Here, Home, Hope Page 16

  Oreo and I fumed all the way down the hall to the kitchen and then I called Beth.

  “Help! He’s here!” I said as soon as she answered.

  “Who is there? Oh, Bruce? The dad?”

  “Bingo. What do I do?”

  “You hang out there, don’t leave them alone for long, and be there for the aftermath when he leaves. Sarah and I can be there in an hour or so. I’m waiting for the dishwasher repair guy. They said I’m the first stop. Just keep things calm, okay? And that goes for you, too.”

  Pot of coffee brewed, roses placed in vase, I breezed into the living room and right into a private moment. They were sitting facing each other on the same couch. Melanie’s back was to me.

  “Excuse me, but would either of you like coffee?” I asked.

  “No thanks,” said Bruce.

  “No,” said Melanie, without looking at me. I wanted to see her face, but I couldn’t.

  “Well, if you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen.” As I turned to walk out, Oreo trotted over and leaped into Melanie’s lap. Sure, she needed him more than I did, but I still called him a turncoat under my breath.

  When the telephone in the kitchen rang, I jumped. It was mid-morning, not the customary call time for telemarketers, so I decided not to use my gruff salesperson-stopping voice. I did remain on guard, however. For good reason, it turned out.

  “Hi Kelly,” Charlotte said. “Is this a good time to talk?”

  Argh. Could I hang up on her? No, even if I wanted to be that mean, I wasn’t. Besides, I needed my paycheck.

  “It’s fine, Charlotte. As a matter of fact, I was wondering when you would be paying me for the staging job I did for you.”

  “Good. Okay. Well, I called your house because I was afraid you wouldn’t pick up if you saw it was my cell,” she said. “Here’s the thing. What a mess. I’m really sorry about you and Patrick finding Bruce and me in bed, but we do love each other and we are getting married. Jim knows. Kathryn knows. Melanie knows, or should by now.”

  “Yes, I think she’s finding out right now, in my living room, but you already knew that, didn’t you? This is all so well choreographed, Charlotte,” I said, slowly pulling the petals off the yellow roses. I had made quite a little pile so far.

  “It might seem contrived to you, but it’s heartfelt. It’s hard to know how to handle these delicate situations. But love finds a way.”

  Ick. Be a friend, I told myself, to help Charlotte and to get the scoop to help Melanie.

  “Charlotte, where are you right now? Are you at the Thompsons’ house calling me?” I asked.

  “Yes, but it’s my house-to-be,” she said, sounding defensive.

  “Stay there, I’m coming over,” I said and, after telling Melanie I was going to the home makeover house, I headed out the door. Too bad if Bruce knew what I was up to. In fact, I hoped he did.

  I had to admit, the house suited them.

  At least it appeared to be ideal for Charlotte and the girls. The twins, after giving me gleeful hugs, went back outside to play on the zip line. As I followed Charlotte into the all-too-familiar kitchen and saw the light bouncing off the sunny yellow walls, I gave myself an imaginary pat on the back.

  “You really did a beautiful job here,” Charlotte said. “That’s why Bruce decided to buy it for me. For us.”

  “So this wasn’t a setup from the beginning? I need you to tell the truth here, because either I’m charging you just for staging or for a complete interior design job. Actually, maybe both.”

  Charlotte shifted a bit in her seat. She was wearing white pants and a white and pink linen blouse. As always, she looked radiant. But as she shifted in her seat and avoided my gaze, I realized that for the first time I could remember, we were uncomfortable with each other.

  “I had no idea Bruce would even consider it,” she said.

  “I’ve known you for twenty years, Charlotte. You’re lying. Knock it off.” I started walking around the kitchen, admiring the items—especially the hand-painted Italian plate I’d selected to grace the countertop.

  “Okay, sure, I showed it to him, told him all the great things you were doing to bring it back to life. But, just for your information, Bruce was here, with me, long before you were,” she said defensively.

  “Oh, I’m sure he was.”

