Mother of Prevention (8 page)

This time I’d booked my own hotel accommodations. “We’re staying near the airport—Holiday Inn Express.”

The clerk nodded.

Now that I had the girls petrified that we were about to embark on an afternoon with a serial killer, I half dragged them back through the double doors and outside in time to see the Suburban’s taillights disappearing around the corner. The girls and I stood in the balmy San Francisco weather and waited for our ride to circle back around.

“Is it safe to go with him, Mommy?”

“It’s safe, Kris. Moore Realty is a respected real estate firm. I’m sorry if I frightened you, but I spoke before I thought. I’m sure it would have been fine to let you ride with Mr. Mitchell.”

Ha. Those girls wouldn’t have come within a country mile of the man without me.

Kelli sidled closer and reached for my hand. “You won’t leave us with him, will you, Mommy?”

“Of course not.”

Panic disorder—that would be Kelli’s first psychiatric session, thanks to you, oh woman of little trust. But a woman—especially a woman alone—couldn’t be too careful these days, and I had the girls to protect.

The Suburban rounded the corner and I stepped off the curb and waved. Gray Mitchell swerved out of the line of taxis and braked.

Moments later the girls and I were buckled in the middle seat—a safe distance from Mr. Smells Heavenly real estate agent. I glanced at his left hand, appalled to realize I was looking for a ring. I’d never done anything even remotely like that before, and guilt hit me like a knife in the back. How could I tarnish Neil’s memory with such thoughts?

Mitchell chatted away in the front seat and I looked anyway. No ring. He talked about the nice weather, how did we like Oklahoma City, didn’t Oklahoma have a lot of tornadoes?

I answered: wonderful weather—hadn’t lived anywhere other than Oklahoma, so naturally I loved it—and yes, the state was subject to severe weather.

Then he got into the subject of the
big
Oklahoma City tornado that had hit May 4, some years ago. The National Weather Service had said that a line of severe storms that passed through the Midwest that night produced forty-five tornadoes in Oklahoma, fourteen tornadoes in Kansas and more in Texas the following day. Forty-four people died, hundreds were injured and damage approached a billion dollars. He seemed to know the statistics better than I did. Our house wasn’t in the path of the F5, and we were still thanking God for that—at least, most were.

By now we were speeding across an elevated highway. I looked down on both sides of the truck and wondered how I’d ever manage to drive in eight lanes of traffic. There wasn’t
a car going under seventy on either side, and my mind conjured up the World News scenes of massive pileups, involving hundreds of motorists. I broke into a cold sweat, suddenly wanting to go home.

Eventually he took an exit ramp, and the fast-food stores gradually melted into residential homes. The tree-lined streets resembled scenes out of a magazine—well-maintained houses, older residents. Picturesque. Gray Mitchell brought me back to the present.

“I’ve given your situation a lot of thought, Mrs. Madison, and your personal preferences as well. After a little research, I’ve come up with a couple of houses I think might suit you well.”

Only two? I thought, thinking about the cost to fly me and my ear and the girls here a second time. La Chic was paying, but still, I spent company money the way I spent my own, and two houses were hardly worth the effort. And I couldn’t remember what I had written down in the “preferences” column. An estate for under two hundred thousand?

The Suburban pulled into a curved drive. The girls and I bent forward to get our first glimpse of the house: cottage-style, ivy growing along the front. My gaze focused on the dark green canvas awnings and white porch boxes beneath the windows. The house was adorable.

We got out of the car, and Gray—I wasn’t openly calling him by his first name, but he’d assured me that I could—escorted us to the front, double oak door. He turned the key in the lock, and the door swung open.

I stood for a moment with the most bizarre feeling. This was it. This was going to be my new home, my new beginning. I didn’t have the faintest idea what the house cost—far more than I had, I knew, but it was as if the house had reached out and purchased me.

We stepped inside the hardwood foyer. From here I could see a small dining room on the right, and an adequate living
area with stone fireplace and floor-to-ceiling bookcases on the left. The room had wood shutters on the windows.

