The View from Here

by Hannah McKinnon

  “You and your husband will need to review the documents enclosed and sign. Then, upon return to me, the bank can move forward with foreclosure.”

  Phoebe couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. It was all over.

  Rose removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes, the most human thing Phoebe had seen Rose Calloway do since meeting her. “I’m really sorry, Phoebe. It happens, especially in this market.”

  An hour later, Phoebe left Candlewood Savings Bank with the file tucked beneath her arm. She got in her car and drove straight to Rob’s office. He was in a meeting, and so she went into his office and shut the door. There were no tears left in her; she was as dried out as a husk.

  Eventually, Rob came in. She waited as he set his laptop on the desk and removed his coat. It wasn’t lost on her how businesslike his behavior was. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d kissed. “What’s the word?”

  Phoebe drew in her breath. There were no words left.

  She watched her husband roll up his sleeves and sit down at his desk, facing her. As if preparing for a brainstorming session. The look of determination on his face was more than she could bear. She shook her head.

  “They can’t help us?”

  “Too much risk for the bank. It’s over.”

  “What do you mean? Surely there has to be another way. They can extend the loan. Or offer us more capital. Something?”

  Phoebe stood up and walked over to him. She ran her finger up and down the exposed part of his arm, just below the cuff of his dress shirt. Rob had beautiful hands. How long had it been since she’d reached for one? She did now.

  “They’re foreclosing.”

  For a long minute Rob said nothing. He turned his head and looked out the office window at the summer day outside. Phoebe had been prepared for anger or disappointment. For outrage—something. But not his silence. Confused, she wrapped her arms around herself, and stood, waiting. Just get it over with, she thought. Just explode or yell or tell me what a fuckup I am.

  Finally, Rob stood. They were face-to-face, and when she got up the nerve to meet his eye she saw the last thing she’d expected. Relief.

  “It’s over, then.”

  The result was crushing. “You’re okay with that?”

  “Of course I’m not! We’re losing the house. God knows what this is going to do to our credit or where the hell we’re supposed to live. It’s a fucking disaster. But the last few months have been pure hell, every step of the way holding our breath and tiptoeing around pennies and problems and worrying at night how to get it done. That was hell. And I’m sorry, but I’m glad it’s over.”

  Phoebe spun around for her purse and tugged the folder out of it. “Here you go,” she snapped, dumping it on his desk. “Now you can make it official. Sign it and put a fucking bow on it.”

  Rob held his hand out. “Phoebe, wait.”

  “After everything I’ve been through trying to get this project off the ground, and keeping it afloat. Mostly by myself, I might add. It’s not just a house!” she cried. “It was my future!”

  Rob leapt up, and for the first time his eyes filled with emotion. “Exactly! Which is how we ended up here.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?” Phoebe didn’t care if anyone outside the door heard them. Rob was wrong. And ungrateful. She had done all of it for them, for their family. He didn’t even care that they were losing all of it.

  “Jesus, Phoebs. It was yours, all along. The boys and I just went along with it. I could live anywhere. Hell, I never thought anything was wrong with our old house if you want to know the truth. But I wanted you to be happy.”

  “So this is all my fault? The sill beams? The electrical issues? All those unforeseen overages that I had to click my heels for and hop through hoops just to scrounge up some more dimes? Do you have any idea how stressful that was? And yet I did it. Not for myself, but for our family.”

  Rob folded like all the winds had come out of his sails. “I made the sale. And I just got word—the company is promoting me to manager.”

  “You what?”

  “The presentation went well. The company bought in.”

  “Oh my God.” She crossed the room to him. “Honey. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because it wasn’t a sure thing until this morning. I had a feeling things were shaping up after the presentation yesterday, but I didn’t want to say a thing until I was sure. Everything has been such a mess lately. I couldn’t handle another setback.”

  Phoebe kneeled down next to his office chair and grabbed his hands. “We should be celebrating!”

  Rob smiled, sadly. “Phoebe. Come on. Do you know what a hole we’ve got to dig out of?”

