He gets a worried look now. “A mistake? Don’t forget that my home is riding on this little venture.”
“Believe me, Dad, I haven’t forgotten. In fact, I think it might be best to just cut my losses, sell the place as is, and pay back that loan.”
“No, Gretchen.” He scowls. “I don’t want you to give up. You’ve already put too much into this to just let it go.”
“I don’t know. And anyway, if by chance I do finish it, there’s no way you can be involved in the renovations now.” I don’t mention my guilty frustration over the fact that he suffered his heart attack while trying to help at the house, even after I asked him not to. No need to add insult to injury.
“Not even as a consultant?”
I consider this. “Maybe not, Dad.”
“That’s no fun.”
“I just don’t want to add any more stress to your life.”
“Being a consultant doesn’t have to be stressful.”
“I don’t know…” I frown at him. “I’m not sure you can do anything halfway, Dad. You might just be one of those all-or-nothing kind of guys.”
He grins now. “The Good Book says it’s better to be hot or cold than to be lukewarm.”
“In the case of my house, you’d better remain cold.”
“Then how about you reconsider letting Noah help out? He’s a master carpenter, Gretchen. You really couldn’t ask for better.”
“I’m thinking about it,” I say, mostly to console him.
He smiles. “Well, then, maybe all this hospital business and surgery was worth it after all.”
“Dad!” I shake my finger at him. “Don’t act like you did this on purpose just to force me to hire Noah Campbell. That is perfectly outrageous.”
He chuckles. “Hey, that just happens to be something else the Good Book says, Gretch: all things work together for good for those who love the Lord and are called according to his purposes.”
“Well, I can’t disagree with that, Dad. But like I said, I haven’t decided about the house yet.”
He nods with a somber expression, putting his hand to his chest as if he’s in pain. “Don’t feel bad for me, sweetheart. Never mind that I’ve had my heart set on—”
“Dad,” I laugh, seeing right through his little act. “Don’t be a drama king.”
He smiles. “It was worth a shot.”
“Speaking of shots,” says a stout, middle-aged nurse as she enters the room. “Time for your meds, Mr. Hanover.”
“Hopefully you’re talking about the kind of meds that don’t involve needles.”
She chuckles. “Oh how I miss the old days of injecting a cantankerous patient.”
“Is my dad cantankerous?” I ask.
“No,” she tells me, “he’s actually quite a charmer.”
“Well, charmer,” I tell him, “I’m feeling coffee deprived. If you don’t mind, I’m going to run and get a Starbucks. Can I bring you anything?”
“You go get your fancy coffee,” he says. “Even open-heart surgery isn’t going to change my opinion about that nonsense. Give me Folgers any day.”
I giggle to myself as I leave. Yep, same old Dad.
As I’m returning to Dad’s hospital room, I see him speaking, it seems, to the wall. “How’s the boat, Noah?” he says. I almost drop my coffee, stopping to figure out if my dad is losing it again.
“It’s coming along,” says a voice from the bathroom. Then Noah Campbell emerges with a pitcher of water and sets it on Dad’s bed table.
I laugh out loud as I come fully into the room. “Well, that’s a relief.”
“What?” Dad looks up at me curiously.
“I assumed you were by yourself when I heard you asking Noah about a boat, and I thought you were imagining that Noah from the Bible was in here with you. I figured next you’d be asking about the animals and whether they were all lined up yet.”
Noah chuckles. “Well, so far I haven’t considered putting animals on the boat. But if Kirsten had her way, I’m sure she’d ask to borrow Riley when we finally take it out.”
“So you have a boat?” I ask Noah as I pull up a chair on the other side of Dad’s bed and sit down.
“Noah’s been building a thirty-six-foot sailboat for a couple of years now,” says Dad. “And she’s a beauty. The woodwork alone is nothing short of amazing.”
“Really?” I glance at Noah, imagining him on a boat. “So are you a sailor?”
