by Brea Viragh
“Why did I let you talk me into this? I feel like we should have gone through with an inspection before moving across the country.”
“Coulda, woulda, shoulda.”
Now, in addition to the kitchen, it appeared as though a slew of other tasks needed our immediate attention. The contractor must have a punch list out the door and a shit eating grin. This was no cheap job.
“I’m sure it’s better once you get inside,” Duncan asserted, willing it to be true. The car door slammed and I crossed the grass to him. “Trust me. And stop lashing out, it’s unbecoming of a lady.”
I permitted him to tug me forward with our hands linked. “Why do I feel like you’re pulling my leg?”
“That sounds like a personal problem.”
“The only personal problem I have is the squalor my parents left behind.”
“Damn did they ever. I can’t imagine how this remained inhabited for so long.”
“It didn’t. The moment I moved out on my own for college they were out the door and into the RV. I’ve seen them four times since then.” I held a hand in the air for his inspection, ticking off my fingers. “Count them. Four.”
Duncan coughed, the sound accompanied by the buzz of a power sander. Sawdust filled the air at once, burning my face and shooting straight down my lungs.
“Try not to choke. I’m no good with the Heimlich maneuver,” Duncan commented.
If I closed my eyes and breathed in until my lungs steadied, I could almost picture better days. The welcoming red door and pink tea roses climbing up the front stoop stayed ubiquitous through the years. My mother attempting to tame her garden while my father sat in the creaking porch swing complaining about the state of the world through his tightly clenched pipe.
Clichéd, absolutely, and mine. Dad belonged to a corn cob pipe enthusiast group on Facebook and relished the discussions—more like hastily typed arguments—with other members. Now the obsession voyaged with them in the RV and the years of negligence caught up to their property.
Reality threatened to bitch-slap me as I walked through the door into chaos, sweaty men holding up the walls. They watched me as though I were the intruder.
The living room used to be cluttered with a mishmash of furniture picked up from various thrift stores. Now empty corners greeted us as well as the occasional portable air compressor.
“Hello?” Duncan called out, treading carefully. He sent a brief hello to the other two workers and listened for a reply.
The contractor answered from the farthest portion of the house and Duncan breezed through the empty space. In our infinite wisdom, we’d decided to engage in a tiny remodel once we learned of the restoration work ahead. Knock a few walls down and boom, open concept. Now we walked to the rear kitchen, one giant room instead of three smaller ones, and I wondered at the scope of work.
A man in his late forties rose from a kneeling position and wiped his hands on his pants. Dust colored his shirt as well as the assortment of measuring tapes and Sharpies attached to a leather belt. Salt-and-pepper hair covered both sides of his head with strands desperately reaching across the middle. Girth bounced jovially within the confines of his shirt.
“You folks the Whitakers?” he asked in a deep drawl.
Duncan spared a glance at me and smiled in agreement before reaching out and clasping the offered palm. “You betcha. Soon to be married.”
“I’m Hank, pleased to meet you.” The two men shook hands and released with a single, hard squeeze. “Wonderful thing, marriage,” Hank continued. “I knew the people who used to live here. Married for twenty-two years, they were.”
“They’re still married,” I butted in somewhat peevishly, rubbing my elbows. “I’m their daughter.”
I wish I had a camera to capture the look on his face. Recognition dawned and Hank took in the whole of me, followed by shock and a hint of shame at his mistake. I had my father’s eyes and mother’s stern chin.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Isabel. I didn’t realize. I heard talk around town the Cooks were thinking of selling and I assumed you folks were the new owners. Silly mistake.”
It made sense, from the look of the place. “You assumed correctly, as I am the new owner, but no. My parents decided to push the old place off on me so they could enjoy retirement. Maybe we would have been better off if they’d sold…”
I don’t know why it bothered me to think this stranger, hired over the phone, didn’t recognize me. Perhaps it was standing in the kitchen, where my grandmother spent each holiday cooking enough food to feed an army, with her famous lemon meringue pie, and being treated like an outsider.
