by Kaira Rouda
“Kelly, please, tell me where you are, babe. I’ll come get you. What’s wrong?”
“I’m at the park, by Scioto River. In my car. Please come.”
And he did.
I MADE IT HOME A LITTLE AFTER SIX O’CLOCK IN THE evening of my third day on the job.
Charlotte had made certain Bob had moved out of the house and promised not to be back. Then she personally escorted me the first time I stepped back inside. Patrick took off from work and was my personal assistant the day the painters came. Charlotte also extended the original deadline an extra day. All in all, things were good, and as Patrick and I discussed, they could have been much worse. As it was, I was shaken up, but unharmed.
At least I now knew I could run if I needed to, and pretty fast at that.
As I turned the corner, I found Patrick and Melanie busy in the kitchen.
“Congratulations!” Patrick said, and came over and gave me a squeeze. “You did it! Your first assignment under your belt, and you didn’t even tell me you were looking for a job!”
“Congrats, Aunt Kelly,” Melanie said, too, and she seemed sincere. “I’m going to go over to Beth’s tomorrow, to help with the baby and all. Okay?”
“Sounds great to me!” I said, winking. “I’ll be on the job site all day.”
As I regaled the two of them with my stories of decorating prowess, I noticed Patrick was distracted.
“What is it?” I asked him after Melanie had left the kitchen.
“I just can’t let it go, what he did to you,” he said. “I called Bob. He acted like he didn’t even remember, denied anything happened. I’m just sorry I wasn’t there for you, babe.”
“Oh, Patrick, really, I’m okay. He was drunk, probably lonely. His wife left him, his house was covered with graffiti, and it’s being sold out from under him. I can see all of that now. It’s okay, we’re okay. Truly,” I said, and gave him a big squeeze. I loved how he loved me.
“You know I’m going to worry about you, now that you’re working, going to strangers’ houses. Especially with your new hair. You really do look great.”
“Wow, thanks,” I said. Who knew bangs would make such a difference? Wrinkle coverage, I guess. Watch out, Linda Evans. “Listen, Charlotte and hundreds of other women in real estate go to strangers’ homes every day and she’s never had a problem. She said they offer some self-defense classes at the Board of Realtors and even at the country club every once in awhile. I’ve already added that to my Things to Change list. It’s #11. Didn’t you see it in our bathroom?” I asked.
“Yes, yes, I did,” Patrick said, and wrapped me in a big embrace. “And I think that’s a great idea. All the women at the firm took a class last month. The YWCA offered it, and their instructor came to the office. I should’ve thought to have you come.”
He hadn’t, of course, because that would have meant Patrick pictured me outside the home, which I don’t think he had for years. Now he would. I smiled. “That’s alright. Charlotte and I will do it together.”
“Anyway, good ole Bob is in trouble, Kelly,” Patrick said after awhile of silent hugging. “His marriage ending isn’t the only thing he’s facing. He’s got sole custody of those kids, and his business is in trouble.”
My jaw dropped. Patrick was the last person to know any gossip, or to care. “How do you know?”
“Stag room. Besides, now he’s made it my business to watch his every move. He dropped out of the club, and he used to be a fixture. Guys talk sometimes, just not as much as women do.”
“You talk more, it’s just not deep,” I said. “I’m really over what happened. Reminded me of being trapped alone with a drunk fraternity guy in college. Scary, but manageable.” Kathryn had burst into the room where the guy had pinned me to the corner. She’d found me just in time. This time, I reminded myself, I’d gotten away on my own.
“Yeah, well, you can deal with it your way, but if that sonofa . . . if he ever comes near you again, I swear—”
“He’s not at the house, hasn’t been since. You know that. I’m sure he’s embarrassed,” I said. “Are you ready to head up? I need to meet the furniture vans over there at seven in the morning tomorrow. And Patrick, thanks for being around so much for the last few days. It means a lot.”
“I’ll always be here for you,” Patrick said. “I’m proud of you for getting back into the work world, if you’re sure that’s what you want to do.”