  “Wait.” She sat back on her haunches. “You know what this means!”

  “What?” He looked at her warily. “No, Phoebe. Please don’t.”

  “It means we can save the house!” She leapt up. “How much did you say the sign-on bonus was? Wasn’t it like fifty thousand?” She couldn’t stand still; she was reeling with relief. She was talking so fast she almost didn’t catch what Rob said next.

  “No way.”

  “What did you say?” Phoebe stopped midsentence.

  “I said no. There’s no way. We haven’t even sat down and figured out how much we’re in the hole for yet. We still owe the subs and Dave. And we may also still owe the bank.”

  “But Rob, just listen…”

  “Damn it, Phoebe!” Rob stood and punched his chair, sending it flying across the floor and crashing against the window.

  Phoebe jumped back. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “With me?” It was his turn to yell. “I won’t add more fuel to this fire. You have to let go!”

  “How can you say that?” Phoebe backed away, her jaw trembling with anger. This was their chance to right the ship, to save the house. What was the matter with him that he wouldn’t even consider it?

  “Don’t ask me again. I will go to the bank with you tomorrow and we will sit down and sort this mess out, but I will not put one more cent into that money pit.”

  Phoebe snatched her purse from the couch and stormed out of his office. This was their only chance, and he was going to kill it. She thought of what her grandma Elsie had said a few nights ago. About a good marriage being the only home you needed.

  This was Phoebe’s vision. For all of them. If Rob couldn’t see what she saw, then maybe there was no hope for any future at all.

  Olivia

  Jake’s new position at the Audubon Center didn’t allow much sick leave or vacation time, and already he’d burned through all of it. The director, Tim Setterlin, had kindly offered to hold his position until he was “back on his feet,” so to speak, but it was unpaid. Already, Olivia could sense the unrest Jake was feeling. The first hospital bill had arrived in the mail that she’d picked up for him the day before.

  “How on earth are you going to pay that?” she’d wondered aloud. His insurance for his new job would cover some, but the bill was in the tens of thousands.

  It was a rainy day, the first in as long as Olivia could remember. Normally she would’ve welcomed the sweet, clean showers; it had been so hot that summer, and God knew they needed it. But the weather made the cottage feel even more cramped than it already was, and they were all on edge.

  “I’ve got some savings,” Jake said, a little defensively. Then, “Maybe Tim will let me do some work from home. I feel well enough to do desk work,” he insisted, as he hobbled through the house. But Jake’s position as educational director was more hands-on. It required him to be in the field, working the nature center, giving tours. Aside from grant writing, which he’d already said was done in the off-season, there wasn’t much desk work to do.

  Olivia had her own work woes. Ben’s show was a week away. The entire morning had been spent in the studio helping Marge wrap his pieces for shipment in giant sheets of Bubble Wrap, cardboard panels, and foam cases. Then each one was slipped into its own wooden cr
ate and stapled together. It was precision work, and her fingers ached. A truck was arriving later that afternoon to pick them up for transport. Luci was sitting at the table making a watercolor. Olivia had had to cancel her speech therapy session, but really what was the point in her going? She still had not spoken.

  “Careful,” Olivia warned as Jake swung a crutch sharply around the edge of the couch. He did that sometimes, swept too far or hopped too long. Already he’d slipped once on a wet spot of hardwood floor in the kitchen and tripped on a throw rug. Both times she’d been the one to cry out when he did, imagining the metal pins shifting inside his screwed-together leg, but he’d righted himself and shaken his head, saying, “All good!”

  Now Buster raised one eyebrow as he watched the base of Jake’s crutches approaching. Buster was as trained as a therapy dog could be; his classes had involved exposure to wheelchairs, ramps, crutches, and medical devices of all kinds. He’d not once batted an eye. But since Jake had mistakenly pinned his tail with a crutch on the first day home, he was not having that again. As Jake approached, he hopped up on all fours and skittered away. Jake halted, with a look of dismay. “Buster. Buddy. Come on.” Olivia turned her attention back to the cupboard. Frankly, she couldn’t watch any of them anymore.

