For a while, Hope let him be. He was entitled to his grief and they were okay financially. Between Rick’s severance and her salary, they were getting by.
But what would they do when Rick’s severance ran out? What if he couldn’t find another job? If you were thirty years old and trained in tech, things were booming in Portland. “Stumptown,” so named because, once upon a time, it was purported to have more stumps than trees, was a hotbed of the new economy, the place to be if you were young, hip, and skilled.
But it wasn’t working out for everybody. There were more homeless people than before, more drug addicts, and more tent cities. There were also more apartment buildings. It seemed like every time Hope drove downtown, a new one was going up, but not quickly enough to keep up with demand. Home prices and rents were rising by the day.
It should have meant more work for engineers, and it did. But not for those with the depth of experience that Rick had and certainly not at the salary he’d been able to command formerly. All those young, fresh graduates who crowded into town could be hired much more cheaply.
Rick was willing to take a job with lower pay. As much as a paycheck, he needed something to do, a reason to get up in the morning. He applied for a ton of lower-salaried positions and even got interviews for a few of them. But in each case, the people doing the hiring took a pass on him, saying he was overqualified.
After one such interview, Rick sat on the edge of his and Hope’s bed with his head in his hands and said, “Overqualified. What does that even mean?” Hope sat down next to him. She didn’t know either.
Then, Hope’s principal called. Due to budget cuts, they were cutting the FACS department, not just at her school, at all the schools, statewide.
That’s when Hope started to get scared.
With only two years of classroom experience teaching in a very specialized subject area that was no longer part of the curriculum, it was clear she wasn’t going to get hired to teach anytime soon. She looked for other work, any work, finally taking a job at a discount department store. The hours were terrible, but at least she was bringing a little money in. She thought Rick would be happy, even proud of her.
He wasn’t.
In spite of their generally happy home life and adherence to traditional roles, Rick and Hope weren’t exactly Ozzie and Harriet. They never had been.
Rick was stubborn and opinionated. So was Hope. Like a lot of couples, she and Rick argued sometimes. But they always resolved things quickly and were careful not to cross the line from arguing to fighting.
Until Ruth died.
Two days after Hope started working at the discount store, they fought.
It started because Rick made a batch of sourdough starter and left it sitting on the counter. Thinking it was a baking experiment gone wrong, Hope threw it out. But, of course, it wasn’t really about the sourdough. Big fights are rarely sparked by the stuff people pretend to be fighting about.
Rick snatched a beer from the refrigerator and slammed the door. “Hey! If you’re sick of me hanging around the house all day, then come out and say it, all right? Do me a favor and be honest for once.”
“Rick,” she said through clenched teeth, working hard to keep her voice even. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I came in from work. I was tired. I was cleaning up the kitchen and the dough smelled funny, so I threw it away. I didn’t realize you wanted to keep it. It was a mistake, not a criticism.”
“Right,” he said, making a show of nodding his head. “You were working all day. You were tired. No criticism there. Uh-uh. Why don’t you come out and say it, Hope? Just ask me the question you’re dying to ask instead of throwing out all the jabs and bullshit hints!”
Hope spread her hands. “What? What question? Rick, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh yes, you do. You’re just too busy pretending to be understanding and supportive to come out and say it.” He cracked open the beer can and made his voice a nasal whine. “Poor hardworking Hope, slaving over a hot cash register all day long while her deadbeat husband stays home and bakes cookies all day.
“Please,” he said, tossing back a gulp of beer. “You know what the question is! You want to know what the hell I do here all day while you’re out working so hard!”
“Well?” she shouted, flinging her hands out in frustration. “What are you doing? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like nothing. It looks like you’ve given up!”
Rick spewed a string of curses and got right up into Hope’s face, so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her skin, smell beer and bitterness on his breath.
“Do you have any idea how many résumés I’ve sent out? What do you expect me to do? Keep pounding my head into the wall? Sign up for a few more rounds of humiliation? ‘Thank you, sir! May I have another?’