“Of course, I’m sure. I mean, Bob’s not changing my mind. I think I have reached a place and time in my life where I need to focus on a passion of mine, be out in the world as more than just a wife or mom. Home staging seems to be a good fit. I’m taking it one day at a time. In fact, that’s a good one for my list. I took a detour over to my Post-It note pad and wrote T2C Number Sixteen: Take it one day at a time.
“You crack me up. Our whole house is going to be covered with Post-it notes soon,” Patrick said, laughing, while he turned out the lights in the kitchen.
“Don’t worry. I’ll put this on Doug’s dashboard,” I said. “He still has plenty of room.”
“Poor Doug,” Patrick said as he walked over and gave me a kiss. “Well, let’s head upstairs, then, and I’ll give you some real congratulations.” He had the “let’s do it” undertone.
“What about Melanie?” I asked as we climbed the stairs.
“Good night, Mel,” Patrick said through the door as we passed by her room. I may have heard a murmured “night” back, but I wasn’t sure. She seemed to be in for the night, at least.
I really didn’t feel like it. I was too charged up over the last few days. But, well, after we started, I was glad. Besides, I read somewhere that you can burn more than 150 calories this way.
The next morning, Melanie came over to Bob’s house with me, since Beth wasn’t picking her up until ten. We’re making some headway, I thought, noticing that Melanie was walking right next to me. She seemed happier, and she’d certainly connected with Oreo, who had taken to sleeping on the end of her bed at night. He really was a traitor. Maybe a sheepdog puppy or a precious chocolate Lab would be nice, I thought, glaring at him as I let him out each morning, hoping he could read my mind.
Everything I’d read about eating disorders made me believe that Melanie needed to replace volleyball and her long, solitary jogs with an activity that would allow her to connect with her body and get back in balance. I’d been considering starting yoga again. Perhaps we could try that together?
Leaning on the black granite kitchen island in the Thompsons’ now-sunny new kitchen, I broached the subject. “So, Mel, have you ever tried yoga?” I asked casually while also glaring at the furniture delivery guys who had just arrived and already were giving Melanie—sporting what had to be the world’s shortest cutoffs and an equally skimpy tie-dyed tank top—lecherous looks every time they carted an item past us. I tried to match their leering with an equally direct “I’m-the-adult-in-charge-and-you’re-pissing-me-off” look. It didn’t seem to work. I think one of them even leered at me.
“You know, we did a little yoga before each volleyball practice and I kinda liked it. I guess I could try it. When did you want to go?” she asked, big beautiful eyes blinking intently.
“Well, soon. I just need to get the schedule from the club, okay?” I realized that now I’d have to do yoga, too. T2C Number 17: Practice yoga, I thought, and looked around the Thompsons’ kitchen for something to write it on until I could add it to my Post-its at home.
“Let me know. I’m gonna go wait for Beth outside. See ya!” Mel said, cruising out of the kitchen and down the hall, leaving gawking movers in her wake, all staring at her retreating Daisy Dukes.
I needed to focus on the house.
It was my fourth day on the job and it was all starting to come together. The painters had worked all day and night, as promised, and the walls were gorgeous. Color and life were coming back into the home. Charlotte arrived—causing a renewed level of ogling, of course, since she was in
a tight black miniskirt, high heels, and a breezy white blouse—and after clearing the gauntlet of men she ran over and squeezed me.
“This is amazing. Exquisite. I will no doubt have an offer on it today, thanks to you,” she said, turning around in the yellow family room, now cleared of hurt. “I have fresh flowers on the way. And, oh, hi, you must be Melanie!” she said, introducing herself to my teen charge who had walked back into the house, presumably finding it too hot outside to wait there. It was a scorcher. “I haven’t seen you since you were a baby.”
And that was true, I realized. Time flies. After college, before kids, Charlotte, Kathryn, and I had been in a dinner club together with ten other women. It had been a wonderful year of going out to eat every other month to some of the best restaurants in the city while having great girls-night-out talks. We’d tried to turn it into a book club, but everyone got busy and the group broke apart.
