The Diva Serves Forbidden Fruit

I love the way beds look in magazines but no matter how hard I try, I can’t quite manage to get that fluffy, elegant look. What am I doing wrong?

Tired in Sleepy Eye, Minnesota

The look requires European shams against the headboard. Then regular pillows, then throw pillows. Only a duvet will give you that truly fluffy look. Place a sheet underneath in a coordinating color and turn it back. Fold a blanket across the foot of the bed and display a casually placed throw on it.

“Are you sure she’s home?” I asked.

“Aargh,” Paisley groaned. “She probably went out to get breakfast or groceries. If I had been a good daughter, I would have thought ahead and filled her fridge yesterday before she came home from her trip. Her keys are in my purse, on top of that pile of boxes. Check the drawers in the laundry room.”

I retrieved Paisley’s Kate Spade handbag and found keys with a tag on them that said Mom in tiny rhinestones. I unlocked the door and called, “Lark? Lark, it’s Sophie Winston. Are you home?”

There was no response. Daisy and I walked through the house to the kitchen where I thought I had caught a glimpse of a laundry room once. The kitchen had been beautifully updated with cabinets that looked like furniture. It was all white with touches of rustic bronze on the light fixtures and the cabinet grips. It smelled like coffee and there were two mugs in the sink. Lark was already up. “Lark!” I shouted. I didn’t want to scare her. I felt the coffee maker. It was completely cool to the touch. It had been a while since she had brewed the coffee.

Sure enough, a doorway led into a laundry room with a washer and dryer. On the opposite wall was a counter with a laundry sink. I envied the built-in storage station for coats and shoes that also provided a bench near the back door. A grocery tote leaned against it and canvas bags hung from hooks. The laundry hamper appeared to be full and several piles of laundry lay on the floor. I thought how nice it would be to come home from a long trip and empty out all the dirty clothes before lugging the suitcases upstairs.

I found twine and bungee cords in a drawer and returned to the street. I handed them to Paisley. “No sign of your mom.”

“What? Would you mind going upstairs and peeking into her bedroom? I bet she’s fast asleep.” Little boys still clung to each of her legs and Frank started to yell instructions to her again.

“I don’t mind at all. But I did see coffee mugs in her sink. She’s probably out.” One of the boys howled when his brother hit him with a plastic shovel. It was a wonder Paisley got anything done.

To help Paisley out and calm her worries about her mom, I returned to the house with Daisy and walked up the stairs.

It was an elegant home. The staircase and foyer were papered with a soft turquoise paper peppered with brown branches and white blooms. It wasn’t in style anymore, but it was beautiful and made a statement that plain walls couldn’t achieve.

The door to the master bedroom stood open. Lark’s four-poster bed looked like an advertisement, beautifully made with blue and white linens. Everything in the room seemed to be in perfect order. I spied a walk-in closet, also perfectly neat and organized, except for a bench where a suitcase lay open. Beneath it, on the floor, lay a second open suitcase and a blue bag with the tour company’s insignia on it. It appeared Lark had dug through them in a hurry, leaving a mess of clothes and souvenirs on the carpet.

“Lark?” I called, peering into the bathroom. There was no sign of her.

I peeked into the other bedrooms before heading downstairs and out of the house.

“She must have gone out,” I said to Paisley. “I don’t see her anywhere.”

“Pais! Did you fasten your end?” yelled Frank.

Little Oscar had already forgotten about his scraped knees. The tears on his face dried fast when he spied Daisy. He ran to us and hugged her.

“This is Daisy,” I said, glad she was wagging her tail and seemed to be okay with his attention.

He stroked her lush fur. “I want a dog like Daisy.”

Thomas reappeared at the gate. “Mom!”

Paisley looked over at him, clearly annoyed. “Thomas, I said stay in the backyard.”

“No. I do not want to see your face until it’s time for school, which will be in about five minutes. Honey,” she called to Frank, “are we done yet?”

Thomas’s face was pale, with two round blazing spots on his cheeks like a painted doll. Even I could see fear in his eyes.

“We’ll see you a little later, Oscar.” I walked Daisy over to the gate. “Are you okay?” I asked Thomas.

He shook his head fast. “Something’s wrong with Grandma.”