Page 45 of This Is How It Started
“I know.” I nod because I really do. Over the last six months he never gave up on me, persistently calling and emailing.
An agent I recognize with a young couple comes through the open door, which I should’ve shut when I came in. If for no other reason than to lock in the funky smell as a deterrent to other buyers.
“We’ve got to skedaddle,” I whisper to Campbell as the new visitors wander the house, their voices echoing through the empty rooms. “Put away the measuring tape and don’t look too interested.”
“Gotcha.” He tucks the tape measure in his pocket, and we walk out together. “Where you parked?”
I point down the block, and he walks me to my car.
“I’ll let you know what time we can get in the house. And if you have any trouble finding someone to assess the roof, let me know. I might be able to scrounge up someone for you.” Worse comes to worst, I can ask pool house Kyle if he knows anyone.
“Thanks, Rach. I feel good about this. I knew our house luck would change once you got involved.”
Campbell is the one who found the listing, not me. My only contribution so far has been a lockbox code. But it’s nice of him to give me credit.
“I’m keeping my fingers crossed. But it’ll help to make the offer as clean as possible. You have your financials in order, right? A preapproval letter from the bank?”
“We’re good.”
For a second, I consider confiding in him about Brooke and her plan to rent out the house but decide for now to keep it under wraps. I’m not even planning to tell my family until I’ve had time to absorb it. Because the whole thing is crazy. Although I can’t help but think that if I’d been paying more attention, I would’ve known.
But the thing about the Golds is that my siblings and I were never looped in on matters of money. My parents, the descendants of good Russian peasant stock, were firmly of the belief that their finances were none of our business. We knew my father had given my mother everything she’d asked for in the divorce settlement. We just didn’t know he’d given her everything he had.
Which proves to me one thing. He knew. He knew he loved Mom best and that deep down inside she would always be his one and only. It’s not because he threw cash at her that I come to this conclusion. No, it’s because my father understood the legacy of the love, the home and the life they’d built together. The legacy that belonged to them and no one else.
The confirmation of this cheers me as I navigate the city streets on my way home. Though I never had any doubt that Brooke was nothing more than Dad’s midlife-crisis Porsche Carrera to Mom’s reliable Toyota minivan, there were times when I wondered whether my parents would ever find their way back to each other. Call it a crisis of faith.
But now I know. If my father had lived to see another day, he would’ve eventually left Brooke and spent the rest of his life with my mother, which brings me to Josh. What if Beth Hardesty was his Shana Gold and I was his Brooke?
* * * *
Brooke is vacuuming when I walk in the door. She has on a pair of purple scrubs, and her hair is up in a careless messy bun that looks like it took hours to achieve. Except I know better.
“Hey.” She turns off the vacuum. “You give any more thought to the mystery writers?”
Not really, given everything else I’ve learned in the last twenty-four hours. But I nod anyway. “Yeah, sure, go for it.” As soon as I say it, I realize how presumptuous it sounds. Who am I to be giving her permission? But in her own way, wasn’t she asking for it?
As far as cleaning up after a bunch of novelists, I have no problem with that. It’s the least I can do. For all her faults, Brooke is trying to save the house for Hannah, Adam and me. And for the next generation of Golds. It is laudable, even heroic of her, which makes me ask myself,What’s the catch?
“I can take over if you’ve got to get to work.” I bob my head at the vacuum cleaner. It’s a handy chore to keep me from running upstairs and reading the rest of Josh and Beth’s text messages.
“That would be great.” She leans the vacuum against the wall. “There’s leftover pizza in the fridge if you’re hungry.”
I realize it’s already noon and I haven’t eaten breakfast. “Thanks. I may take you up on that.” I can’t tell whether we’re forcing being pleasant to each other or if we’re falling into a sort of truce-like cohabitation situation. Either one is good. The less drama, the better.
“Please do,” Brooke says.
And that’s when I notice the silence. “Where’s the work crew?” I crane my neck to look outside the window for their trucks, which are conspicuously gone. “Did they leave for lunch?” Usually, they bring food and eat around the pool.
“They had an emergency at another job site. Said they’d be back tomorrow.”
“Okay.” I’m not going to argue with a day of peace and quiet.
“I’m grabbing my purse and taking off,” Brooke says as I head to the kitchen.
“Have a good day.”
After I scarf down two slices of pizza, I go out to the pool house to check Kyle’s progress. The place looks exactly as it did yesterday, which is troubling, especially now that I know why Brooke is anxious to get every last room rented out. I rationalize to myself that maybe a lot of work has happened here that isn’t evident to a layman like myself. Anyway, they’ll be back tomorrow, and I can quiz Kyle on where they’re at as far as timing and perhaps mention my gorgeous blond friend, Josie.