“Well, kind of.”
“But you’re building a boat?”
“Well, I’ve sailed some. My ex-father-in-law had a forty-five-foot boat that we’d take out on Puget Sound occasionally. And then I used to borrow a friend’s smaller boat, just to learn the ropes, so to speak. But I’m not what you’d call a seasoned sailor.”
“When do you expect to finish it?” asks my dad. “When’s the big launch?”
“It’s getting close,” says Noah. “Maybe by the end of the month.”
“That’s great,” I tell him. I can imagine that a boat would be an ideal way to release anxiety built by custody battles.
“Do you sail?” Noah asks me.
I shake my head. “Never. But it looks like fun.”
He nods. Then, as if I’m not in the room at all, Noah and Dad start talking about woodworking and types of woods and tools, and I feel like odd girl out.
“You know,” I say, standing and feeling awkward. “If you guys don’t mind, I think I’ll head out for a bit. I really need to check in at school, let them know how things went, and start packing up my classroom.”
Dad waves his hand. “You go ahead. I appreciate how much time you’ve already spent in this crusty old hospital.”
“See you later then.” I glance at the clock. “Probably around three.”
“That’ll be fine,” he assures me. “Take as much time as you need.”
I lean down and kiss him on the cheek, which is now smoothly shaved. “It’s so good to see you back to your old self, Dad.”
“See you, Gretchen,” says Noah as I head for the door.
“Take care,” I tell him. Then, relieved to be out of there, I hurry toward the elevators. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something about the easy way those two guys were talking just made me feel at odds. Sort of left out. And after I’ve spent so much time concerned about Dad these past few days and have been pretty much the only one here for him, it hurts to be pushed aside now. Okay, I know that’s not exactly what happened, but that’s how I feel. And not for the first time, I feel resentment toward Noah Campbell. And I remember how he compared my dad to his dad … and I almost want to go back there and set him straight, remind him that Hank Hanover is my dad and that I don’t care to share him just now, thank you very much.
Of course, I know that’s not only embarrassingly juvenile but incredibly selfish. I should be thankful that Noah came to visit Dad today. Also for watching my crazy dog this past weekend. Really, he’s been helpful … and he’s doing me a big favor by freeing me up to go to school and tie up loose ends. But the childish side of me just can’t see it that way. Oh, get over yourself, Gretchen!
Everyone at school is concerned and understanding about my dad. My principal assures me that she doesn’t expect me to have my room all packed up this week. “Take as much time as you need, Gretchen,” she says when she stops by my room. I’m just taking down the front bulletin board, tucking butterflies and flowers into a big manila folder. “The cleaners and painters won’t be in until the end of the month anyway.”
Thinking of cleaners and painters only reminds me of my house flip, and getting my room packed up seems even more urgent. “That’s okay,” I tell her. “I’d like to wrap it up as soon as I can anyway. My dad’s doing so well that I’m guessing he might be released from the hospital before long. I need to be ready to help him when he goes home.”
She gives me a compassionate pat on the back. “You’re a good daughter.”
I shrug, remembering with a stab of guilt how it was poss
ibly my stupid house project that induced Dad’s heart attack in the first place. “Oh, I don’t know.”
I work like a whirlwind for the next several hours, and it’s after three by the time I quit. But at least the whole room is packed up, and I won’t need to come back again until the end of August. I turn off the light with a sigh of relief. But then I remember Dad and that I promised to be back by now and that Riley is still at home and probably chewing up something he shouldn’t. I feel like that old song “Torn Between Two Lovers,” only I’m torn between my dog and my dad. Deciding that Riley will have to wait, I head straight to the hospital.
But when I get to Dad’s room, Noah is still there, and suddenly I feel perturbed, although I tell myself not to show it. Just chill, Gretchen. No big deal.
“You’re still here?” I say lightly as I go directly to Dad and plant a kiss on his cheek.