“This appeals to a woman’s eye,” Gray said. We walked toward the kitchen. Small, but arranged nicely. Dark blue cabinets with glass fronts. A center wooden block counter. To the right, a sunny alcove, ideal for a table and four chairs. The floors were wood and carpet. Both needed replacing. Utility room and half bath adjacent to a one-car garage. I lost my heart, room by room.

Gray paused, his eyes roaming the outdated decor. “When I previewed this house, I fell in love with it. It needs work—you can see that—but with a little care you’d have a good home, Mrs. Madison.”

“Please call me Kate.” Anyone who could come this close to my ideal home had earned the right of familiarity.

“The lady who lived here recently went into a nursing home. She’s alone, and she’s asked me to find not just an occupant, but a family to live here.”

I stared at him trying to discern if this was his usual sales spiel. If it was, he delivered the pitch with grace and sincerity.

Trying not to foam at the mouth, I pretended to casually peruse the rooms, going upstairs several times, talking to the girls to get their feel of the house. I knew it was perfect. Too perfect. I wasn’t lucky enough to find the ideal home in one try—I didn’t count the previous visit, because those houses were hovels. Affordable hovels. This house was a real home.

Finally we ended up back in the kitchen. I stood at the white porcelain sink, gazing at the garden of Eden: the backyard. Well-maintained, mature plants and bushes, and some sort of stone structure, identical to the house only smaller, far in the rear.

“Storage,” Gray said over my shoulder. I shut my eyes, breathing deep of his aftershave, and a blindly intense physical pain assaulted me. Every fiber in me wanted Neil at that moment, wanted the marriage we’d shared.

Swallowing, I stepped back from the window. “I’m afraid the house is out of my price range.”

Gray consulted his notes, and then looked up. “The owner is willing to consider offers. I think I mentioned money isn’t the primary concern.”

I shook my head, wanting to make an offer but embarrassed to do so. This house had to be at least $350,000.

“What is the asking price?”

“Three hundred and twenty-five thousand.”

Yep. My hope plummeted.

“We don’t have that much money,” Kelli said. “We have to be frugal.”

Gray grinned, a charming display of white teeth in a California tan. “I understand frugality, Miss Madison.”

“You said there was another house?” Why get my hopes up when the effort would only be futile?

“Certainly.” Shortly after, we locked the front door to my perfect house and got back in the Suburban.

House number two was nice. It was on a similar residential street, similar floor plan—maybe a little larger and more closet space. Less fixing up to do.

But it didn’t buy me. It didn’t embrace me. It didn’t grab me and say, this is
home,
Kate.

“You like the other one better, don’t you?” Gray observed when I stood in the empty living room and covered my eyes with my hands in frustration. Our words echoed throughout the empty dwelling.

“Love it,” I admitted. “But I don’t love the asking price.” Sighing, I knew I’d come to the inevitable. “I think I’m going to have to rent.”

“I understand.” He didn’t push; he didn’t insist that we go back and take a second look. He seemed to understand my dilemma and I was grateful.

We climbed back into the Suburban, and Gray backed out of the drive.

“I liked the other one better,” Kris murmured. My seven-year-old snuggled closer to me and laid her head on my lap. Kelli wiggled and made a place for her head.

“I did, too,” I confessed. “Sorry, girls.”

“Maybe we could sell some of my toys.” Kelli yawned, rubbing her eyes. “The big bear, the wagon. My dolls. That might help, huh, Mommy?”

I patted my daughter’s head, thinking how proud Neil had been of this baby.

Later, the Suburban swung into the Holiday Inn Express and stopped at the entrance. The girls were sleeping soundly.

Gray whispered, “You go check in, and then I’ll help you carry them to the room.”

“Oh, no—” I protested.

“Please, Kate. I don’t mind. The children have had a big day.”

I slid out of the truck and within minutes I was back with a key.