“Is that what you want?” he shouted. “Or maybe you want me to learn from your example, take some crap job ringing up bags of stale chips and bottles of generic shampoo. Would that make you happy?”
“Hey!” Hope cried, pushing up on her toes, forcing herself into his space as he had into hers. “At least I’m making an effort. And bringing in some money. We can’t go on like this, Rick. Don’t you get it? When the severance runs out, we’re toast. We could lose the house. We could lose everything!”
Rick let out a snarling laugh that made Hope feel as small, and angry, and hurt as he did at that moment.
“Well, well. Look who just woke up and realized that it takes money to live. You’re about thirty years late getting to the party, but hey, I guess I should be grateful you showed up at all, right?”
Angry tears sprouted in Hope’s eyes. She swallowed hard and blinked to keep them from spilling over, making a deliberate effort to calm her voice and defuse the ugliness between them.
“Stop it, Rick. You know that’s not what I was saying.”
“When I need a lecture on financial reality, I’ll let you know, okay? In case you hadn’t noticed, while you were staying home and playing house, I was the one carrying the burden around here. I’ve been the provider for this family, not you!”
That was what Hope was angry about.
For over thirty-four years she’d thought of them as a team, different in their responsibilities and spheres of influence but equal in their contribution. This was the belief she’d based her entire life and marriage on.
If Rick saw himself as an island and Hope as a millstone around his neck, then what was their marriage? What was her life?
What had they been playing at all these years?
Chapter 4
Hazel was sitting on the sofa in her pajamas, holding a glass of red wine cupped in her hands, staring into the flames of the gas fireplace, thinking about the phone conversation she’d had with her niece, wondering what, if anything, she should do about it.
When the doorbell rang at ten o’clock, Hazel was surprised to see her sister standing on the stoop. But not that surprised.
“If you’ve come for a drink,” she said, raising her almost empty wineglass, “you’re almost too late.”
“Rick and I had a fight.”
Hope told her sister all about the fight, how it started (stupidly), where it headed (downhill quickly), and how it ended (badly).
“He punched a wall?” Hazel’s eyes widened in disbelief. She knew her brother-in-law very well. After all, he’d partly raised her.
Two years after Hazel and Hope’s mother died, their father fell while repairing the roof, hit his head, and died four days later. Hazel was only sixteen. Hope and Rick, already struggling to make ends meet and expecting twins, took her in without a moment of hesitation.
Hazel understood that Rick had a short fuse, but he wasn’t a violent man. For all his size and tough-guy appearance, most of the time Rick was a big teddy bear. And now he was punching walls? Things must be even worse than McKenzie said.
“Did his fist go through?”
“No, but he cracked the p
laster,” Hope said, slipping her arms out of her coat. “I grabbed the car keys and I got out, went up to the West Hills, and drove too fast for a while, then ended up here. Do you mind?”
Of course she didn’t mind. Hazel hung up her sister’s coat, poured her a glass of wine, then made her sit down and tell her the whole story again, but more slowly.
When Hope was done, Hazel offered to lend them some money. Hope refused.
“No,” she said firmly. “I appreciate the offer, but no. I would never borrow money, especially from my sister, unless I was one hundred percent confident that I could pay it back. Anyway, Rick would never agree to it. And I wouldn’t want him to. It’d be like plunging a knife into what’s left of his self-respect. Besides, this isn’t just about the money. It goes a lot deeper. After tonight, I’m wondering if I really know Rick at all. Or if he knows me.”
Hope put down her glass and buried her face in her hands.
“Oh, Hazel. The things we said to each other . . .”
Hazel scooted closer and rubbed her hand over Hope’s back in slow circles.
“You didn’t mean it. Neither did he. You and Rick love each other, always will. You’re doing the best you can, I know. But, Hope, you’re tired, and worn out—”
“And broke. Or about to be.”