I wanted it that way, right? Worked so hard to distance myself from everything…only to find I was right back where I started.
Hank scratched his head in thought as he gazed at the kitchen hull. A single, puzzled brow lifted. “Well, I gotta tell you folks, there’s a lot more to be done than I initially quoted you.” He removed a rag from his back pocket and wiped his forehead against the heat. Limp strands of hair fell across the widening forehead and flat nose.
“We came across more than simple water damage when we ripped the floorboards up.” He pointed down at what used to be the floor and we saw only dirt.
“I noticed.” Several new beams were in place while others had already been tossed. Rotted wood jutted out of the cement like fractured, bloated bones. A single, long crack in the foundation wound through the exterior wall and up to the second floor.
Hank bent, the joints in his knees snap-crackle-and-popping, and gestured to a spot near the peeling sheetrock. “You see this? Termite damage. And your foundation is sinking.”
“You have to be kidding me.” Duncan moved to examine the area himself. As though he knew about the dangers of those lumber devouring pests. “Termites? Did you know about this?”
The second question was directed at me and I shook my head. “Not a clue. I didn’t exactly look under the crawl space.”
“I meant to call you folks earlier but I remembered you saying you got in last night,” Hank said. “I wanted to give you a little time to settle in before hitting you with the bad news.”
“Yeah, day two seems like a good time to get that in.” Sarcasm exploded in harsher tones than I meant. Biting my lip, I spun in a circle trying to absorb the scope of repairs and seeing dollar signs instead. “But I came to inspect, so I need to know the real damage.”
Fuck being an adult.
It was too much, the decay lurking under the aged veneer. I thought about the floor always sagging to the left and cabinets now abandoned in the side yard. Duncan had contacted Hank weeks prior to our arrival in an attempt to get the house move-in ready. We thought ourselves smart, planning ahead to get the large repairs underway. Hell, the best move would be to hire a bulldozer or set the place on fire.
“This is impossible,” I couldn’t help but say.
“Isabel.” Duncan rose and trotted after me, his footsteps shaking the floor. “Try to look on the positive side. Hank is laying it out for us. Right? He has the men and equipment to get the work done.”
The older man shook his head until the tips of his over long sideburns fluttered. “I’m going to have to extend the timeline for the remodel project. Getting everything up to code and filing new permits will push us back several weeks. Not to mention the blow to your budget.”
It always came down to money. Sometimes I liked to pretend I had enough to do what I wanted. To say yes, fix the damn floorboards while I concentrate on finding the perfect marble for the countertop. Instead it boiled down to numbers and timelines and how far I could push my already strained bank account.
Most adults had the funds in place to handle these kinds of expenditures. Unfortunately, I fell into the category of Failed Adults, with no money, no fame, and only pipe dreams to keep me warm at night. As much as I loathed to admit it, I needed supervision.
Duncan caught the look on my face as he rubbed his hands up and down my arms for the second
time in as many days. “You can’t let yourself get stressed out by it.”
“Like you aren’t?”
He moved closer to whisper in my ear. “I’m trying to hold it together in front of the guys. Don’t make me look like a liar.”
I fought the urge to massage my temples. “Please tell me the damage. And sugarcoat it before I die of shock.”
“Three weeks and another fifteen thousand.” Hank cut right to the chase and had the audacity to chuckle when I winced.
“You do what you need to do, Hank, and we will get out of your hair. Call your boys and get them on it, whatever the cost. Isabel?”
Resentfully I ignored the proffered arm and walked out the door, tripping over the loose threshold before stumbling downhill on the uneven porch boards. This went beyond being a Debbie Downer. It was downright insane. As hard as I tried not to lash out, to deal with my failures like a rational woman, I could not. Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I peeked, and found some problems.