Gray carried Kris, and I took Kelli. We rode up the elevator in silence. I suddenly felt awkward and tongue-tied around him.

He unlocked the door, and we carried the sleeping children to one of the double beds and gently deposited the girls on the mattress. Kelli stirred briefly, opened her eyes and then dropped instantly back to sleep. Kris never moved.

“Thank you so much,” I whispered.

“No problem.” We tiptoed quietly to the door.

Gray stopped, turning to face me. “You know, I’m an Exclusive Buyer’s Agent.”

I didn’t know what that meant.

“It means that I work for you, not the seller. I can advise you whether the seller will accept a lower price, the seller’s reason for selling, how long the home has been on the market, true house value, previous offers, if any, strengths and weaknesses of the home and comparable market data.”

I nodded as though I understood every detail of real estate buying. Neil and I had gone through a dual agent when we
bought our house, and whether the agent listed or sold the home, he was legally bound to represent the seller.

“You want that house, don’t you?”

I nodded again. “It’s perfect.”

“Then make an offer.”

“I couldn’t—the price would be insulting. I can’t afford anywhere near the asking price, honest. My husband was killed in an on-the-job accident a month and a half ago, and while he left insurance, I have to be careful. I adore the house—so do Kelli and Kris—but it’s out of our price range.”

“Make an offer. And I’ll do everything within my power to get that house for you.”

I stared at him. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I lost my wife to breast cancer last year, and I know what it’s like to be alone and up against the world.”

Tears smarted in my eyes. “The owner wouldn’t be insulted?”

“She doesn’t insult easily, and she wants to sell the house.” He bent closer and informed me in a stage whisper, “She’s leaving her millions to her three cats.”

My mind raced. Exactly how much
could
I pay and not cheat the woman? Not nearly enough; but an offer. That’s all it would be. The owner could take it or leave it. We’d never personally meet.

After a moment I said, “Two hundred and seventy-five thousand. That’s it—that’s all I can pay, and even that will be stretching me.” Not only would I have to sell our house in Oklahoma City, but I’d have to borrow more from Mom and Dad than I’d intended, and take a second mortgage on this house to come up with that kind of money.

Gray pulled out his pen. “Take a chair, Kate. I’ll write up a contract.”

By the time he’d left, I had made an offer on a home. I knew in my heart I wouldn’t get the house; my offer was fifty thousand short of the asking price. But Gray assured me that all the owner could say was no. She couldn’t shoot me.

When I locked the hotel door behind him, I kicked off my shoes and sat down on the edge of my bed. Six o’clock. The children would be hungry when they woke. I hoped there was a fast-food restaurant nearby.

Lying across the spread, I closed my eyes and pictured the house. A rosy fire in the fireplace, new carpet—someday—refinished floors.

I wouldn’t get the house.

If Neil’s death had taught me anything, it had taught me cynicism. Bad things do happen to people like me. Even if the woman was out of her mind and accepted the contract, the house would have termites—or dry rot. Or both.

Sewer problems.

Boundary line disputes.

Tax liens…

K
elli stirred and sat up in the bed, rubbing sleep from her eyes. I was aware of the movement, but too exhausted to respond. Outside the hotel window lights flashed.

“Mommy.”

I breathed deeply, pretending to be asleep. I didn’t want to cope. Not now. The day had been emotional and physically draining. Five more minutes…

“Mama!”

Kris awoke from a deep sleep to a sitting position. “What?”

I patted my eldest daughter’s back. “Nothing, sweetie. Kelli’s calling me.” Yawning, I rolled on my side and peered at the bedside clock. Eight-thirty. My stars. We’d slept two and a half hours!

“Mommy, I’m hungry.” Kelli leaned over and patted both of my cheeks, peering sleepily into my eyes.

“What would you like to eat?”

“Chicken.”

“You’re going to grow tail feathers,” I teased. “How about some nice steamed broccoli, carrots—”

“Yuck!”