Hope lifted her head and looked at Hazel.
“What are we going to do? My job at the store covers groceries and gas, but that’s about it. We’ve got to come up with a plan before the severance money runs out. But what?”
Hazel reached for her wineglass. Only minutes before, she’d been sitting there, trying to decide if or when to talk to her sister about the things she’d been discussing with McKenzie. The time, it seemed, was now.
“Well,” Hazel said after taking a breath, “I’ve been doing some research. Do you know what your house is worth in today’s market?”
Hope didn’t. So Hazel told her.
“Really? That much?”
Hazel bobbed her head. “House prices in Portland are skyrocketing. If you sell, you’ll have enough to pay off the mortgages and then some.”
“Enough to buy another house in our neighborhood?”
Hazel shook her head.
“Oh,” Hope said, her face falling. “Well . . . what about—”
Hope started listing various neighborhoods. Hazel kept shaking her head, finally interrupting to explain that the price hikes that would allow them to pay off their mortgages had also priced them out of Portland.
But Hazel had a plan.
“Olympia?” Hope said, sounding confused. “No. There has to be another solution. I’ve lived in Portland my whole life. So has Rick. All our friends are here, everybody we know. You’re here. I’ve never lived more than ten miles away from you. Except for my honeymoon and two vacations, I’ve never gone more than three days at a stretch without seeing you. What would I do if I couldn’t talk to you?”
Feeling a catch in her throat, Hazel took a sip from her glass. It was a question she’d been asking herself ever since McKenzie called.
During the long, slow, agonizing years of their mother’s decline, Hope had stepped into the gap, taking care of everybody. For as long as Hazel could remember, Hope had been more than her sister. Hope was her anchor.
It would be hard, so hard, to see Hope move. But when you love somebody you do what’s best for them, even if it’s hard for you. Hope had taught her that. And if she gave her sister time to think it over, Hazel knew that Hope would come to the same conclusion. Hope was still the one who took care of everybody else. She would do what she had to do, for Rick. Fight or no fight, she loved him.
Hazel put down her glass and forced a smile.
“You know, Sis, there’s this amazing thing called technology. Maybe you’ve heard of it? We can talk, or text, e-mail, or video chat every day. It’s not like we’d have to start raising carrier pigeons to keep in touch, you know.”
“Funny.”
“I’m just saying, it’s not that big a deal. McKenzie and Zach love Olympia. And they’d love having you closer.”
Hope frowned. “You already talked to McKenzie about this?”
“Olympia is a great town,” Hazel said, ignoring Hope’s question. “It’s about halfway to Seattle; you’ll be able to go to Seahawks games. And it’s not like we’ll never see each other again. I can drive up there in two or three hours, tops. And you can come visit me. It’s the Washington state capital, so there’s a lot going on. And it’s so much more affordable than Portland. No income tax either.”
Hazel reached for the bottle and poured more wine into her sister’s glass.
“I was born here,” Hope said, staring sightlessly at the wall. “So were all my children. Portland has changed, but my roots are here. So is my house.
“I painted every wall, put up every roll of wallpaper, stripped out old carpets, tore out that awful linoleum, laid new tile all by myself. I remodeled the kitchen too. Replaced the cabinet doors, painted them by hand, replaced the sink . . .”
She shifted her gaze, looking Hazel in the eye.
“How can I leave all that behind?”
“Hope . . .” Hazel said helplessly. “You said it yourself; you and Rick can’t go on like you have been. You need a plan.”
“You’re right,” Hope said softly, looking at her sister with wet and shiny eyes. “But can’t I have a different one?”
“Hope. It’s just a house. Rick is your—”
“I know.” Hope took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. When she spoke again, her voice was steady. “You talked it over with McKenzie? You called her?”
“She called me,” Hazel admitted. “I guess she’s been talking to Rick. She’s worried about him. And she’d love to have you closer. Both of you.”
