by Bird, Peggy
Typical realtor hyperbole, John thought, glancing at the calendar by the phone. In the current market, houses could take a year or more to sell. Still, his Saturday was clear. A mental review of his “to do” list in the bookstore told him there was nothing urgent that Sunshine couldn’t handle. His office manager might have an odd name, but she knew how to manage a bookstore.
“Sure.”
“I’ll pick you up at 9:30,” she said.
“I’ll meet you there.” He didn’t want to be trapped in a car with a realtor trying to sell a house, even if it was a fancy car with warmed leather seats.
Reluctantly, she gave him an address on Old San Jose Road and they agreed to meet at ten.
Driving his Tacoma pickup up the mountain road, John was seduced by the spring growth. Of course, nothing in California ever really stopped growing, even in winter. He thought ruefully about the overgrown grass at his rental. After decades of blizzards, story-high snowdrifts and ice-packed roads of Montana, the central California climate was a relief. Sooner or later, though, he knew he’d miss the seasons’ dramatic changes.
John stopped outside the house that matched the description Beth had given him. He’d arrived early so he could view the surroundings without her interference. It’s too big, he thought, staring at the forest green Queen Anne style house that dominated the huge expanse of lawn.
Beige roof finials and crestings laced the eaves of the house, leading to a circular tower that dominated the left corner. The house was warm and inviting in a Norman Rockwell kind of way. However, it still required a lot of upkeep, like most Victorian-style houses.
A few well-situated live oaks hinted at the forest tract behind the house. John glimpsed a well-maintained red barn that would be a perfect place for Starfire. He could feel the desire for the house rise in his chest. At that moment, Beth pulled up behind him in her silver gray Mercedes.
He slammed the door harder than he’d planned when he got out. “I can’t afford this,” he said.
She linked her arm in his and whispered conspiratorially, “It’s a steal. That’s why you had to see it today. The old lady who owns it has Alzheimer’s. Her sons finally found a place for her in a facility that specializes in caring for those patients. But they have to move her quickly and they need the money to do it. Believe me, this place is priced to sell and sell quickly in any market.”
John felt a wave of sadness. To be deprived of all memory at the end of life was cruel. His memories weren’t always the best, but they were part of who he was.
Eric, one of the owner’s sons, met them at the door and began to show them the house. The architect had been faithful to a modified Queen Anne style inside as well as out. While there were crown moldings and plaster cornices, the living room fireplace had clean lines instead of the ornate mantelpieces common in houses of the period. The carpenter who’d finished the inside of the house had had skill; the rooms were warm with character.
The house turned out to be smaller than it looked from the outside. Built in the 1800s as a farmhouse, it had been added on to and remodeled into the showplace it became. Eric told him that the rabbit’s warren of rooms had been changed to spacious accommodations: a gracious living room, dining room, office and three bedrooms. It was still too big for him, but there was plenty of room for guests. Or for a family, John thought as an image of Annie rose in his mind. He quickly pushed the picture away.
When they entered the kitchen, an old woman looked up from her coffee and smiled, her kind face wreathed in a cloud of white hair. She had on a pink housecoat like his mother used to wear when she cooked. “Dan,” she said, rising from her chair. “How nice of you to come home early. Would you like some coffee?”
“Dan was my father. He died years ago,” Eric whispered.
John smiled graciously. “Thank you, my dear,” he said. “But I think I had enough at the office. I’ll see you later. There are things I need to take care of in the other rooms.”
“I missed you, Dan.”
“You too, my dear.” Moved by compassion, John leaned down and kissed her gently on the top of her head.
She stared up at him, panic in her eyes. “Who are you?”
“An old friend,” John said, thinking fast. “You probably don’t remember me. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other.”
“Oh. That’s okay then.”
The old woman sat down again and looked at her coffee. A bewildered look passed over her face. Then she shook her head, sighed and picked up the cup.
Eric motioned for them to leave the kitchen. “Thank you,” he said to John when they were outside the house. “That was kind.”
“My grandmother had Alzheimer’s before she died. It was hard to watch her try to hang on to her memories as they drifted by. Your mother seems sweet.”
“She is. But don’t be fooled. She ruled the house when we were younger.”
“Yeah. My mom, too.” The men grinned at each other.
The barn and corral out back won him over. It was beautifully built and maintained. The three stalls had fresh straw beds and the tack room had enough hooks and shelves to keep needed equipment stored neatly. Starfire would be very comfortable.
“Thank you,” John said as he and Beth took leave of the son. “And thank your mother, as well.”
“Sure,” Eric said. “I hope you’re interested. The house seems to fit you.” He waved at them as they walked down the long driveway to their cars.
“What do you think?” Beth said grabbing his arm again.
“It’s very big.”
“Maybe you’ll meet someone and raise a family,” she said, moving a bit closer to him.
John stepped back. He was aware that many of the divorced women in town had their sights set on him, but he still wasn’t used to it.
“Maybe. But it’s still more than I need or can afford.”