“Of course, I’m still here,” says Dad in a slightly grumpy tone.
“Not you, silly. I mean Noah.”
“Actually, I just got here,” he says. “Your dad asked me to stop by again.”
“Oh…” I turn my attention back to Dad. “How are you doing?”
“I’m tired of this place,” he says impatiently. “I want to go home.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen, Mr. Hot or Cold … at least not for a few days. Dr. Swenson said five days was the minimum.”
He scowls. “I know. Anyway, I asked Noah to stop by to talk to you, Gretch.”
Noah looks slightly apologetic. “Hank asked me if I’d be willing to talk to you again about helping out with the house. Seems he knows his daughter can be, umm, independent, and I can’t argue with a guy wrapped in tubes.”
I glower at Dad. “Interesting.
“I want him to go with you to the house,” commands Dad. “I want him to do a thorough walk-through … to get his opinion.”
“Didn’t we already do that?” I ask.
Dad just shakes his head. “It’s just too big a project for you to tackle on your own, Gretchen. You need help.”
Okay, I feel like I’ve just been put in my place, and it’s kind of embarrassing. But Noah’s right: it’s hard to argue with Dad while he’s stuck in a hospital bed, just a couple of days past what could’ve been death’s door, and his chest is bandaged from his quadruple-bypass surgery. So I just nod and say, “Okay.”
“I’m tired,” says Dad. “So you two might as well head on over there now since you’re together anyway. Noah can ride with you, Gretchen.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I want him to pick up my truck for me. He’s got the keys.”
“Oh…”
“And he can take it back to my condo, and you can pick him up there. And while you’re there, you can get my mail and go inside and take care of the cats—”
“The cats are fine,” I assure him. “I saw them yesterday.”
“Still, I want you to go in and water the plants since I usually water them on Saturdays. And you can bring me a few things from home. I made a little list there on the table for you.”
“Wow, you’ve got this all worked out, haven’t you?”
“Not much else to do … stuck in this doggone bed all day.”
After making sure Dad’s nurse knows we’re leaving, Noah and I head out and say nothing as we ride down in the elevator. Just before we reach my car, he finally speaks. “I know you don’t want me involved in your house renovation, Gretchen, but—”
“It’s nothing personal,” I say quickly. “It’s just that I want to do it myself. I’ve watched House Flippers so many times that I think I should be able to do this.”
“But that show makes it seem easier than it is,” he points out, “and if you’ve noticed, some of the house flippers are unsuccessful.”
“I know…”
“I’m not going to force my help on you,” he says in a firm voice. “I’m only going over there this afternoon as a favor to Hank. I’ll give him my assessment and then walk away if you want me to.” It almost feels like a challenge.
I don’t know how to respond, so I say nothing as I dig my keys out of my purse. I just unlock my car, and we both get in. As I back out of the parking spot, I think of my dog. “Do you mind if I pick up Riley first?”
“Not at all. I’d like to see him.”
So I stop by my apartment, and Riley, eager for some action, quickly does his business in the park, then happily hops in the back of the car and hangs his head over my shoulder as I drive to Paradise. Other than a few dog comments, Noah and I are both quiet during the trip across town. I feel guilty now because I think I’ve hurt his feelings…or at a minimum insulted him. Yet I don’t know how to undo it either.
Once we’re at the house, Noah and I go our separate ways. I take Riley to the backyard but realize it still needs some more cleaning before it’ll be a safe place for him to play. Plus portions of the fence don’t seem secure. I decide to put this on my priority list. If I’m really going to flip this house, it will make life much easier if I can bring Riley with me. And he’d be much happier here than in my stuffy little apartment.
With Riley still on his leash, I let myself into the house through the back door and look around with dismay to see there really is a ton of work to be done. Where the washing machine should be, there is a hole in the laundry room floor, and part of the Sheetrock is torn out. My dad’s handiwork, I’m certain. Leave it to him to go looking for trouble. Okay, I know that it’s wrong, but part of me would’ve preferred to simply cover the dry rot with new flooring and paint the wall. Hide it and move on. Of course, then I have to ask myself, would I want to live in a house like that?