Hope nodded quickly but broke eye contact, lifting her glass to her lips. “Well. It might be good for Rick, having Kenz closer. She’s always been his favorite.”
“You’re his favorite,” Hazel countered.
“Mm,” Hope murmured absently.
“You are,” Hazel insisted.
Hope put down her glass and looked into her sister’s eyes.
Chapter 5
Once the decision to sell the house and move to Olympia had been made, the plan to make it happen unfolded with astounding, almost disorienting, speed. Most disorienting of all was how quickly Rick embraced the idea.
He was asleep when she got home from Hazel’s that night. But sometime during Hope’s shift at the discount store, Hazel talked to McKenzie, who talked to Rick. Anyway, Hope assumed that’s what happened. She had no way of knowing for sure because McKenzie hadn’t bothered to phone her, only Rick.
When Hope got home from work she found him in the bedroom, pulling out shirts and sweaters and battered pairs of running shoes from his side of the closet and tossing them into an empty box.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting rid of things I don’t need. No point in paying money to move stuff I don’t want anymore, right?”
The next day, Hazel showed up with her assistant and started staging the house, a process that primarily involved taking down and packing away anything that might remind potential buyers that actual human beings lived there.
That was hard. To Hope, it felt like they were erasing all signs of her family’s existence, from framed photos to her grandmother’s blue glass collection. They even got rid of the black, blue, red, and green pen marks on the kitchen doorway where, year after year, Hope had marked the kids’ heights on the first day of school.
Hazel tried to scrub the marks off with an eraser sponge, but it didn’t work. As soon as she called out, “Hey, Rick. Can you help me out here?” he stopped packing the teapots Hope kept on a shelf over the window and trotted down to the basement for a paintbrush. If Hope hadn’t stopped him, he’d have painted over it before Hope even managed to take a picture.
That was her low point.
Her mother had a rule when Hop
e was growing up: Everybody is entitled to feel sorry for themselves but not more than once a day and not for more than ten minutes.
Saying she was going to rake the planters, Hope went into the garden shed, set a timer on her watch, and bawled for ten minutes. When her watch beeped, she wiped her tears, went outside, and started raking.
Hazel did a great job with the staging. By the time she was finished, the house looked like something out of a magazine.
But it didn’t look like Hope’s house.
By the end of the open house, they had two solid offers. The one they accepted was six thousand over asking but stipulated that they close in thirty days.
Thirty days? They hadn’t even started looking for a new house yet. Where were they supposed to go? Hope felt like somebody had punched her in the stomach. Rick seemed jubilant, at least to Hope’s eyes.
But on their last night in the house, after the furniture had been removed and the floors swept and mopped, and the empty rooms echoed with the sound of their footsteps, Hope realized she’d been wrong.
He stood in the front entry, at the foot of the grand oak staircase, staring up toward the dim corridor and empty bedrooms.
“Remember how the kids used to slide down the bannister?” he asked, his gaze glued to the staircase, as if waiting for someone to descend. “No matter how many times I told them not to, they kept at it. Even after Rory broke his arm, they wouldn’t stop. Stubborn kids, every one of them. Can’t think where they got it.”
“Me either,” Hope said.
“Remember McKenzie’s prom? She came down the stairs wearing that green dress, looking like a princess. All grown up. Just like that,” he said, his voice low and wondering. “That boy she was going with . . . What was his name?”
“Justin Striker.”
“Justin. Justin Striker,” Rick murmured, as if trying to burn the name into his memory. “The look on his face when she came downstairs.... His jaw actually dropped. Do you remember?”
“No. But I remember how you made him sign a contract before they left, swearing he wouldn’t speed, drink, or do anything to endanger or disrespect your daughter and would have her home by midnight.” Hope laughed softly. “Poor Justin. You actually made him believe it was legally binding. McKenzie was mortified.”
Hope on the Inside Page 3