“I saw how you lusted after that barn,” she said, drawing out the words. “You need it. Aren’t you tired of driving over here to see that horse of yours? Wouldn’t you like to just walk out the kitchen door to ride?”
“It’s still too much.”
“I don’t think so.” She grabbed his arm and quoted a figure that was well within his reach.
“How can they sell it for that price?”
She shrugged. “Bad market. Bad circumstances. It brings the price down every time. And I think you could go even lower.”
John thought of the old woman in the kitchen and shook his head. “No, I couldn’t.”
“Then you’re ready to make an offer?”
He took one more look up the hill to the house. “Let’s go back to your office.”
As he rode down the hill in his truck, he thought about the commitment he was making to California. He’d questioned his decision to move here a few days earlier. Was he buying the house in hopes that it would influence Annie? Maybe he should bring her up here to give him her opinion. Women always liked to give opinions, didn’t they? No, that would be too pushy. Take it slow. He’d have to make this decision on his own.
It was a large house for him alone, though. He’d rattle around in it like he’d done in the Missoula house after his wife had died.
But that was the past, he thought as he pulled into the real estate office parking lot in Costanoa. Beth eagerly met him at the door.
“It’s the perfect place for you, John.”
“Perhaps,” he answered.
An hour later, he’d signed the dozen pieces of paper required to make an offer on the house and written a hefty check. He glanced at his watch — noon already — and stood up to leave. Beth walked him to the empty front office.
“You’ll love it, John,” she whispered and moved close to him. “All you need is someone to share it with.” She reached up and put her arms around him and pulled him close. Startled, he didn’t resist. Beth stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “There’s more where that came from,” she whispered in his ear.
&n
bsp; “Beth,” someone called as the door opened. “I’ve got the forms for the chamber raffle. Oh. You’re busy.”
John pulled himself away and turned to see Elizabeth standing by one of the front desks. Damn! He glared at Beth Brighton, pulled his keys from his pocket, and stormed past Elizabeth to his truck. As he got in the front seat, his cell phone rang. He glanced at the number — local area code, but he didn’t recognize it. He almost didn’t pick it up. Maybe it was trouble at the store. He clicked the connect button.
“Hello?”
“Hi John,” a woman said. “It’s Deborah. I need your help.”
Chapter 15
Annie shivered as the chill from the metal bleacher of the high school soccer stadium leached through her coat and jeans, sinking its icy fingers into her butt. Why did they have to have soccer games on a Saturday evening when the kids had all day to play? Her relatives from Michigan would laugh at her now — a mere fifty-six degrees and she was wrapped in a wool coat and leather gloves with a pair of fleece-lined Uggs on her feet. Fred always gave her a hard time about her thin blood, but he’d left a message on her voicemail saying he wasn’t able to make it. Again. So here she was, shivering alone.
Fred’s been missing a lot of Friday and Saturday nights lately. Is his drinking getting worse?
Her misery lessened as she watched her goalie son deflect another goal with a flying leap. She stomped and cheered with the rest of the parents.
In the last few minutes of the game, the opposing team snuck a winning goal past David. Damn. He would be a bear the rest of the evening. When she finally got him in the car, he grunted, asked what was for dinner, and descended into silence. Dinnertime, too, was void of conversation as David shoveled food in his mouth and was done in less than five minutes. After a few attempts at talking, Annie gave up. She watched David slouch back down the stairs.
Around eight-thirty, the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Oh, hi Annie.”
“Hi, Fred. David’s home from soccer, but I have to warn you. The other team won by getting a goal past him at the last minute.”
“Annie, I need to talk to you.”
“Oh. Okay.” She closed the dishwasher and walked into the living room.
There was a pause at the other end of the line. “I’m calling to say that I’m sorry.”
“For … ” She drew out the word.
“I … I … started going to AA. That’s why I haven’t been able to make it to the games as often. It’s been two weeks since I’ve had a drink. I know that’s not long, but I wanted to let you know.”
She didn’t know what to say. Congratulations? Too bad you didn’t stop years ago?
“That’s good, Fred,” was all she could come up with.
“I’ve already started to understand some things … Well, I realized them before, but I didn’t have the courage to say them.”
She was silent. She knew it was a difficult conversation for him, but she didn’t know how to help him. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to try. Pockets of bitterness still ran deep in her soul.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Annie,” he finally said. “I did love you, but I didn’t know how to show it. You were so smart. I felt so stupid. I used to say that you made me feel stupid, but that wasn’t true. I did that to myself. You were a good person, Annie. You are a good person.”
She stared at the wall in front of her. What did it matter now?
“It’s okay, hon,” Fred continued. “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed to say that. It’s part of making amends. It’s only a small part of what I need to say to you, but it’s a beginning.”
“Okay.” Those few sentences didn’t make up for the years of abuse.
“Are you taking the job on the East Coast?” he finally asked.
“I think so.”
“I guess that means I’ll have to find a bigger place.”
“Why?”