Kathryn had been the first of us to start a family, and Melanie, in her infancy, attended one of our last dinners out. I remembered being in awe of such responsibility: a whole person completely dependent upon you. Kathryn, as with everything else, seemed to take on new motherhood with ease.
“Melanie, Charlotte’s girls are going to be in third grade and they’re adorable. Maybe you could babysit?” I suggested. Neither Melanie nor Charlotte jumped at the suggestion, so we stood there in awkward silence. I guess I needed to give up on that whole Melanie babysitting idea, but I had loved it myself and made some good money. Oh, well.
“I’m going back outside to wait for Beth,” Melanie said, and left.
“Nice to see you,” Charlotte called after her. “She’s awfully skinny, isn’t she?” she added, turning toward me.
“Yes, she is. Do you remember my friend Beth from high school?”
“Didn’t you guys have a falling out or something? Oh, wait, no. She was the one who turned into a stick person when her parents divorced, right? She was such a mess. No wonder you guys lost contact.”
“It wasn’t Beth’s fault we stopped talking; it was mine. Our whole group ostracized her. We didn’t understand what she was going through, and it was easier to talk about her than to help her.”
We were interrupted by a mover carrying the front half of the huge mahogany headboard for the master bed frame. He couldn’t believe it had to go all the way to the third floor. I smiled and confirmed it did. Served him right, I thought smugly, chief leerer that he was.
“Oh, wow, that’s tough,” Charlotte said. “Have you talked to her since high school? Where is she?”
“I actually called her and she agreed to talk to Melanie. I couldn’t believe it, after all we put Beth through. Her passion is helping troubled teen girls. She’s been talking with Mel, taking her to her house. In fact, once this job is wrapped up, I’ve got to call her and see how things are going. I’ve pretty much put her in charge of Mel.”
“It’s kinda amazing how people trust you, Kelly. I mean, Kathryn just left Mel with you, and Beth accepted your apology and is helping. I put you in charge of transforming my biggest listing. You should feel good about that; that’s special.”
“You’re right, Charlotte. Thanks. But enough about me,” I said, embarrassed. Inside I felt good for being there for Kathryn and Melanie, but extending my motherly love to a teen girl wasn’t a stretch, especially since I hadn’t really dealt with any of Mel’s emotional issues. The person who deserved the most credit was Beth. Maybe her stepping up is what allowed me to be here, pursuing home staging. I believe the saying that people come into your life for a reason. And things happen, like cancer scares, to keep us moving forward, trying new things. Beth’s acceptance of my apology and her willingness to help were an amazing inspiration to me.
“Okay. What’s next? I’m ready for another project,” I said, breaking the silence. “This has been a blast! Give me another hard-to-sell property and I’ll turn it around!” I was counting the cash in my head, the feeling of success swelling my confidence even though I hadn’t made a penny yet. I could be on HGTV. I could be Home Stager to the Stars, Grandville edition.
“Let me talk to you about that in a little bit, okay?” Charlotte said evasively, looking down at a text message.
“Fine. When?”
“How about lunch today? Are you free? We can go celebrate this remarkable job!”
“Sure. Mel has plans, so let’s do it.”
“Great. I need your advice on something, too,” Charlotte said. “Let’s meet at Lindey’s at one!” And she was gone.
“IT’S COMPLICATED,” CHARLOTTE BEGAN. “IT WASN’T SUPPOSED to happen this way.”
We were sitting outside at Lindey’s, one of my favorite cafés. Fortunately, outdoor fans stirred the air around us, the huge Linden tree that was the restaurant’s namesake provided a green umbrella above us, and cool air from inside was escaping through a propped-open door, reaching our table in gentle waves. This was my first time to sit and relax since I’d started scurrying around to finish the house. I had to admit, the Thompsons’ house did look transformed and exquisite. Maybe that was my word for what I would create for everyone who hired me: an exquisite home.
Charlotte had been talking and I hadn’t been listening. “Sorry, can you repeat that? Just what are you talking about?”
“I’m surprised you don’t know already,” she said, stirring her gazpacho. It was a good thing it was a cold soup; as long as she’d been stirring, it would have been cold anyway.
