by Sandy James
Exactly what her uncle Francis always said. “Did I hear you right?”
“If you heard me say you’re a born salesperson, you did,” Robert replied. “I’ve seen the way you get all those kids and their parents excited about the European trips. They aren’t even your students.”
“Yeah,” she admitted, knowing how difficult it would be to take special-needs kids to Europe. The biennial overseas adventures gave her a chance to get to know more of the school’s student body. “Most of the kids on the trips are from the honors department.”
“Those tours cost a pretty penny, but you always take at least a dozen kids with you.”
“I never thought about it that way.”
Sure the trips were expensive, but the benefits to the kids—the historical sites, the visits to museums, the experiencing other cultures—were well worth the cost.
Robert was right. She had to “sell” people on the idea to get them to pony up the dough. “I sold women’s clothing in college,” she said.
“See?”
“My uncle is a Realtor. He’s always trying to recruit me.”
“Serendipity?”
“Maybe… So you really think I could sell houses?”
“Absolutely. I’m taking control of my own life. I’m building these great houses—”
“They’re gorgeous, Robert. Absolutely gorgeous. If I were rich, you’d be building one for me.”
“I do believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” His smile made her smile in return. “I’ve been thinking for a long time, why shouldn’t I profit by selling those houses too? As it is, some realtors pocket seven percent of the profit that should be mine.”
“Makes sense,” she said.
Real estate.
Suddenly it felt as though the universe had sent her a sign. Her restlessness and her feeling that her life at the school was coming to an end. Robert echoing Uncle Francis, both pushing her toward something she thought she might enjoy doing. The timing of the seminar to learn even more about selling homes as a career. All of it had to be more than mere coincidence. “When did you say the class was?”
“Friday. Six o’clock. I could swing by and pick you up.”
“Who’s teaching this ‘class’?”
“Max Schumm.”
“Oh… the guy from Schumm Homes. They pretty much sell every house in Cloverleaf.”
“Then he should know what he’s talking about. And look at it this way—if we sign up for the class online, they’re buying dinner for up to fifteen people. Last I checked, only eight slots were filled. The class is at Byran’s Steak House.”
“Isn’t that the restaurant at the Ramada?”
“That’s the one. A steak dinner is worth the twenty-buck fee and an hour or so of your time, don’t you think?”
Pushing away from the table, Juliana gave Robert a smile. “Pick me up at five forty-five.”
* * *
“I’m thinking about trying something new,” Juliana announced when she sat down at the lunch table.
Her three friends, the women she’d shared her lunch and life with for so many years, all turned curious eyes her direction.
Mallory Carpenter was the first to speak. “Something new?”
She stirred her microwaved soup as she eyed the sack Juliana had dropped on the table. The same age as Juliana, Mallory was a beautiful woman—brown hair that barely brushed her shoulders and brown eyes that held both intelligence and warmth.
“No more yogurt and salad?” Mallory asked.
Juliana fished out her lunch, setting the mentioned items in front of her. Strawberry cheesecake yogurt and a tossed salad. “Nope. Guess again.”
Bethany Rogers took her turn, her big brown eyes bright and her typical smile lighting her round face, a face framed in a mop of short brown curly hair. “Um… not going to the mixer on Saturday this week?”
“Strike two.” Juliana glanced to Danielle Bradshaw, arching an eyebrow. “Care to take a turn?”
Danielle blew a raspberry and then grinned. Blonde and blue-eyed, the woman was a no-nonsense realist whose disposition kept her feet firmly on the ground. “I suck at guessing games. Besides, we’ve only got twenty minutes left to eat. I’d rather you tell us ’cause you seem pretty excited, which means it must be something good.”
Now that she’d decided to explore this new path in her life, she was anxious to share it with her friends. Learning to sell real estate might seem like a pipe dream, but the more she thought about it, the more Juliana began to believe she might have found her bolt hole—her escape route from the hell that the school had become.
Yet she suddenly realized what she could lose.
The Ladies Who Lunch.
The four friends had given their ragtag group that name. Even other teachers called them that now, the way they used the name always seeming a bit envious of the closeness the women shared.
It was no wonder they were close. They shared everything from horrible love lives to Mallory’s heartrending battle with breast cancer. They were survivors, every single one of them.
And that was what forced Juliana’s honesty. If she was thinking of jumping ship, her friends deserved to know. “I’m thinking about getting the hell out of this place.”
Mallory stared at her, blinking several times as her gaze searched Juliana’s. “This isn’t just blowing off steam because of a bad day.” A statement, not a question. Mallory knew her far too well.
“No, it’s not. I’m just so… tired.”
“You’re a special-ed teacher,” Danielle said. “It’s no wonder. I mean, we all deal with kids, which takes a toll. But the kids you see? Shit, Jules, I think you’re a candidate for sainthood.”
“She’s right,” Bethany insisted. “I might get some bad things tossed my way, but I’ve never had to change a student’s diaper or help them into a padded area while they flipped out.”
Juliana shrugged. “It goes with the job. I could have chosen something else, but I wanted to work with special-needs kids. I always figured they needed me.”
Mallory was still staring holes through her. “So what’s the plan?”
“Robert’s taking me to a real estate seminar.”
“Real estate? Interesting…” Bethany took a sip of her soda. “You know, that might just work for you. You’re a born salesperson.”
“That’s exactly what Robert said.” And Uncle Francis.
The universe was definitely sending her a message.
“Well, think about it,” Bethany continued. “You’re gorgeous. That red hair, those green eyes. When you put on a business suit, you look like you could take on corporate America and win. You show someone a house, you’ll have them buying before they see every room.”
Bethany’s eternal optimism was a blessing. While that trait sometimes bordered on naïveté, this time it helped Juliana feel stronger about risking a change. “Thanks, Beth.”
Beth saluted her with a mock toast of her Diet Coke.
“You haven’t mentioned this to the principal yet, have you, Jules?” Mallory asked.
“Not that stupid,” Juliana replied. “Besides, it’s just a seminar. Who knows if I’ll even decide I want to give it a whirl?”
“You can use summer break to get a good start,” Danielle said.
Juliana nodded. “That’s what I thought, too. I’ll just head to the seminar with Robert, see what Max Schumm has to say and—”
Mallory choked on her Diet Cherry Coke. “Did you say Max Schumm?” The anger in her voice came as a surprise.
“Yeah… why?”
“Ben hates that guy.”
Ben. Mallory’s husband of a little longer than a year. The two of them had a bit of whirlwind romance that started when he renovated her house, which turned into true love when they connected at the Bayside mixers.
If only Juliana could be so lucky to land a hunk like Ben Carpenter. “What happened that made Ben hate him?”
“Schumm scre
wed up the paperwork on the house he sold when he got divorced. Cost Ben a pretty penny to get things straightened out. The lawyer told him Schumm doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground.”
“Then why is he head of the biggest real estate firm in Cloverleaf?” Juliana asked.
“Because there’s not much competition,” Mallory replied. “The other firms are national chains, and you know how tight-knit this town is.”
“Always use a local,” Danielle said, stating the town’s informal motto.
“Look,” Juliana said. “I’ll go to the seminar. Find out what I need to do to get licensed, and see if I can stomach Max Schumm. Then I can make some hard choices.”
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