Here, Home, Hope Page 13

  Patrick stepped between us and said, “Congratulations, Charlotte, but I think right now Kelly and I need to get our bearings in our own home. She’ll talk to you later.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the front door.

  “Bye, neighbors,” Charlotte said quietly as we walked out. Patrick slammed the door behind us.

  As we made our way down the walk, down the driveway, across the street, and to our home, we were silent. It was a time for reflection or perhaps, as Patrick squeezed my hand tighter, for thankfulness.

  When we reached the comfort of the porch, Patrick motioned for me to sit down and he went inside. He called for Oreo, and before I knew it, I had eighteen pounds of unconditional love licking my cheek. He enjoyed the salt of my tears. I just enjoyed the company and love. Patrick was back a few minutes later with two glasses of wine and a lit candle. I’m not sure how he did it, but everything he grabbed was color coordinated: blue stemware and blue candle and even cocktail napkins in blue and white toile. We’d make it past our twenty-fifth anniversary, I was sure of it.

  “Well, that was something,” Patrick said, sitting down next to me on the couch and receiving his own big lick from Oreo. “I hate that,” he added, grinning and wiping his slobber-laden cheek.

  “I hate that, too,” I echoed, misunderstanding what Patrick had referred to. “I mean, jeez, Charlotte only told me about her and Bruce the other day, and then we had to see it. I think she just wanted a decorator for her love nest. I was royally used.” My tears were dried up, and now, since I didn’t have to yell anymore, I was mad.

  “You knew about Charlotte and Bruce? Why didn’t you tell me?” Patrick asked.

  Yes, why didn’t I? “I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone,” I said, knowing I’d told my mom and Beth. “Well, actually, I was trying to sort it out. I think telling you would’ve made it too real.”

  “It’s certainly real now, that’s for sure. I just wish I hadn’t seen them together in bed.” Then he chuckled. “They did seem to be enjoying the romantic atmosphere you created, though.”

  “Yes, well, that’s the thing. I loved the project. I think I’m really good at this home staging thing. But I don’t trust Charlotte. I don’t think I can work with her. Business, like anything, has to be based on trust, right?”

  “Right, but I don’t know if this is a sign you can’t trust her. I think it may be simply that she’s in love. Oh, that reminds me. Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

  As I rubbed Oreo’s tummy and admired the candlelight dancing on the ceiling, I thought some more about Charlotte. It wasn’t wrong for her to find love; it was the sneaking around behind their spouses. The most troubling part was Kathryn and Melanie. How were they affected; how would they be affected? It’s not that I wished Charlotte anything less than happiness; it’s just that I didn’t want her happiness to cost my other friend hers.

  “Okay, close your eyes,” Patrick said, rejoining us on the couch. I did as instructed and heard him placing something on the coffee table in front of me. “Open!”

  On the table he’d stacked five books, and as I smiled at him, he said: “These should take care of T2C #3: Buy a Suze Orman book. I got you one of hers, as well as these others for women starting their own businesses. I liked this one the best: Real You Incorporated: 8 Essentials for Women Entrepreneurs.”

  How did I get so lucky, I wondered?

  “To your future!” Patrick said, and we clinked our glasses.

  I’D STAYED UP LATE THE NIGHT BEFORE, SKIMMING THE BOOKS Patrick had bought me. It was a wonderful exercise in self-discovery and inspiration. It turns out a lot of us women are out there looking to put our passions into action. It was good to know I wasn’t alone, particularly when I was feeling betrayed by Charlotte. Well, actually, I guessed she felt the same since I’d yelled at her last night and told her we weren’t going into business together. We were in a standoff. One thing I had going for me: there were more real estate agents than just Charlotte in Grandville. But I’d also read it was tricky to get a real estate agent to even consider using your services if they’d never heard of staging before. The key would be to reach out to the entire real estate community. Patrick had suggested I enlist Melanie to help and she had actually agreed. She’d called all of the biggest real estate companies in town and asked them if they’d consider encouraging their agents to come to a cocktail party on Summit Road. The incentive was a tour of two of the street’s most famous properties, one of which recently sold at asking, for cash. While she was handling the calls for me, I smiled at my business card mockup.