I go into the kitchen next, looking at where the cabinets had been. I wonder how much it’s going to cost to replace them…and who Dad knew who could give me a good deal. I pull out a notepad and write down some questions. I don’t have my fancy house-flipping bag with me, but I figure I might as well try to get on top of things. And suddenly as Im walking around this dilapidated house, it hits me: I still want to do this. I really do want to do this. And for no explainable or intelligent reason, I still think I can.
I write down more notes, making a fairly long to-do list that starts with fixing the fence in the backyard.
“I think I’ve seen enough,” says Noah as he rejoins me in the living room.
“Meaning that it looks hopeless?”
“No, not at all. I actually think you can turn this place around… with some help.”
“Meaning you?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. Like I said, I don’t force my help on anyone.”
“I know.” I sigh loudly. “I also know that I’m acting like a spoiled brat, Noah. And I know I’m not being very gracious or appreciative.”
“But you still don’t want help,” he fills in.
“No,” I agree, “I don’t want help, but the truth is, I need it.”
“You do if you plan to finish this in six weeks.”
“It’s five weeks now,” I point out.
He just shakes his head. “Have you ordered anything yet? Windows or cabinets or anything?”
“No…”
“Those things alone can take up to six weeks, Gretchen.”
“Really?”
He nods soberly, then kneels to scratch Riley’s ears, almost as if he’s giving me a moment to think this through.
“Okay, I admit it,” I say with reluctance. “I do need your help, Noah. But I wouldn’t blame you if you told me to take a hike.”
He stands and smiles now. “Why would I do that?”
“Because I’ve been such a brat.”
“You’re just being honest, Gretchen. And territorial.”
“Yeah, I guess I do feel territorial. Maybe you wouldn’t understand, but I have this need to prove I can do something big like this—maybe more for myself than anyone else.”
“I do understand.”
“Oh…”
“And I’ll tell
you what. If you want me to help you with this, we will set our boundaries right now. You are the general contractor, and I am the sub.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. You call the shots. You tell me to jump, and I’ll ask how high.”
“Seriously?”
He nods.
“Jump,” I tease.
“How high?”
I use my thumb and forefinger to show about two inches, and he jumps about two inches, which gets Riley all excited so that he’s jumping too. I laugh as I stick out my hand. “Okay, it’s a deal.”
He takes my hand and gives it a firm shake. “Deal. And for the record, I won’t send my bill until the house is sold.”
Of course, I realize this means I’ll need to keep a tab of his hours so I can budget for this. Still, what other choice do I have?
Then I lock up the house, get in my car, and follow him as he drives my dad’s pickup to my dad’s condo. We both go inside, and while I clean some perishables out of Dad’s fridge, Noah waters the plants. When we’re done, he rides with me to my apartment to drop off Riley before we return to the hospital so he can pick up his truck.
“How’s the custody thing going with Kirsten?” I ask as I drive through town. I’m mostly just trying to make conversation, although I am curious. I just hope I’m not stepping over the line. “Will she get to spend the summer with you?”
“It’s not looking good.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
“How does Kirsten feel about it?”
“She’s disappointed. She’s also pretty miffed that she has to be in day care now.”
“Day care? Isn’t she a little old?”
“Her thinking exactly. Unfortunately the day-care center has a summer program for school-aged kids up to seven. But it also still has a lot of little kids … or babies as Kirsten calls them.”
“So instead of being with you, she’s in day care?”
“Yep.”
“Of course, you wouldn’t be able to watch her while you were working,” I point out.
“I was going to take the summer off. Just finish my boat and hang with Kirsten.”
“What are you—independently wealthy?” Of course, I regret my nosiness as soon as I say this.
A Mile in My Flip-Flops Page 12