  “Look, Kelly, Here’s the check for the home staging. I guesstimated the hours you spent here and paid you at the high end of the scale: $200 an hour. And here’s another check, part of my commission, actually, for the interior design help. Global Furnishings will send you another commission check based on the fact we’re buying all the furniture you used to stage the house.”

  I was actually somewhat amazed. “That’s really generous of you, Charlotte.”

  “Seriously, Kelly, I couldn’t have shown this house to anyone except Bruce without your help, and your decorating closed the deal. For us. Once I saw it come together, I couldn’t let anyone else have it. That is the absolute truth.” She handed me the two checks. “Let me know if I didn’t calculate the time right.”

  “Thank you. And thank you for helping me launch my own business. Here’s my card,” I said. “Say hello to Kelly Johnson Home Staging LLC.”

  “But, Kelly, I thought you and I were going into business together?”

  “Yes, well, and I thought we were the kind of friends who didn’t hide secret lives from each other. But I guess we’re not.” Ooh, that was snarky, I said to myself. “Anyway, I figured I needed to get my feet wet with my own business first, build up a client base and then maybe partner with someone. Everything I’ve read said I should go into a business as an equal partner. Right now, you have all the clients.”

  “But this was my idea! You wouldn’t even know about home staging if it wasn’t for me,” she squeaked. We were staring at each other across the island countertop.

  “You’re right. Thank you for the idea. But I had been looking for my next step, for something to keep me busy as the boys got older. And this plays into all of my passions. So I need it to be mine,” I said firmly. “And Charlotte, I’m just not sure—right now at least—I could trust you as a business partner. Melanie is staying at my house, for goodness sake. Her mom is one of my best friends.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Do you understand that half of the real estate people in town would never pay you to do a service like this? They don’t even get it. Most of them think they have better taste than anyone else. It’s just not easy out here. They won’t trust you. You need me!”

  Just then the twins burst through the back door and asked for more lemonade. Charlotte turned away from me, reached into the refrigerator, and poured two Italian coffee mugs full of lemonade for them.

  “Would you like any?” she asked after the girls had chugged theirs and run back outside.

  “No thanks. What about the girls, Charlotte? How much do they know? You don’t have to answer, of course. You can just tell me to head back home.”

  “They know Jim and I are getting a divorce. Jim has agreed to give me full custody until he finds a job and gets back on his feet. He’s in a really bad place right now,” she said, pulling out a bar stool and sitting down next to where I was standing.

  We were on the same side of the kitchen island now. And suddenly, I felt a little bit sorry for her. Not a lot—just a little.

  “The first thing that happened with Jim was his own business failing two years ago,” she said. “He’d acquired another paper distributor in Cleveland, and borrowed a lot of money to do it. That would’ve been fine if the price of paper and gas hadn’t started to skyrocket the moment the deal went through. That’s when the drinking started. At first it wasn’t so bad. I thought it was a phase.

  “You know that we sold the business last year, but like most people, you probably didn’t know we had to. We only made enough to cover the business debt and keep the bank from taking our house. That’s why I’ve been in real estate full time. Problem is, real estate is
in the dumps, too. And I’m new to the business. It’s going to take awhile for me to get to the Jane Smith Team level, you know?”

  I nodded, recognizing the name of the multigenerational real estate powerhouse Charlotte was referring to. It was headed by a woman who was maybe five feet in heels, but tough as nails in business. All of her daughters and daughters-in-law worked with her now. They were the queens of Grandville real estate. I hoped they had checked yes on the RSVP invitation to my launch party. I wouldn’t let Charlotte’s words dissuade me; Jane Smith and company would trust me, I knew they would.

  She took a drink of lemonade, and continued. “Jim had to apply for jobs for the first time in his life. That’s really hard for a man who’d always owned his own business. It had been in the family for three generations, and he was the one who lost it all. He couldn’t even talk to his dad; doubt he has yet. And, he had a wife and two kids to support. He got offered the job as head of sales for Comqual as a favor from his dad’s friend who is chairman. But when the layoffs came, he was the last in and the first out.

