“Yes, I’ll give her an interview tomorrow afternoon, say three. Okay?” Hope hung up the phone and doodled around Serena, the girl’s name. Since one of the girls had left while she was at Dr. Cheong’s, she had one bed available, and right now it was first-come, first-served. She ripped the sheet off the pad so she could write the appointment on her office calendar before meeting with the others.
Her stomach rumbled, so after a bathroom break, she helped herself to a piece of cheese from the fridge, then opened the door and walked across the hall to her office.
Trying to appear nonchalant when she was about to burst at the seams took supreme will. They all checked her face and then lined up on the couch and bench, silent. The last ones leaned against the walls or sat on the floor.
Finally Chelsea, who at fourteen was their youngest resident, except for the children, burst out. “You ain’t gonna die, are you, Hope? Please don’t die.”
“No, Chelsea, don’t be—Whatever made you think such a thing?” Hope could feel her bangs tickle her eyebrows. As soon as Roger closed the door behind him, she reached for his hand. “I just wanted you all together so I didn’t have to say this a hundred times. As you know, I did go for my doctors appointment this morning.” She glanced at Celia. “In spite of files scattered all over the floor.” Snickers danced around the room.
“Cops helped pick some of them up too.” Celia nodded. “Now, what was it you have to say?”
“I’m … We’re … ” Hope took a deep breath and grabbed Roger’s hand. “We’re going to have a baby.”
“Y-you’re not dying.” Chelsea leaped to her feet and rushed around the desk to throw her arms around Hope in a monster hug. “A baby. You’re going to have a baby.”
“You sure that’s safe, old as you are?” Celia hung back, eyes narrowed.
“God must think so because this is a miracle pregnancy, according to Dr. Cheong.” Hope stared across her desk at the woman who had become closer than a sister in their years of working together, since even before Hope and Roger had struggled to get pregnant. Celia knew the whole story.
“Yes, and while I am getting close to forty, I am wonderfully healthy, and she sees no problem.” Hope paused. “I’m supposed to be a bit more cautious and make sure I get extra rest.”
“And no caffeine.” Roger laid his hand on his wife’s shoulder.
“Lord, preserve us.” Celia looked toward heaven. “We’re gonna need another miracle here!”
Hope had often and with some gusto delivered her opinion of decaf anything.
“That means no chocolate,” Celia said firmly.
“No, it means no coffee.” Hope stared at her friend. “There’s caffeine in chocolate?” The despair in her voice brought on another case of snickers from those gathered. How will I live without coffee and chocolate? One to get her going and one to keep her going.
After answering a barrage of questions, many of which she had to respond to with “I don’t know,” the group filed out one or two at a time, chattering and giggling.
Hope could tell something was already afoot by the glances and giggles thrown her way. She started to say something to Roger when the phone rang.
“Hope here. Oh, hi, Julia. What’s up?”
Andy collapsed in the wing-backed chair. The flight had been turbulent. They had landed at SFO after circling for what seemed like an hour, and BART had been delayed for some unknown reason. The headache had started with the bumpy flight.
“You look terrible. Are you all right?” Martin hung his suit coat in the closet and pulled a cotton crew-neck sweater over his shirt. The little alligator on the chest used to be a joke between them.
“Right now a headache is making my eyes hurt. I’m going to lie down for a few minutes and see if that helps.” She stood carefully, as if balancing a tray upon her head.
“Did you take something for it?”
She didn’t bother to answer. He should know better than to ask such a stupid question.
Of course she had taken something, both for her head and her stomach. She wasn’t one of those people who would rather suffer than take a pill. She stretched out on the bed and breathed deeply to hasten relaxation. Two more deep breaths, hold and exhale, she counted them out, and the warmth started in her feet and worked upward. If only all things in life could be dealt with by taking three deep breaths.
Twenty minutes later she walked out of the bedroom, calm, lipstick renewed, hair fluffed, and best of all, pain free.
“You look much better.”
“I feel better.”
“Tell me about the house Suzanne is showing you.”
“All I know is that it’s on Telegraph Hill, it has a view, and it’s within our price range.” She stressed the our. “She said it would need some work, and we would have to adopt the owner’s cat, because she’s moving into a retirement home and can’t keep it with her.”
He groaned. “Well, that’s an unusual condition. What time is your appointment?”
“Nine. Do you think you might be able to get away from the office and go with me?”
She knew the answer to the question even before he shook his head. “Okay, then, just so you know … if I like it, I’ll put in an offer. If I don’t, I’ll tell Suzanne to keep looking.”
She could see that he was uncomfortable with the idea of not being consulted, but if he couldn’t make time to go with her, she wasn’t going to worry about it.
“I’m hoping you’ll still reconsider selling the house and Lavender Meadows. It would make everything easier, and we could save more money for retirement.”
She didn’t give him the benefit of a look but cleaned out her purse instead. “Selling isn’t an option, Martin, so you might as well give it up.” She sounded like a mom telling her kid for the tenth time, “No, you can’t have that toy.” She wadded up a couple of used tissues and tossed them into the trash. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous of my success with Lavender Meadows.” There were times when she surprised herself with the things that came out of her mouth.