  Behind her, Jake gave up on making it out to the kitchen. Instead, he pivoted to the couch and flopped down, grimacing. It had been like this lately. He was less patient and less ginger with himself, and it made for some painful outbursts.

  “I’m starving,” Jake said to no one in particular. “I want to make a sandwich, but I don’t want to get in your way out there. And I don’t want to ask you to make it for me.”

  “Babe, I’ll make it.”

  But when she looked in the cupboard for bread, she realized they were out.

  “Shit.” Luci glanced up from her painting project. “Sorry, baby.”

  “What’s wrong?” Jake asked.

  “We’re out of bread.”

  He peered over the back of the couch. “Tell me what you need and I’ll make a list.”

  Olivia chuckled. “What I need?” They were all living together, at least for now.

  “Sorry. You know what I mean.” He was sorry, but he was also frustrated. Jake hated sitting still, and he hated not being useful. All through their relationship it had been he who’d done much of the caretaking. Showing up with flowers for Luci. Changing the oil in her car. Clearing out a corner of the studio with Ben, so that she had a place to work. “Not quite a room of your own, but you get the picture…” She focused on the memory now, used it as fuel.

  “I have bagels. How about an egg and cheese bagel?”

  Jake sighed. “Only if you and Luci want them, too. I’m not that hungry anymore.”

  She knew he was. But she also knew he hated to be a burden.

  As she made them lunch, she glanced around. The house was a mess. The fridge was empty. And yet she had so much to do for the gallery show that she didn’t have time to leave and go get groceries. Back in the city she could run downstairs and up to the corner market. Here, she had to get in the car and drive ten minutes minimum. What she needed was caffeine. She got a mug out of the cupboard, but then realized the coffeepot was empty. There was only a cup’s worth of espresso grounds left. “Can you add coffee to the list?”

  Jake was prostrate on the couch. “What list?”

  “Never mind.” She’d have to get to the store before the end of the day. Once she finished with Marge in the studio, that is. And there was dinner at Jane and Edward’s at six. Jane had called the evening before to remind them. “We’re looking forward to tomorrow night!” Jake’s mother had chirped. Of course, Olivia had not remembered.

  “Right, yes! So are we,” she lied.

  “I don’t want to go,” Jake had said.

  “Why not? It’ll be good for you to get out of here. I feel bad—there’s so little room. You’ve been bumping into furniture and Buster. It’ll be good to get you out.”

  Jake had made a face. “So I can go bump into someone else’s furniture?”

  She realized her mistake. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “This isn’t how I imagined our moving in together would be. You’re doing everything, waiting on me hand and foot. All while juggling Luci and Ben…” Jake’s hands were balled into fists. “I’m sorry, Livi. It’s not fair to you.”

  She’d pressed herself up against his side, listening. When he finished, she ran her finger over his hands, until they relaxed, and then slipped her hand into his. “But wouldn’t you do the same for me?”

  Jake swiveled. “In a heartbeat.”

  “Well. There you have it.”

  They’d gone to bed, the sting of the matter somewhat dulled. But now, standing in the kitchen flipping eggs, with the rain pounding against the windows, it was back with fresh heat.

  “Lunch is almost ready,” Olivia announced. But she wasn’t sure to whom. It wasn’t like Jake was going to come out and help set the table.

  There was a thumping sound from the table and Olivia looked over. Luci was pointing to her painting. “Are you done?” Olivia asked.

  Luci shook her head, and pointed again.

  “What is it?” Olivia asked. She’d just cracked the eggs into the pan. “I’m cooking, baby. I can’t come over right now.”

  But Luci was determined to get her idea across, despite the fact Olivia was too far away to see what she was pointing at and therefore couldn’t tell what it was.

  “Luci,” Jake said. “How about I help you?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay. Hang on while I get up.”

