Page 70 of This Is How It Started
The house is empty when I get inside. Brooke is at work, and I should be delighted to have the place to myself. But I’m not. I go upstairs, wash my face and consider taking a hot bath, then abandon the idea. I go down to the kitchen and poke my head in the fridge, but I’m not hungry. I could call my mom, but she would know instantly that something is wrong. And I don’t want to taint her memory of Josh. Not now. Not ever.
I could always call Hannah. But for obvious reasons, I’ve been maintaining my distance. I’m still deliberating on what and when to tell her. Besides, Adam and I need to do it together, and he’s out of town at a gaming conference.
I settle for TV, but there’s nothing on I want to watch.
Outside, I hear a car pull up. It’s Jess’s little BMW. I stand by the window and watch as Campbell folds himself into the passenger seat. They sit in the driveway for a while, and I can see Jess’s arms flailing in the air. I don’t have to hear them to know she’s yelling. A few minutes later, Campbell gets out of the car and slams the door. Jess takes off down the driveway. Even from here I can hear her tires squealing on the pavement.
For a long time, Campbell stands in the driveway, staring off into the distance. I start to go to him but stop myself. Then I watch him walk down the driveway to Vallejo Street.
Chapter 25
We’re a We Now
Today, I’m showing homes to Richard and Charles, the couple staying in the guest cottage. They’re retired and are moving here from Ashland, Oregon, tired of the rain and willing to trade it for the fog. They’re lovely.
Twice, we’ve shared coffee out in the garden, and they’ve told me all about their lives. Richard owned a dog grooming business, and Charles managed the neighboring hardware store. It was love at first sight, Richard says. But when Charles thinks Richard isn’t looking, he shakes his head at me.
“No?” Richard huffs.
“You hated me at first.”
They laugh, love shining in their eyes, and for a second, I bask in their coupledom, remembering what it used to feel like.
I’ve got three houses on our tour. They wanted the Castro, but their budget might get them a tree house there. And not much of a tree house at that. Instead, we’re looking at the Outer Sunset and Richmond district and a small condo by the ballpark.
Charles has volunteered to do the driving because Josh’s old car is too small for the three of us to fit comfortably. I’ve been meaning to replace the plug-in hybrid we lost in the crash but can’t bring myself to do it.
The first on the list is a tiny pink stucco row house with the garage on the ground floor and the living quarters a flight up. Pastel row houses are the architectural vernacular of the Outer Sunset, which used to be a working-class neighborhood. But like everything else in the city, prices have gone sky high. It’s close to the beach, which I thought Charles and Richard would like for their dog.
“This is cute.” Charles beams up at the place.
Richard looks less enthusiastic. “I was hoping for something all one level.”
Good luck with that in San Francisco. Maybe in the burbs.
I get the key from the lockbox, open the door to a small foyer and climb the stairs to the landing, which opens to a living room. The inside isn’t half-bad. Plain with white walls, beige carpet and a big picture window that looks out onto the street below. With a little creativity, the house could be adorable. The kitchen is small but workable, and there’s a sunny breakfast alcove with enough room for a café table and two chairs. If it were me, I’d expand the kitchen into the alcove and do an island with stools. Better resale value. The dining room is surprisingly large.
“Check this out.” I pull down what looks to be a paneled wall, and a Murphy bed pops down.
“Would you look at that?” Charles says. “How did you even know it was there?”
“They’re pretty common around here where space is at a premium. So I know ’em when I see ’em.”
“It’s definitely smaller than we wanted,” Richard says and heads off to the bedrooms.
Charles and I follow. Both rooms are about the same size and share a bathroom, the only one in the house. Like the living room, the bedrooms are a dull combination of whites and beiges. The room I would use as the main bedroom has a window with a view of the backyard, a small patch of grass with just enough room for a patio table and a barbecue.
Richard has left no doubt that he is underwhelmed, so I suggest we move on to the next place.
This one is a ground-floor Victorian flat in the Richmond district, not far from Golden Gate Park. Unlike the first, which was empty, this one is cluttered with the current occupants’ dark oversized furniture, making it difficult to visualize the space. I hope Charles and Richard have a good imagination. At least the location is primo. A quiet street, walking distance to shops and restaurants. The negative is there’s no garage and the upstairs apartment gets the tiny sliver of driveway, which means Charles and Richard will have to park on the street.
The apartment has more square footage than the first house we saw but has had little in the way of updates. As is classic in homes of this era, the bathroom is in two separate rooms. The sink and tub in one and the toilet in another. Victorian-era residents were early adopters of indoor plumbing and were obsessed with hygiene. Basically, they didn’t want to shit where they bathed. Ironically, they didn’t take into consideration washing their hands.
Richard seems interested in this place, taking more time than he did in the first to explore each room. The floors are a gorgeous red oak, patinaed a rich golden color. The millwork needs a good coat of paint but is intact, which isn’t always the case in these older homes. Often, new owners strip out every inch of charm.
The kitchen is a train wreck, with appliances that appear to date back to the 1980s. The countertops are white tile with stained grout lines, and the dark oak cabinets have seen better days. One of them is missing a door, and a couple of the drawer fronts don’t hang right.
“This is a big job,” Charles says, a slightly horrified look in his eyes.