“My men are breaking for the day soon,” Hank said as he followed Duncan outside. “You folks come on by later in the week and we’ll have another chat if things change. Until then, you staying in town?”
“Yes, at the hotel,” Duncan told him. “Room 228 if you need to pop by.”
“Well, we’ll try to get you moved in as soon as possible.” Ever the amiable gent, Hank showed us to the end of the porch and waved farewell as we walked to the car. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
How could I enjoy the day? My house was in shambles, effectively imprisoning me in a tiny room for the foreseeable future. Not to mention my bank account which would soon be bleeding, despite Duncan insisting on taking control of the finances.
I fought the urge to cry and let Duncan stuff me into the passenger seat. “This is impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible.” The motor turned over soundlessly, Duncan’s newest investment, and he cut the wheel in a sharp circle. “It’s going to be difficult, yes, but I can handle it.”
“So sayeth the man holding the purse strings.” My mood darkened the longer I thought about the rubble of a house. I should have known the moment I got the phone call from Mother.
Come home, she told me. The house is just sitting empty, has been for years, and you won’t have to pay rent anymore. Think of the money you’ll save.
Well, the money I’d save was nothing compared to the money I’d spend making it livable. Considering the meager six thousand dollars I had set aside for updates, I’d have to take a second, third, fourth job. Or ignore every independent bone in my body and allow Duncan to finance it all.
“I’ll pay you back. One way or another.”
“I told you I would handle the money, yes, but that’s a man’s job,” Duncan claimed. “I’m supposed to take care of you and right now, with the salary the insurance company promised, we will be fine. Stretched thin, but fine.”
I hated the thought of him paying for me. The girls I used to work with at the bank all took care of their own business, bills included. None of them needed a man to keep them in the lap of luxury. I found the prospect enlightened, yes, but impossible for me at this point.
Some kind of adult I turned out to be, I grumbled to myself, praying for the universe to throw me a bone.
C HAPTER SEVEN
“Are you going to be fine if I step out for a bit?” Duncan loomed near the bathroom door, with the light from the floor lamp casting shadows at his back.
Two days had passed since our visit to the house.
I stuck a single foot out of the water in the bathtub and rubbed it in a way designed to get his attention. “Of course. I’ve been bathing alone since I was a child, although if you want to join me with a loofah I wouldn’t say no.”
“Ha. You know what I mean.” With heat in his eyes and a long, final look raking me from the tips of my toes to my head, he turned. “I’ll have to join you some other time. Call it a rain date.”
When he spoke again it was from the other side of the room. “I need to go to Lowe’s and get a few things for Hank. I told him I was heading that way and it wouldn’t be any trouble.”
“I’m sure he appreciates the offer,” I said as I picked up the soap to run it along my calves. “Try not to be too late. And if you are, then pick up something to eat. You know what I like.”
“I won’t be late, although dinner sounds like a good idea.” Duncan popped back around the door with a toothy grin. “Bye. I love you.”
I smiled. “Love you too.”
With a final air kiss billowing in my direction, he left for the big city. Or rather the nearest town large enough to boast a commercial hardware store and movie theater. The trip took thirty minutes on a good day and forty-five if one got behind a farm vehicle.
Water trickled down from a leaky faucet and I listened to the sounds of it sloshing along the porcelain tub sides. Plink, splat, plink, splat. Soap lathered along the freckled lines of my skin, the sweet scent of cucumber-melon perfuming the air. Talk about a throwback to a different time when boy bands ruled and Beanie Babies cost more than your allowance.
Two days since the visit to the condemned shack I called mine as well as the unfortunate incident with August. I didn’t hold my breath for a phone call, although I thought about him constantly. If I were him, I wouldn’t want to speak to me either. Duncan’s behavior was on my shoulders.
Though I knew the phone worked both ways, every time I tried my fingers trembled over the keypad until I hung up. In the end I stopped trying and let the air clear on its own.