Martin snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. What’s to be jealous about?”
She walked right up to him and stood toe-to-toe, face-to-face. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
He started to walk away, but she stepped in front of him and clasped her hands around his upper arms. “Lavender Meadows is a home-based business that by the grace of God brings in enough money to support my parents and gives me something fun and interesting to do with my life.” She saw him blink and thought maybe she’d gotten through to him.
“I can’t believe you want to sabotage my career.” His reply made her blink. Did he think of nothing else but Martin, Martin, Martin?
Help me, Lord. Give me patience and understanding. “How can you say something like that to me with a straight face? Your boss isn’t going to care that your wife and in-laws own a small business and property in Oregon. He isn’t going to care that I don’t live in San Francisco 24/7. Lots of people have two homes. Call Lavender Meadows your summerhouse.”
“But if we can’t afford a decent place in the city, we will not be able to entertain, and.
“Ah, are we playing keep up with the Joneses?”
“Don’t be juvenile.” His sniff added punctuation. “There are ways things are done in the corporate world.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Martin—” Andy cut herself off. So he wanted to play corporate one-upmanship. “Watch it, bucko, you’re fast becoming a corporate snob.”
She could see him making an effort to control himself.
Calmly, too calmly, he said, “I really thought that with the children grown, we could start over, and this seemed like the ideal way. A whole new life in a new house, a new location. Not stuck forever in podunk Medford.”
“I happen to love podunk Medford, and while I’m trying to figure a way we can both have our dreams, you go on as if what I want has no value at all. I love our house, I love my bu
siness, and I love the sense of home there. I’m willing to buy a second home here and to make monthly visits.” She straightened her shoulders. “But that’s it, Martin. Any more compromises are up to you.”
She met Suzanne in the lobby at nine. After the greetings, they drove on out Columbus and turned right on Union.
“Thought I’d show you the area a bit, then we’ll go to the house itself. Our appointment is for ten.”
“Fine with me.”
“Many of these are single family homes. You’ll find lots of fun shops on Kearney. That old church is now a women’s shelter called J House, for Casa de Jesus, and there’s a farmers’ market every Saturday in that parking lot. I think you’ll really enjoy that, and maybe you could sell some of your lavender things there.” She pointed up the hill. “That little store on the corner is becoming quite the gathering place. I stop there when I am in the area to take home some of their soup. It is really good.”
They turned left on Montgomery. Suzanne pointed up the hill to the right. “There are steps down to where Montgomery picks up again and heads down into the financial district. A bus turns around here in this intersection, so public transportation is really convenient.”
Where the road split, they took the lower right-hand lane, the divider filled with pine trees, juniper, and some shrubs. A huge pyracantha shrub with red berries covered a brick wall on the driver’s side.
“You’ll often see the wild parrots feeding here.”
“You’re not serious?”
“Of course I am. Perhaps we’ll see them when we go down to the house.” They parked in a turnaround in front of a worn brick wall. “That’s Castle Julius there, one of the longstanding restaurants in the city and a wonderful place to bring visitors to watch the sunset from that upper balcony.”
“How’s the food?”
“Not the best, but not bad.” Suzanne waved to the greenbelt park. “These are the Greenwich Steps that run from Coit Tower down to the upper part of the Levi Center. The steps are bordered by houses on both sides, and the people who live here maintain the garden area around their own houses.”
Suzanne sat forward and pointed. “The house I want to show you is down this way. There was no parking place on the street when we came by. Aren’t the brick wall and stairs lovely?”
“But you can drive to the house too?”
“No, the only parking is that area just off the street, in this turnaround here or on the street.” She led the way back up Montgomery to another set of stairs, opposite the bush with the berries. As they started down, she motioned to a weathered brass signpost.
“Grace Marchant’s Garden?” Andy stopped to read it.
“Yes, Grace was a Realtor who moved here in 1949 and started pitching the debris over the cliff as she cleaned up so she could begin planting trees, shrubs, and all kinds of flowers. When the ground was ready, she started planting the open space. Eventually, her garden was known across the country. When arthritis slowed her down, friends pitched in to help. Now residents have continued her work, and there are building restrictions and requirements.”
“Like the Greenwich Steps?”
“Yes.” Going down the steps, Suzanne pointed out plants and other houses, then turned right to what looked like a series of boxes with vertical siding stained a rusty brown. Square thigh-high cedar planter boxes held sweet-smelling jasmine climbing on a tower and a Japanese lace leaf maple, underplanted with variegated hostas and alyssum.
“The entrance is on the lower level, and the main living area is upstairs, where the view is. Why don’t we look at that first.” She motioned up the stairs. A circular stained-glass window scattered shards of jewels over the landing, making Andy catch her breath.
“How beautiful.”
“Isn’t it? I do love stained glass.” She walked ahead of Andy. “I always like to see the main living space first, and here, the view is worth the mortgage.” Suzanne stopped in front of the bank of windows that comprised the north face of the house.