  “No,” Olivia said, warily. She appreciated his wanting to help, but it was too much for him. In fact, all of it was starting to frustrate her. “She can hang on a sec. You stay put.”

  Jake paused. Luci clapped again. Something was upsetting her. “Is there a bug?” Olivia asked. Luci was afraid of bugs. But she shook her head. “Did you spill?” Again, she shook her head. Olivia flipped the eggs irritably. “Hang on.”

  This time when Luci clapped, she knocked a bottle of paint with her elbow.

  Olivia looked up from the eggs just in time to see the paint tip. “Luci!” The container of tempera blue flipped over, then rolled off the table and onto the floor, where its contents exploded across the hardwood. Luci jumped back and squealed.

  Jake hopped up. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

  Olivia grabbed a roll of paper towels and rushed around the kitchen island.

  The chair was splattered in blue. As were Luci’s legs and socks. Her lips trembled like she might cry, and she hopped back, stepping in a puddle of it. “Careful,” Olivia warned, bending to wipe it up. But Luci had already begun walking to the kitchen, leaving a fresh trail of blue footprints in her path.

  Behind Olivia Jake was attempting to get up from the couch. He reached for his crutches, but one fell. It clattered to the floor with a crash and sent Buster scrambling across the floor again, this time right through the puddle of paint. “Please,” Olivia cried. “Let me take care of it!”

  She turned to Luci, who stood frozen in the middle of the floor. Tears had started. “Lu Lu, it’s okay,” Olivia pleaded. “Stay there.” She continued to mop, on all fours. What she wanted to do was cry, too.

  But Jake was already standing and making his way over. “Jake, please don’t. I said I’ve got it…”

  And then he caught his crutch on the edge of the rug. He felt it because his eyes widened in fear, but he was moving too quickly to catch himself in time.

  “Jake!” Olivia screamed.

  She leapt to her feet, dropping the paper towels, just as he crashed onto his side on the floor. His bad leg remained up in the air, but he took the force of the fall on his shoulder, and the noise that emanated from his chest was primal. “Oh my God.” Olivia rushed to where he lay.

  Luci started to howl.

  Olivia knelt beside Jake, afraid to touch him. “Are you okay?”<
br />
  Jake grimaced, rolling onto his back, groaning. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

  “Your leg!” Olivia pressed her hands to his face, leaving a blue thumbprint on each cheek. “Did you hit it?”

  “No,” Jake managed. His voice was a whisper. “But it jolted. Everything.”

  Slowly, Olivia helped him to roll onto his back, where he lay catching his breath. “Don’t move,” she warned. “Let’s assess the damage. Oh God, baby.”

  Eventually he pulled himself up to a sitting position. A sheen of sweat had broken out across his forehead.

  “You’re in pain,” she said.

  “I just want to go to bed.”

  Olivia glanced over her shoulder at the stairs. “We need to get you back on the couch. Here, let me help. Then we’ll get ice.”

  Jake shook his head. He was angry and humiliated.

  By the time she got him on the couch, the pan on the stove had filled the kitchen with smoke. The alarm went off, sending Buster running again. Luci hadn’t moved from her trail of spilled paint. Olivia went to her, scooped her up, and carried her to the kitchen. She grabbed the burning pan of eggs with one hand and tossed it in the sink. Which only made Luci cry harder.

  “It’s okay,” Olivia said, sitting her on the counter. “Shhhh.” She stripped her feet of the wet blue-stained socks, and tossed them in the sink, too. Then she ran the water and washed Luci’s hands, watching blue paint splash onto the ruined eggs. “Luci,” she said, when she was done. She took her daughter’s hands. “Luci, please. You have to start talking to Mommy.”

  It was wrong. Telling your child to talk only silenced them further. She knew it, and she chewed the inside of her cheek as the words tumbled out. But she said it again, her hands trembling with anger. She was squeezing Luci’s hands, probably too tight, but she couldn’t stop. “Please, talk to me,” she pleaded.

  Tears sprang to Luci’s eyes and Olivia let go.