We had a good laugh at the thought of Kelli eating vegetables of any sort. I had to work on the child’s finicky eating habits.

I rolled off the bed and we straightened our appearances before we rode the elevator downstairs. The evening clerk informed us there was a fast-food chicken place across the highway. I froze at the thought of getting two children across the busy interstate. We walked the mile to the intersection, and crossed at the light.

We returned to the room carrying shopping bags of chicken wings—they had no nuggets—French fries and coleslaw; as I said, I needed to work on my children’s dietary habits. Mine, too. I’d bypassed the salad bar, with scattered bag lettuce and salad dressing, smeared the length of the bar. It looked as if chickens had been roosting in the croutons, and the fresh fruit was canned, swimming in sugar, a last-ditch attempt for dedicated low-fat dieters.

Inside our room I spread fresh towels over the bed and set out the bounty. The three of us kicked off our shoes, climbed on the buffet table and started foraging. By now we were hungry as wolves.

Kelli paused, looking sternly at me. “I will say the blessing.”

I guiltily spat out a piece of fry into a napkin. “Sure, honey.” Kris and I bowed our heads.

“Thank You, Jesus, for the hot wings and French fries. Could You please help the nice lady to get some chicken nuggets, ’cause kids like chicken nuggets better’n hot wings, but Mom says chicken’s chicken and I can tear the skin off and the meat won’t be so hot.

“Thank You for letting us house hunt and not get hurt by some bad person or bad thing. Please let us find a good home, God. Amen… Oh. Wait!”

I quickly bowed my head again.

“Please tell Daddy hi, and we love and miss him, but if he’s having a good time, like playing golf all he wants, and he don’t have to fight dangerous fires, and his back don’t hurt so much when he plays football, ’cause he loves to play football but he can’t because it hurts his back, then let him stay with You. Mommy says we’ll just come there and join him one of these days. Really amen this time.”

I quickly dashed a hot tear from the corner of my eye and echoed, “Amen.”

Kelli dived into the French fries. “Do you think God will let us have that good house, Mommy? I really like it.”

“I don’t think so, honey, but we’ll find another—maybe one even better.” My mind pictured the cramped, two-bedroom apartment we’d most likely be occupying, and my heart ached. I wanted so much more for the girls. If I stayed in Oklahoma we could live in the house, old and decrepit as it was, but also roomy and comfortable. Though one could happen anytime, tornado season was usually confined to early spring and summer.

Should I go home and tell Maria I wasn’t going to take the new job, that I was going to quit La Chic and maybe open a small shop of my own? Start with a couple of experienced cosmetologists and build. I rubbed my temple, massaging the tight ache. I’d thought I would be so comfortable with the “new beginning,” but suddenly I wasn’t. I had all kinds of doubts.

I’d lost all trace of hunger, too.

I fixed Kelli’s plate—Kris was steadily stuffing fries into her mouth—and slid off the bed.

“Aren’t you going to eat, Mommy?”

“I’m not hungry. I’m going to call Liv.”

The children seemed content with my choice, so while they ate I took the prepaid phone card out of my wallet, praying that Liv would be home tonight. I pecked out the series of numbers and waited until the phone rang once before I pulled up a chair and settled in for a long, badly needed talk.

Tom answered.

“Hi! It’s me!”

“Kate? Well, son of a gun. How are you—thought you were in San Francisco this weekend.”

“I am—we are. I’m in a room at the Holiday Inn Express, eating chicken wings and French fries.” I frowned, consulting my watch. There was a two-hour time difference between Oklahoma and California. So it was eleven-thirty there… “I’m sorry about the time.”

“No, we were up. We had dinner with the Brysons tonight and got back late.”

“Jill and Tony?” One of my favorite church couples. Neil and I had gone to a movie and pizza with them a week before he died. A wave of homesickness engulfed me, and I gripped the receiver tighter. “Can I speak to Liv a minute?”

“Sure thing—hold on.” Tom put his hand over the phone and I heard his muted voice call, “Hey, gorgeous, somebody wants to talk to you.”