Now I simultaneously checked the hair piled on top of my head for stragglers and grasped the razor with two fingers. Multitasker extraordinaire. At least I had that going for me. I could wield a Venus and pat my head at the same time.
The hair was beginning to be a problem. Inevitably I found another colony of grays living behind my temple out of plain sight and clustered together like rabbits in a warren. Which meant another trip to the store for color because, as my mother said, there was no such thing as age with dignity. We deteriorated one way or another so why not look fabulous on the way out? I thanked Lady Clairol for her undying support.
When I lived in California I tried to take care of myself on the tiny budget I allotted for cosmetics. That meant every once in a while, I broke down and raided the local cosmetics counter to support my vanity. If I thought my budget was tight then, now the strictness choked me. I was positively constricted and felt like something the cat dragged in. Stress had me frazzled, although hopefully I looked a bit better than I felt.
Amazing what emotional baggage did to a person. The combined weight of every botched milestone in my life sat heavy in my chest.
Hi, I’m Izzy Cook. I’m nearing middle age with no babies, a house in my parents’ name, and no foreseeable advancement in my career. Oh, ha-ha, what career? Those are more elusive than a lady breaking the glass ceiling.
I finished shaving my legs, watching bubbles fade among the cooling water. The knock at the front door had me nearly drowning as I jumped.
Duncan returning, more than likely. “Did you forget your wallet?” I called out, gathering the bubbles to me and blowing them halfway across the water on a sigh.
I heard nothing in response and I set aside the soap. No such thing as a moment’s peace when one lived with a man. Duncan was the only boyfriend I’d gotten serious enough to join residences with and I had to say, I didn’t care too much for the cleanup. The last four months saw endless laundry to wash, fold, and repeat. Not to mention the dirty dishes and random junk scattered on every available surface.
Worse than a pet at times. And I thought I was messy.
The hotel accommodations included fluffy towels soft enough to sink into and little else. I took hold of the nearest one and wrapped it around my breasts and midsection, water winding down to pool on the tile.
The knock came again, this time more insistent.
Tucking the edges of the towel together,
I padded across the carpet. “Hold on, I’m coming. You are so forgetful sometime.”
Alone time was scarce lately, I mused. A luxury of the past, so to speak. Once the house was finished, I hoped to spread out and enjoy some quality time with myself. Until then I made the best of a cramped situation and kept that smile pumping every waking moment.
“I’m coming,” I repeated, unlatching the deadbolt and chain before throwing the door open.
Auburn locks and blue eyes greeted me with the latter sparkling cheerfully. Not Duncan.
“Surprise. I brought you a present,” August began before finally glancing down at my attire. “Oh. I see I caught you at a bad time.”
I clutched the towel closer to my chest while he fidgeted. Our eyes met in mutual mortification. At least, how I preferred to interpret the look he shot me.
“Yeah, it’s not the best timing.” I kept a firm grip on the towel, hugging myself and maneuvering closer to the wall.
“I understand, but this will only take a minute.” August shuffled his weight, hands in pockets. “I brought you something to make up for the other day. I can’t help but feel responsible. I hope you didn’t get into an argument.”
He felt bad? He should spend time in my head if he wanted to see real guilt. “God, no. None of it was your fault,” I began. “Duncan should be the one apologizing. I’ve mentioned it to him a few times, though he lacks the gumption.”
“No, he got my number the night of the reunion and texted me. It was fine. We may not get along the best, but we’re on even footing now.” August reached beside the door and drew up a long package wrapped in white paper decorated with silver and red balloons. “For you!”
I stared at it. “You text each other now?” I asked for lack of anything better.
“Your fiancé seems like he’s on the ball. Told me he was acting like a fool. I told him not to sweat the small stuff.” August held the parcel out to me. “Take it, this is for you. Sorry I couldn’t find anything else to wrap it in, I’m limited on supplies. It was either balloons or laughing babies and those are creepy. The dollar store has a great selection.”