  Kelly Johnson Home Staging

  Exquisite Transformations

  I liked my business tagline and the design of my business card, featuring the hand-drawn hydrangea. I decided to start writing a business plan, and whenever I got stymied, I’d reach for one of the books Patrick had given me.

  I couldn’t believe it when Patrick walked through the door at 6:30 that evening. Time had flown. “Hey how’s my favorite home stager doing?” His enthusiasm and support were the best. He’d even written the boys at camp—one-way email—to tell them I had a huge surprise to tell them about so they’d better ask to make a special call home. “They should both be on the telephone, which should be ringing in about ten minutes.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the boys would think the news was something else they’d been waiting to hear: that we built a pool.

  Oh well, at least I’d get to hear their voices, and they’d be happy voices until they heard the real news. And, though they’d be disappointed, they were old enough to fake support. I hoped so, at any rate.

  “Hey guys, what’s up?” David asked as soon as we answered, both on separate extensions in different rooms of the house. Remarkably, David had not only made a point to be on the phone but also bumped his own little brother and taken the receiver first. At the moment, we were his top priority, way above nature hikes. It wouldn’t last.

  “Hi Champ! We have some great news!” Patrick said, bursting with enthusiasm.

  “I know, I know, that’s what you wrote me in the email. And?” David said.

  “Yes, about that; you haven’t written once,” I said.

  “Mom, I know, alright? I’ll write. What’s the news?”

  “Your mom is starting her own business!” Patrick said.

  “No pool?”

  “Nope,” I said.

  “Bummer. Well, good luck, Mom,” David said. “I’ll tell Sean what the news is. He’ll be kinda bummed, too. We thought it was the pool.”

  “I know. That’s okay,” I said. “I love you.”

  “Son, you should be proud of your mom,” Patrick said.

  “I am, Dad. I’m proud of both of you. Hey, I’m on the traveling basketball team. I think I’ll get the award this week at campfire! Did I tell you that? I’ve gotta go. Oh, and Sean is on the team, too, so he’ll have to talk to you later. Love you! Bye!”

  “Sorry,” Patrick said, looking disappointed as he rejoined me in the kitchen. “Kids are selfish sometimes.”

  “That’s their job. Later, when they’re grown-ups, they can pretend to care about things they don’t really care about,” I said. “They really want a pool.”

  “Little shits,” he said, laughing. “So, it’s date night out tonight, remember?”

  “Are you sure it’s okay to leave Melanie and let her have people over?” I asked.

  “Sure, we won’t be late. Go get ready and I’ll take a look at your business plan, if that’s okay?”

  Melanie hadn’t materialized yet, and I assumed she was still at Beth’s. As I passed by her room, her open laptop beckoned me with its quiet glow. I noticed a pink Post-it note on the wall next to her bed. It read, “One day at a time.” I smiled.

  I would respect her privacy for now, but I wasn’t going to remain clueless forever. Was I?

  Yes. We both were. Mr. and Mrs. Clueless.

  We were in Doug, heading home after a wonderful dinner at our
favorite romantic restaurant, The Refectory. Housed in an 1890s church, it featured fabulously rich French cuisine and an amazing wine cellar. We were happy, chatting about the new exhibit coming to the Wexner Center the following week as we turned onto Summit, our street. Two blocks from our house we noticed that somebody must be having a party, because cars were parked along both sides of the road for as far as we could see.

  And then we both knew, of course, the party was at our house. My enlightenment coincided precisely with the moment I happened to glance at the dashboard and notice T2C #18. Yes, gullible and clueless.

  We couldn’t pull into the driveway; cars were packed in it. Patrick drove up onto the lawn and jumped out. Framed by our headlights was a teenage boy who looked a lot like one of Bob and Heidi’s kids. He held a bottle in one hand in the same sort of pose Bob had been in the night I’d fled from him.