A few seconds later Liv picked up.

“Hey,” I said, suddenly losing interest in the phone call. I missed Neil so badly it hurt.

“Hey, yourself! What’s going on? Did you find a house?”

“Yep, found the house of my dreams.”

“No kidding! Well, praise the Lord!”

“But I can’t afford it,” I added, bursting Liv’s bubble.

“Oh, shoot.”

“Oh, Liv, I wish you were here to see it. It’s perfect—three bedrooms, ivy growing on the front of the house. Porch boxes and green canvas awnings.”

“So how much are you short?”

“Fifty thousand. Plus repairs. It needs some updating, but it’s still a great price.”

“Oh, man.” Like most of us, Tom and Liv made a comfortable living, but they clipped coupons and ate chicken more often than steak. I told her about how Gray had encouraged
me to make an offer, and how he said the owner wasn’t as interested in money as she was in finding a home for the house.

“It’s okay,” I told her. “I love the house and there isn’t even a remote chance that I’ll get it, but it’s probably a blessing. It needs new floors and carpeting, and then there’d be all that upkeep—taxes, insurance, lawn to mow.” I made enough excuses to make me feel better, at least.

“Well, you know what Pastor Joe says—God doesn’t work on our time frame. If He wants to bless you by giving you that particular house, a mere fifty thousand isn’t going to deter Him.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath. If I get that house, it will be tantamount to God parting the Red Sea.”

Liv laughed. “You think God couldn’t get you that house?”

“He could. I just don’t think that Kate Madison is uppermost in His mind right now.” After all, the world was in turmoil. Maybe once every terrorist on earth was disarmed, then peace came to the Holy Land, and poverty, child abuse and racial hatred were wiped out, then God might give my piddly situation some thought. Still—and here it was again—I could hope. Hope that the phone might ring and Gray Mitchell would be calling to say the owner accepted the offer and the girls and I were free to move immediately.

“I’ll let you get to bed,” I apologized. “I’ll call you when I get home.”

“Okay—are you all right, Kate?”

“As good as I’m going to get,” I predicted.

“I wish I was there with you. You’re coming home tomorrow, right?”

“We have a late-afternoon flight.”

Liv’s tone sobered. “Tom says to remind you that we’re all praying for you, praying that through this darkness you’ll find an even greater purpose for your life.”

When I got through this I was going to remind Liv to be careful when she tried to console. How easy it was to say things like
There’s always a reason for your pain.
Or
You’re young, you’ll
remarry someday.
Then there were the practical soothers.
Get a grip. Life goes on.
Losing Neil had taught me one thing—until I’d walked in that person’s shoes I couldn’t console, I could only be there. Be a friend.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow evening.”

“Safe flight, Kate.”

Thanks for reminding me. I hung up, smiling. Liv was God’s gift to me tonight.

“Mom, we’re eating all the chicken,” Kris reminded me.

“Okay.” Resigned to apartment living, I got up and headed to the “buffet.”

The phone jangled.

I turned and picked up the receiver wondering what Livvy had forgotten to tell me.

But Gray Mitchell’s voice was on the line. “Kate, hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“No.” I gripped the receiver. Had he presented the offer so quickly?

“I’m just walking out of the nursing home.”

“And?”

“The owner needs time to think about the offer.”

My heart dropped. I knew it. I knew the offer was preposterous, so why did I feel so deflated—like a pricked balloon?

“She’s promised to read the four-page summary I wrote about you and your particular situation, and she promises she’ll get back to me soon.”

“Did she say when?” The stubborn part of me still clung to the notion that I could be lucky enough to buy something in the Bay Area for fifty thousand under asking price.

“Not an exact time, but I expect to hear something within the next couple of weeks.”

“Two weeks.” I shook my head. “I don’t have two weeks. The girls and I have to be moved by the end of November.”

