen linoleum, and metallic red countertops from the era of beehive hairdos. It dawned on Kat that the term upgrade didn't do justice to the amount of work the real estate agent had just suggested.

Sounds like we'd have to gut the place.

Basically, yes.

Kat laughed. You realize she didn't spend that much to buy the entire house back in 1973?

Julianna smiled with glee. Oh, I know! That's the beauty of these vintage Highlandtown row houses, especially the ones across from the parkshe could get close to a quarter of a million for it!

Kat made an effort to return the smile but didn't have the energy. She won't get any of it, Julianna. She's dead.

The agent's eyes went wide with embarrassment. Of course! Sorry. I knew Phyllis Turner. Well, I knew /of/ her, anyway. Everyone in the neighborhood did, and everyone was shocked to hear that she passed.

Julianna hugged her folder to her chest. My mother played bingo with Phyllis at Sacred Heart, you know. She said she was unbelievablecould handle two dozen cards at a time. And the birds. We all knew about the birds.

She had quite a few.

And frankly, just between you and me, Julianna leaned close and lowered her voice like she was worried the linoleum might overhear her comment, my gut feeling was the house would be even more of a mess than it is.

I'm a little surprised there's no… you know… pet odor.

Kat nodded, wishing Phyllis herself were here to respond to this. She could just imagine itPhyllis in her housecoat with a Newport Light dangling from her lips. /Move your vulture butt on out of my house,/ she'd say. /The only gut you should be focused on is the one that hangs over your mother's stretch pants./ And the idea of Phyllis Turner being a multimillionaire! It's completely insane! You can't make up this sort of stuff! Exactly how much was she worth when she died?

Kat felt like bonking Julianna in the head with her folder for being so insensitive. She was worth quite a bit. Excuse me a second.

Kat moved into the tiny dining area and stared out the sliding glass door. She missed Phyllis like hell. Kat missed her cackle of a laugh and her firsthand reports on the Baltimore City Council meetings, which she attended in person every Monday night and analyzed with zeal. Kat missed how Phyllis would offer advice to anyone within shouting range on relationships, career, parenting, and managing the Baltimore Oriolesall subjects she'd had precious little personal experience with in her own life.

Around Highlandtown, Phyllis was known for her eccentricities and that's all, because that's where Phyllis wanted it to end. She didn't see the need for anyone knowing too much about her affairs, and the fact that the kids called her the Crazy Parakeet Lady just made her laugh. Only Kat and Cliff knew the whole story, and that's the way Phyllis liked it.

Julianna hadn't finished with the subject at hand, apparently. My mother said Phyllis played the stock market and had four million when she died.

Is that true?

Not quite. (It had been $3.8 million, not that it was anyone's business.) So what happened to all the birds?

We found homes for them.

She was sure an unusual lady.

Kat put a palm up against the cool glass. What Phyllis had been was unusually kindso much so that it took Kat over a year to trust her. Kat thought she was just too good to be true. She never called the authorities on Kat. Phyllis was quick to get Kat hooked up with everything she neededprenatal care, GED classes, baby supplies, even a Social Security card. How many people would have done that? How many people would have welcomed a pissed-off, pregnant kid with a gigantic chip on her shoulder and asked for nothing in return? Who else but Phyllis Turner would have waited weeks before she even inquired about Kat's family? Who else would have simply let the gossip become the truththat Kat Turner was the orphaned child of Phyllis' second cousin, a girl who'd gotten herself in trouble and had nowhere else to go, and she'd be staying for as long as she liked.

Kat knew she'd owed Phyllis the truth about where she came from, who she was, and how she ended up hitchhiking to Baltimore, but she never found the courage to tell her. She convinced herself that it would hurt less if she just pretended none of it ever happened. So now, at age thirty-seven, Kat was left with lies /on top/ of the hurt, which, as it turned out, had just been lounging around all those years, picking its teeth, waiting for just the right moment to pop up and slap her upside the head.

Apparently, that time was now.

So, I'd like to talk price if we could.

Julianna's voice faded into the background as the weight of the situation hit Kat: Now that Riley Bohland knew how to find Aidan, it was only a matter of daysif not hoursbefore everything blew up. She had to get to Aidan before Riley did. She had to be the one to tell her son the truth, not a stranger.

Kat leaned her forehead against the sliding door and shut her eyes for a moment. There wasn't room in her life for fantasies anymore. She could no longer pretend. She'd gone back to Persuasion to get revenge and returned with the empty truth. Her mother was gone. Phyllis was gone.

Kat and Riley had been stupid, horny kidsnot each other's soul mates.

And she would now have to right twenty years of wrongs with her son.

Clearly, Kat's basic approach to life was in need of the same level of upgrades as Phyllis' row house.

How does that sound, Kat? Would you like some time to think about it?

Kat gazed out at the tiny fenced yard, its summer lushness fading from the chilly nights and waning sun. Kat looked twice at the tangled hedge of rosebushes and wondered if Phyllis had been too tired in the spring and early summer to prune her beloved plants. If so, Kat hadn't noticed.

Every time she'd asked if there was anything she could do, Phyllis would dismiss her offer and tell her to concentrate on her own life. /This old broad is still full of piss and vinegar,/ she'd say. /You should be out there trying to drum up some excitement of your own while you're still young./ Phyllis died sitting in her Barcalounger by the front window, /Good Morning America/ on TV and the sports section of /The Sun/ on her lap. A massive stroke, the doctors said. The parish priest assured Kat that Phyllis had left this world in peace. As they soon found out, she'd also left this world stinking rich. To Uncle Cliff and his family Phyllis bequeathed her Cal Ripken Jr. autographed baseball and a million dollars nobody knew she had. To Kat and Aidan she left everything elsethe house, forty parakeets, and the balance of her money market accounts, stocks, mutual funds, and IRAs.

I can't do this. Kat spun around in time to see Julianna's mouth fall open in surprise. I just realized I can't sell. It's the only part of Phyllis that still exists. I'll fix it up and live here myself.

Julianna gave a little shrug and handed Kat her card. The market is very unpredictable. And mortage rates may not I understand. I apologize if I wasted your time.