“Okay, really, just say it. We’ve been friends forever. You know I will support you no matter what.”
“Bruce and I are in love—”
“You’re married to Jim and you’re in love with someone named Bruce? Oh my gosh—THAT BRUCE?”
“Shhhhh!”
Served her right, I thought. People should stare. They will stare. She had just told me she was in love with the husband of one of my best friends.
“We’re going to keep it quiet,” she said, “but we plan on getting divorces and moving in together—me and the girls. He sooo understands me,” she cooed. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“What can I say? Kathryn’s daughter, Bruce’s daughter, is staying at my house right now, you just met her for the first time since she was an infant, and you’re having an affair with her dad? Oh, my—”
“It’s not an affair. He is my soul mate. Jim and I have been over for awhile; we both could feel it end. We tried marriage counseling, but it just wasn’t there anymore. Then, with his work, getting laid off . . . I mean, he needs a change, too. He needs a change in his life. He’s just not happy.”
“Not happy? Probably because his wife found a different soul mate!” I said, loudly, on purpose.
“Shhhh! You aren’t handling this well at all. I need a friend. You told me you were committed to more friend time. Isn’t that on one of your Post-it notes? And we have our business to think about,” she said, and patted my hand.
I discovered that when you are in shock it is hard to move your hand. I left it there and said, “Kathryn is also a friend. I’m caring for her daughter. What about them?”
“Kathryn knows.”
“What? No she doesn’t. You were both together at my house . . . Oh my—that’s why you left when she arrived.”
“Well, she doesn’t know it’s me, but she knows it’s someone, and by the way, she’s got someone else, too.” I was stunned. First, all of my friends were having passionate, illicit sex, some with each other’s spouses. Second, suddenly I was trapped in the middle of a huge drama, and finally, I was disgusted that another friend would find Bruce even remotely acceptable.
But then I realized I didn’t know all of the facts and that I would be breaking life lesson number one about saying anything bad about husbands and boyfriends if I slammed Bruce. I clammed up.
But what about Melanie? No wonder she’s a mess. And what about Kathryn? Where was she? I’d called her a couple of times to check in and had gotten only voice mail; she hadn�
�t called back. I assumed she had been in touch with Melanie; of course she had been. I wonder if Bruce had? What did Melanie know? My head was spinning.
“Okay, do you know where Kathryn is?” I asked.
“Nope, but I think she’s with her mystery man, out of town somewhere. Shouldn’t you know? You’re in charge of Melanie, right?”
Right. Melanie. Who had a mom MIA and a dad soul-mating with my other best friend.
“Look, Kelly, I know I just dropped a lot on you. But I really couldn’t keep it from you anymore. Please. I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time, maybe ever. Can you at least be happy for me? Jim and I are handling this like adults. It will be fine. Bruce and Kathryn will work things out. Let’s talk about our business.”
That’s what I’d come to lunch for, but then I’d walked into General Hospital. I realized I had clenched my jaw, tight. I forced myself to release my jaw by jutting my bottom lip forward. Not attractive, but necessary to minimize dentist visits (T2C #2). Charlotte just stared at me.
“Does Melanie know all of this?” I asked.
“No, she doesn’t. Bruce or Kathryn can tell her when the time is right. Can we focus on home staging?”
“Okay, tell me which houses need my staging touch and I’ll think about it. This all seems like quite a mess, though.”
“You’re not really involved. We will all live happily ever after, you’ll see.” Her hand still covered mine. It was heavy; it felt like she was squeezing my heart.
“If Kathryn hasn’t told you anything,” she said, “then please, let her come to you about this. She and Bruce are talking soon, sometime in the next couple of days, to figure things out. I know you care about all of us and that you’re the common friend here and it’s hard. But it will be okay.”
“Okay,” I repeated after her. I guess my quest for a midlife new start was nothing compared to all of this. Perhaps Charlotte needed to be preaching in Spanish instead of poaching Kathryn’s husband? “Do you speak Spanish?”