“She could get back to me sooner, and if she accepts I can have a closing date and date of possession faster than most contracts.”

“Can you suggest the name of a rental agency?” I gave up. I didn’t want to move to an apartment, but time and circumstances left me no choice. With any luck, maybe someday the owner’s cats would put the house on the market and I could have enough saved by then to purchase the home. But then, with my luck the cats would be greedy and double the price.

I could hear doubt and a hint of impatience creep into Gray’s voice, but he rattled off a couple of rental agencies and phone numbers.

“I’ll call first thing in the morning and make arrangements to see an apartment before our flight leaves.”

“I wish you’d reconsider. I believe eventually the owner will come around.”

“Honestly, I see no reason why she should. The home is lovely. She should have no problem selling the property at the asking price.”

I hung up, my appetite gone again.

“We didn’t get the house,” Kris surmised.

“We didn’t. Sorry.”

“Bugs,” Kelli said. That was her choice expletive.

I helped clean up the dinner remains, and later carried the trash to a hallway receptacle; I didn’t want the room to smell like coleslaw.

I took a hot shower and put on clean pajamas. I waited in the bathroom until I heard Kelli and Kris say their prayers. Then I turned out the light and crawled into bed with my two daughters.

We lay in the darkness listening to sirens shrill up and down the expressway. Overhead an occasional outgoing flight roared over the hotel roof. San Francisco was noisy.

I dropped off to sleep the way I did every night: worrying. How would Kelli and Kris take to living in an apartment? Leaving their friends, their school and the church family they’d been born into. Kris’s Brownie group.

Kelli’s gymnastics.

God, if You’ll just somehow let me get a house, any house instead of an apartment, I’ll make it. You can’t take Neil away and leave me to face this alone without help from You.

I paused. Oh, great. Now I was in the bargaining stage, and I resented every moment of it.

The male flight attendant proceeded down the aisle closing overhead bins. I helped Kelli with her seat belt, then sat back and fastened mine. No house. No future. The dreaded return home flight looked like a piece of cake.

I popped an antihistamine into my mouth, thinking I’d sleep through most of the three-hour flight; I knew the children would. Kelli’s head was already bobbing.

The standard pilot’s patter came over the intercom. Clear weather—should have a nice flight. He gave the flight path. Sit back, relax and enjoy the view.

I closed my eyes and thought about the morning’s events. I’d phoned the rental agency around eight, and by ten o’clock someone from the office had come to pick us up. We looked at three possibilities. The apartment complexes were nicer than expected—and why shouldn’t they be for the price? All had pools, palms, shuffleboard and centrally located laundry rooms. In addition, the apartments each had their own hookups for folks with washers and dryers.

Disheartened, I’d let the girls pick the complex and apartment they both favored, which was the exact opposite of the one I’d picked, but at this juncture I really didn’t care if I lived under a rock. I couldn’t rid myself of the desire to own that house—the cute porch flower boxes. Green awnings. Picture-book perfect.

Neil would have loved it.

By now the jet had taxied to takeoff position. The aircraft sat waiting for tower clearance. I was already starting to feel the antihistamine; I lay back against the thin pillow, snuggling
deeper into the blue, lint-covered airline blanket. Vaguely I heard the pilot tell the flight attendants that the plane had been cleared for takeoff.

Gradually, then picking up speed, the plane streaked down the runway. I automatically gripped the armrests, waiting for the sensation of wheels leaving the ground, then the gentle bump as they retracted into the belly of the 727.

I dozed in the hushed pressurized cabin, aware of voices around me. Businessmen discussing their day, a woman trying to comfort a crying infant.

The plane climbed and then banked east, encountering small air pockets as it gained altitude. I’d once heard the crucial times in a flight were takeoff and landing. I opened my eyes and gazed out the window. Fluffy cumulus clouds ballooned below; above me, an aquamarine sky spread a dazzling awning over the craft. The plane leveled, and I relaxed, closing my eyes, breathing a sigh of relief after the uneventful takeoff.