  “To sum it all up, the last two years have been hell, and nobody knows any of this. Jim wouldn’t allow me to talk about it. Not to anybody. We tried counseling, but he wouldn’t open up there either; thought it was a waste of money.”

  Charlotte was crying now, and so was I. I hadn’t known. How could I? She’d never told me. Here I was, thinking her life was perfect, when actually it had been crumbling around her for years.

  “Jim’s wishes aside, why didn’t you tell me, Charlotte?” I asked, quietly. I’d run and grabbed a roll of toilet paper from the powder room, and we both tore off hunks. As I asked the question, I realized that I hadn’t told her about my cancer scare, either. We had both been adrift in our own misery, but we hadn’t reached out to each other. Why did we isolate ourselves in times of stress, instead of connecting? Why hadn’t Kathryn reached out to us earlier? Probably for the same reason. We all could have helped each other out so much, and we hadn’t. It wasn’t too late, though, I said to myself.

  “Jim told me not to tell anyone,” she said. “If people in Grandville had found out, it would’ve made the value of his business even less. That, plus the fact of having everyone staring at us in pity. Frankly, if they had called the note before we found a buyer, we had talked about just packing up the girls and whatever would fit in our two cars and leaving town in the middle of the night.

  “Of course, that was early on, during the threat of bankruptcy. Jim’s total deterioration into self-pity and alcohol abuse came after the sale, and more recently, the layoff. I just couldn’t take it anymore. For too long I had no one to talk to. I was so lonely. So scared. And then, Bruce and I met. Remember the Michaels’ huge Christmas party this year?”

  “YEP, IT’S STILL THE TALK OF THE TOWN,” I SAID, NOTICING HOW at the mention of Bruce, Charlotte’s eyes had come back to life. It made me sad that Bruce Majors could find a way to reach out to my friend, but I hadn’t even known there was anything wrong.

  “Jim was somewhere, totally loaded. I was standing alone in the Michaels’ entry hall. I must’ve been looking at the paintings—they have some fabulous art in that home—and a man’s voice says beside me, ‘I believe that’s an Alice Schille.’

  “I turned and saw the most handsome man I’d ever met, enjoying a painting by one of my favorite artists, and my heart went crazy. I know I blushed,” Charlotte said, chuckling at the memory. “He went on to tell me how he was a Schille fan, and that he had an original sketch and watercolor by her hanging in his home. We talked and talked, and ended up taking a tour of all of the art in the home. I still hadn’t seen Jim, and Bruce said his wife had gone home with a headache.”

  “Kathryn gets migraines when she’s stressed. Happened all the time in college when we were roommates,” I said. It was a lame comment, but I thought I should at least put her name out in the room.

  “Yeah, I know, Bruce told me. Those are awful,” Charlotte said, but her thoughts were back at that Christmas party. “So we ended up for some reason sitting together in the window seat of what had to be a guest suite off the kitchen. It was just Bruce and me. He reached for my hand and when he touched it, a tingling sensation traveled through my entire body. I’d never felt that way before. Ever.”

  “Uh, I think I should be getting back. I’m so glad you told me a little bit about what was happening and what brought some of this about.” I really didn’t want any more romantic details.

  “But Kelly,” Charlotte said, grabbing my hand. “We didn’t kiss that night. We stood in that room and slow-danced to the Christmas music being piped through the house. It was the most amazingly sensual experience. But nothing happened. Not really.”

  “Well, it seems like there was, ah, is, major chemistry between the two of you, and that’s great. I just wonder, though, if a man cheats on his first wife, does that mean he’s destined to cheat on his second?” I knew it wasn’t nice to say it, but it was a valid concern.

  “Oh, no, Bruce and I are soul mates. We’ll be together forever.”

  “Well, there you have it,” I said, more flippantly than I intended. “I really do have to run, Charlotte. Oh, and before I forget, I’m having an open house, a cocktail party, next Thursday to launch my new business. You’ll get an invitation, of course. I’m assuming I can bring people through this house to show off my work? I was thinking I could have small groups leave my house and come over to yours. We can limit it to just the first floor, or if you’d be willing, the whole house would be great.”