Andy caught her breath. From the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge at the far left to the Bay Bridge, San Francisco Bay lay spread out before her. “I see what you mean.” Oh, Martin will love this. Fiddle on Martin, I could love this. She turned to look at the living space, which was basically one long and comparatively narrow room. A fireplace on the back wall blended into the dining area, and a bar for lower cabinets set off the kitchen.
“Mrs. Getz planned to update the kitchen someday, but you know how someday things don’t always get done. Then, after her husband died, she retreated into her painting.”
Andy nodded. It really wouldn’t take a lot to remodel the kitchen. The cabinets were dark, but they looked to be in good shape. The flooring needed replacing. A small table and two chairs in front of the window would be a marvelous place for morning coffee. She glanced back to the living room. “Does the fireplace work?”
“Yes, and there’s a full bath on this floor, behind the kitchen.”
Andy looked in and nodded. That needed updating also, but like the kitchen, it wouldn’t need gutting, just cosmetic work. “How hard is it to get good help, laying floor and things like that?”
“I can recommend some contractors. Would you like to see the loft or the bedroom area next?”
“The loft, please.”
Andy caught her breath at the full wall of windows again. “What did you tell me is the asking price?”
“Eight hundred seventy-five thousand.”
Andy gulped. “I thought you said four hundred seventy-five.”
“No, you must have misunderstood,” Suzanne said, turning out the light.
Andy was positive she had not misunderstood. Suzanne had deliberately given her a wrong price just to get her here to see this house.
“As I told you, Mrs. Getz wants to meet and approve the buyers herself. She is very attached to this house and isn’t pleased to have to give it up.” Once outside, Suzanne checked her watch.
“So what do you think?”
“It’s four hundred thousand more than what you told me. That’s what I think.”
“But it’s wonderful, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
Are you going to trust Me?
Andy sighed. This is not the time to ask me that unless You have an extra four hundred thousand dollars that I can have. “Do you think she’ll negotiate?”
“No. She’s a smart cookie, and she knows that once the house goes up on the multiple there will be a bidding war.”
“Okay, write it up, then.”
“Well, it just so happens that I was so confident you’d love it, I already have the offer written up. I’ll give it to her as soon as I drop you off, and if she takes it, and I think she probably will—because I wrote in there that you love cats—we can call on her tomorrow.”
“Here’s another letter from Blakely Associates.” Celia rolled her eyes.
Hope groaned. Had Peter not responded to them and told them to go bark up someone else’s tree? “Here, let me read it and see what’s going on.” She used her letter opener to make a clean slit in the envelope, which was what she’d like to do to the Blakely group. While reading the letter, she shook her head repeatedly.
“So what they say?” Celia wanted to know.
“They have thoughtfully provided me with an estimate of how much it will cost to retrofit J House to meet the state’s new earthquake standards.” She stared at the figures, which were considerably more than the estimate she had received. But of course they were probably inflated by a few hundred thousand just to make it look grimmer than it already was. After the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake, property owners had been put on notice to make seismic repairs. Hope had made several attempts at finding benefactors to fund the repairs, but there were no takers so far. No one to help … not enough money … If God doesn’t work a miracle soon, we are going to lose J House.The thought made her want to put her head down and bawl. Instead she tossed the letter onto the one small p
atch of visible wood on her desk. Her goal for this morning was to eliminate the stacks of files and to clear the desk. She’d been doing better at tossing away stuff that she didn’t need, but she had a long way to go before she could call herself caught up or organized.
Celia laid her hand down on the new pile of mail. “I already shredded all the junk mail and credit card offers, so everything here is stuff you gotta deal with. You gonna stay in here till this desk is bare as a baby’s bottom. I’m gonna screen all your phone calls and take messages.”
Hope stared at Celia’s long purple fingernails and wondered how she managed some of the more personal tasks. “Slave driver.”
“You’ll thank me for it.”
“You are so kind.” Hope sat back in her chair and tapped the letter. “How about faxing this over to Peter? Let him deal with it. These guys don’t understand the word no.” She picked up her cup of decaf coffee, sipped, and shuddered.
Clarice poked her head in. “Got a minute?”
“Yes, but just a minute. Come and sit.” Clarice walked around Celia and took a chair. “What’s up?”
“Well, since I’ve turned this mess I got myself in over to the fraud squad, I have some time on my hands until I meet with the jeweler at one. I wondered if you have something I can do?”
Celia half covered her mouth and spoke sotto voce. “Last night while everybody was sleeping, this crazy woman cleaned and reorganized three kitchen cupboards and under the sink.”
Clarice chuckled. “Well, you see, I’m on Eastern Time yet, and if I stay in bed, I start worrying. Then I make noises and wake some of the others, and they need their rest. So I came down to the kitchen and thought I’d fix myself a snack. When I looked in the cupboards and … Oh, dear, I hope I didn’t offend anyone.”
Saturday Morning Page 16