  “Ah, hey, Mr. Johnson,” the boy muttered.

  “Who is that?” Patrick asked.

  “Tom Thompson, you know, from across the street. Mrs. Johnson redid my old house. Looks great, Mrs. Johnson,” he added, looking at me.

  “What’s going on here, Tom?” Patrick asked as I followed both of them toward the house.

  “Not much, really. Just a few kids kicking back, you know,” he said, and then, like magic, he disappeared into the bushes next to our house. He was the boy who’d been talking to Mel when she’d headed out for a jog, I realized. I wondered if he was the one who’d suggested the party in the first place, the one whom she’d been text messaging. I wondered why he was in the neighborhood at all, when he lived at his grandparents’ house now.

  As we approached our side yard, word had obviously begun to spread that we had returned. Kids were running across our backyard, disappearing into the night. I tripped over a beer can, and then came across an empty fifth of vodka. I just kept following Patrick as teenagers scampered away like mice.

  “Where’s Melanie?” Patrick demanded, grabbing the next girl who was on her flight to freedom.

  “Who’s Melanie?” the girl asked, scared and wide-eyed. Patrick dropped her arm and she was gone.

  We’d made it to the backyard. The doors to the walkout basement stood wide open. I suddenly wondered where Oreo was in all of this chaos and hoped he hadn’t run away.

  “Patrick, what about Oreo?” I said, running up next to him.

  “He’s fine, I’m sure. He’s a smart dog. Probably hiding,” he said to me, and then yelled, “Melanie!”

  We walked into our basement and confronted a pool table covered with empty beer bottles, chip bags, and pizza boxes. The floor was sticky to walk on. We’d created a mini-kitchen in the basement, for parties and entertaining. Patrick kept the fridge stocked for law firm events. The refrigerator door stood open, and the entire beer supply was gone. I hadn’t even thought of it until now. All of the cabinets had been ransacked, too. I knew there had been a lot of alcohol stored on the top shelves, but I had no idea how much.

  Around the corner was the room where we had a flat screen TV and a huge leather sectional. This was the boys’ favorite spot in the whole house. They’d play their various gaming systems on this TV and use the entire space for sleepovers. Right now, it smelled like a fraternity house after a huge keg party. And it looked like it, too.

  Only one person remained in the basement, on the couch. It was Melanie. She looked like she’d passed out.

  Patrick grabbed her by both shoulders and shook her. “Wake up, Melanie, wake up,” he said in a voice that would scare me and the boys but only made Melanie’s eyes flutter behind her lashes. I checked her pulse and it was fine. She was breathing.

  “Patrick, take it easy,” I said, and then rubbed her cheek. “Melanie, it’s time to wake up and go upstairs. Come on.”

  She stirred, and finally opened her eyes. She rolled to one side and then threw up—all over Patrick, the couch, and the floor.

  I FOUND OREO HIDING UNDER OUR BED. HE CAME OUT to me with his tail between his legs, shaking. Poor guy. He’d been terrified.

  I took charge of getting Melanie to take a shower and then got her into bed. It seemed like she’d vomited most of the alcohol she’d consumed, but I had no way of knowing. I’d need to check on her throughout the night. I also didn’t know if she’d had anything else. Were kids doing drugs at our house, too? I had no idea. Clueless.

  Patrick finally made it upstairs after my second visit to Melanie’s room, a little after two in the morning. We were both exhausted, disappointed, and upset. We fell asleep without saying a word.

  I woke up late and in a panic at nine in the morning. Patrick had left a note saying he’d gone to the office. I rushed down the hall and found Melanie still asleep. As I had done with my boys when they were babies, and as I had all through the night with her, I checked to make sure she was breathing before I quietly closed the door.

  I decided I had to find Kathryn. Not expecting anything but voice mail, I called the same number I had been calling, and this time she answered on the first ring.

  “Is something wrong with Mel?” she asked, panicked.

  “No, no, she’s fine,” I fibbed. I would save the party story for later in the call.