  “What part of your house will you be showing?” Charlotte asked.

  “Oh, just the first floor. I mean, it’s not really the star of staging.”

  “I don’t know what Bruce will say. I’ll have to ask him. I mean, the house is off the market now, and well, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you launching your business at the expense of mine.”

  “At the expense of yours? What are you talking about? You asked me to stage this home. I put my life on hold to do it. I discovered a business I had never thought of, which I’ve thanked you for. I think this is enhancing your business, not detracting from it.”

  Now I was truly mad. I could feel the tears welling up. Why couldn’t I express my anger without getting teary? Thinking that made my eyes well up more. T2C #19: Learn to yell without crying.

  “You see it your way, of course. But if you offer your services to all of the real estate agents in Grandville, then you are cutting into my business,” she said. “This was my idea, not yours. I really can’t believe this!”

  “Well, neither can I,” I shouted as I walked out the front door and headed back home.

  Tears ran down my cheeks as I crossed the street and headed up my driveway. Bruce’s car was gone, and that was a good thing, because there’s no telling what I might have done to it. I pictured hurling a rock from my garden through the windshield, but I doubt I would’ve done a thing if it had still been there. I was as effective at revenge as I was at anger without tears.

  Oreo greeted me at the door and I called for Mel. No answer.

  I searched the kitchen for a note. She would’ve left a note if she’d gone somewhere with her dad, right? I headed upstairs and found the door to her bedroom closed. The back-up fish hung from the doorknob. I went to my bedroom to put on new makeup, including Orgasm, of course, so I wouldn’t look like I’d been crying while commiserating with the woman Melanie would be calling stepmom for the rest of her life. I took a moment to review my vision board, with all of its hope and promise of things I loved and looked forward to doing. And then I took a deep breath and headed back down the hall to her bedroom door.

  I knocked.

  No answer. Oreo started to whine.

  “Mel, it’s me,” I said as I gently pushed open the door.

  At first, what I saw didn’t make sense. Melanie wasn’t on her computer; it was lying next to her on the bed. She had found an old sleeping bag somewhere and was lying on it, her iP
od earphones in her ears. Oreo jumped up on the bed and licked her face, but she didn’t move.

  That’s when I saw the bright red blood that oozed from her wrists and pooled in the creases of the navy sleeping bag. Oreo whimpered and stood on top of Mel’s still skeletal body, licking her face.

  I screamed and ran to the telephone in my room. I dialed 911 and spoke to the dispatcher, who told me to get towels and try to make tourniquets around Mel’s wrists. Everything started moving as if in slow motion. I’d felt for a pulse, willed one to be there, and then the sirens were in my driveway and the paramedics were hovered over her. They put Mel on a stretcher and carried her away to the ambulance, and I followed. Everything seemed to be a blur. At the last minute, I closed the door so Oreo would stay.

  Because I wasn’t family and couldn’t ride with Mel in the ambulance, I started to walk toward my car, my hands shaking so badly I couldn’t operate Doug’s door handle.

  I called Patrick. He told me to wait there and he’d pick me up. So I did, all the while looking at my hands and my shorts and my shirt, all covered with my borrowed daughter’s blood.

  Beth and Sarah joined Patrick and me in the awful waiting room a little before Bruce and Charlotte arrived. The ER doctors had insisted a parent be called, and since they told me Melanie was stable, I decided not to call Kathryn right away. She still hadn’t returned my call from the other night, and perhaps we could handle this situation better without her. The insurance was under Bruce’s name and company, anyway, so he was the natural choice. The psych ward doctor and the ER doc made it very clear that Bruce would not be allowed to see Melanie until after Beth and I had a chance to talk to her.

  I had stretched the truth just a bit to position Beth as Mel’s doctor, the one in charge of her care for anorexia, and played up Bruce’s philandering as the reason why his daughter tried to kill herself. It worked.

  “Dr. Beth Merwin,” said the ER doctor, whose coat said he was Dr. Marsh, and we all looked up. “Dr. Merwin, if you could come with me, please, Melanie is asking to see you.”