“So David can move in with me,” he said matter-of-factly.
“David’s coming with me.”
“You’re taking him away from his friends? And from me? Where he’s gone to school all his life? I don’t think so.”
“You can’t support him. You can barely support yourself.”
The words stung the silence.
“That was a low blow,” Fred said.
“It’s the truth.”
“Maybe it was, but things are changing. They gave me a raise at work and my car was paid off in January. I can afford a two-bedroom place. With child support from you, we can make things work.”
“You expect me to pay you child support? Not on your life. David will be fine coming to New Jersey. He’ll adjust.”
She knew she was being unreasonable. Her son didn’t want to move. Neither did she. But to spend years without David, only seeing him once or twice a month? She couldn’t even imagine.
“Yeah, like he’s adjusted so far just hearing about the possibility. Why do you think he got in trouble?”
She thought she heard David on the stairs. She’d have to be careful with her answer. Then she heard the footsteps descend again. Good. He didn’t need to listen to this conversation.
“David’s just acting out. He’ll be fine.”
“Annie, he won’t be fine. Not everyone can stick a mask on their face like you can and pretend everything is fine while their guts are being ripped apart inside.”
“No, some of them crawl into a bottle like you do.”
“Like I did. No more. But, God, you’re bitter. I never realized how much.” As the silence between them grew, she heard the slam of the garden gate. It must have been left open. A gust of wind could have slammed it into the fence.
“I’d hoped this would go better,” he continued. “I’m sorry, Annie. I’m truly sorry for all the hurt I caused. You didn’t deserve it. I loved you, but I didn’t know what that meant. I hope you can forgive me someday. I really do.”
He sounded sincere. Why did he pick this moment, in all of their life together, to become sober?
“Will you think about forgiving me, Annie?”
“Yes, Fred. I’ll think about it.” She could promise that much. A lump formed in her throat, a lump made up of all the destroyed dreams she’d had about her marriage. I need to end this conversation. I can’t bear it. “I’ve got to finish some things up. Do you want to talk to David? Remember, he’s in a bad mood because of the game.”
Her ex took time before he replied. “I can handle David,” Fred finally said. “Put him on.”
“Hang on. I’ll get him.” She started down the stairs, phone still in her hand, feeling awkward about how the call was ending. “Fred? Thanks for letting me know. It was good of you.”
“Anytime, darling,” he said, the saying a vestige of the charming drunk he’d been. She shivered. After all these years it was hard to know where the man ended and the bottle began. She supposed it would take time to figure that out again — for both of them.
“David!” she called through her son’s closed door. There was no answer. “David!” she called again, knocking hard to be heard over the stereo. When there was still no answer, she pushed open the door and gave a quick look around the room. His bedroom window was wide open and her son was nowhere to be seen.
“No … ” she said. Her stomach clenched.
“No? What is it, Annie?” Fred asked.
“David’s gone. He must have heard me talking and taken off out his window.”
• • •
John walked into the local wine bar and spotted Deborah at a table in the back by the fireplace. Although her chestnut hair was still rich with color, her face had become more hardened. The playfulness he’d found attractive in Missoula was gone.
He sat down, the long red tablecloth getting tangled in his legs. “Hello, Deborah,” he said.
“Hi.”
A waitress appeared to take their wine orders and, too quickly for John, left them alone. What am I doing here? And,
more important, what does Deborah want?
“John, I’ve missed you,” she said.
He didn’t reply.
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?” she asked.
“Is your boyfriend here with you?” he asked as the waitress brought their glasses of Merlot.
She shook her head. “I’m not with him anymore.”
“Oh? What happened?” he asked, swirling his wine.
A tear trickled down her face. “It was horrible. I thought he really loved me. Really, John.” She looked up at him from under thick eyelashes. “I never would have hurt you otherwise.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’ve got to believe me. I thought I was just a rebound for you after Jessica died. I thought you’d never care for me the way I wanted you to. When Pat came along I saw a chance for happiness and I grabbed it.”
“So what happened?”
She played with her napkin, unfolding and refolding it. He let the silence drag out as he gazed into the fire over her shoulder.
“He went back to his wife.”
“He was married? Didn’t you know that?” He flipped his gaze back to Deborah. Sometimes he didn’t understand the perfidy of his own gender. Or women, for that matter. Deborah had made a commitment to him and rather than be honest and talk to him about changing her mind, she’d gone to bed with someone behind his back. Seems like her “boyfriend” had had the same moral standards.
“They were separated. He said that they were getting divorced. He told me that he’d never met anyone like me; that I supported his dreams and his wife only nagged at him. He said with me by his side he could get out of the state university system and into a real school like Harvard or Stanford.”
“He lied,” John said bluntly.
She nodded, the single tear turned into a flood.
John felt his resolve soften. What she’d done to him was wrong, but she’d paid heavily for it. He put his hand over hers and looked straight into her eyes.
“I’m sorry for what’s happened to you, Deb. I truly am. I know how it feels.”