  “Oh my goodness, Kelly. I’m the most horrible mother in the world. And the most horrible friend. I am so sorry. I dump my morose teen on you, and then I don’t even call. I know it’s wrong, and I’m so sorry. I just needed a break.”

  I heard the distinct sound of water in the background.

  “Where are you?” I asked.

  “Montana. Didn’t Melanie tell you? I asked her to be sure to let you know, in case you needed me. I haven’t been checking voice mail.”

  “Montana?” I asked, thinking maybe I’d heard wrong. “Ah, no, Melanie didn’t mention it. By the way, what’s that sound, Kathryn?”

  “I’m sitting next to the most glorious river, looking down through crystal clear, mountain spring water to river rocks with fabulous colors like burned orange, shiny gray, and this really hard-to-describe light blue,” she said.

  I was, meanwhile, standing in my kitchen looking out over my backyard littered with teenage party debris, and without much effort I could gaze down the basement stairs to a pool table covered with various colors of beer cans and old, greasy pizza boxes. Sometimes, life isn’t fair.

  “Where in Montana are you?” I asked, trying to keep the conversation flowing and my jealousy under wraps.

  “Well, I flew into a place called Kalispell—it’s up at the top of the state—and the ranch where I’m staying is next to Glacier National Park. It was thirty degrees last night,” she said. “But it’s beautiful. I’m surprised my cell phone works so well. We aren’t supposed to have them, but I needed to keep in touch with Mel and the office, or well, anyway—”

  “Kathryn, are you okay?” She sounded like she was crying.

  No answer. How was I supposed to stay mad if she was sad? Argh.

  “Melanie is doing fine, Kathryn. She’s spending a lot of time with a friend of mine from high school who specializes in counseling girls with eating disorders. Beth’s amazing, and I know she’s made some progress with Mel already. Oh, and Melanie and I have done yoga together, so there’s that. I think we’re growing closer.” I didn’t mention that she’d also found me clueless and my house the perfect place to party unchaperoned. Why hadn’t she told me her mom was out west?

  Focus, I told myself. Right now you need to cheer Kathryn up, not bring her down more. What’s a few white lies among friends? It was times like these, even after all these years, that lighting up a Virginia Slims still sounded good.

  “So, how long will you be in Montana? And are you wearing cowboy boots as we speak?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Well, it’s a thirty-day program, but I didn’t think I’d even come. My assistant pretty much forced me onto the plane. I’m not really good at this, though. You just don’t take a big break in retail, at least not at my company,” Kathryn said. “I�
�ve never even taken a two-day vacation unless it wrapped around a work trip.”

  “I’d say it’s about time, then, for you to take some time for yourself,” I said. “It sounds like you need it, Kathryn. And Melanie is fine.”

  What I wanted to ask was, “Um, did Bruce plan on spending time with her at all while you’re in Montana? When were you going to let me know you would be gone for a month? Do you know Bruce is sleeping with Charlotte and they’re moving in across the street, into the home I staged exquisitely? Is there anything else I should know about Melanie, like does she often drink until she passes out? And how do you deal with her boyfriend? Why don’t you like him, by the way, and what’s her curfew?”

  Instead I gave Kathryn my undivided attention. “What’s your program like? What do you do all day?”

  “It’s about getting your life back in balance. They have yoga, horseback riding, and counseling. There is a lot of Native American spiritual healing, too. I feel more at peace than I have probably ever been in my life. I’m going to come home a warrior,” she added, laughing.

  She was going to need to be.

  “Sounds good,” I said. “Everybody needs a little warrior in her life!”

  “Oh, shoot, they’re ringing the bell for breakfast. It’s eat now or wait until lunch. The food is all organic, healthy. Frankly, I’m craving French fries, but I’ll make it through.”

  I could picture her then, finally smiling, which came through in her voice. “The blue sky, fresh air, mountains—that all makes up for the lack of fried foods,” she said. “There are these amazing delphiniums growing right outside my cabin window; they remind me of your hydrangeas—they’re that purple-blue color—and hummingbirds are everywhere.”