Hope on the Inside

by Marie Bostwick

  Rick smiled but only for a moment. He turned to face her.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Hope almost said, “For what?” but stopped herself. She knew what he meant.

  “You’re not failing anybody, okay? Especially me. You never have.”

  Hope moved close and placed her hands on either side of his rugged face, feeling the stubble of a long day prick her palms as she looked into his weary eyes, seeing creases at the corners that hadn’t been there a year before.

  “This is going to be good,” she said. “A fresh start for both of us.”

  “You think?” Rick asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  Her tone was so confident that she nearly convinced herself.

  Chapter 6

  The condo was on the fifth floor.

  It had three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a dedicated parking space, charcoal-colored wood floors, a gas fireplace, a so-called chef’s kitchen with granite counters and stainless-steel appliances, a large balcony, and walls of windows with jaw-dropping views of Budd Bay and Mount Rainier.

  “The building was constructed in the mid-seventies, but this unit was totally renovated just last year, completely turnkey,” said the Realtor, Marcia, who was hosting the open house. “You wouldn’t need to do a thing.”

  She was right about that. Everything that could possibly have been done to the space already had been done. It was absolutely pristine.

  Maybe that’s what bothers me about it, Hope thought. But the view . . . Wow.

  She walked to the window and stood next to Rick, who was gazing over a canopy of emerald green trees toward the marina and a flotilla of boats bobbing on the sapphire surface of the bay. It was a peaceful scene and, with the white frosted peaks and jagged black crags of the mountain towering over it all, sharp and powerful against the cloudless sky tinged with violet, a breathtaking one.

  No amount of money could buy this view.

  Hope turned away from the window and walked slowly toward the kitchen with the shiny new appliances and countertops that had never known a spill. She was aware that Marcia and McKenzie were looking at her with expectant, tongue-bitten expressions, as if they desperately wanted to say something but had taken an oath not to speak until spoken to.

  “Are there any other units for sale in this building?” Hope asked. “One that hasn’t been updated?”

  McKenzie laughed incredulously. “Mom. Why would you want a fixer-upper when you could have this?”

  “I just thought we might save some money by doing the work ourselves. Besides, I like putting my own stamp on things. This reminds me of one of your aunt Hazel’s staging jobs; it’s beautiful but blank. Could belong to anybody.”

  McKenzie rolled her eyes. “So paint a wall or something. Hang some pictures. Why go to the work of remodeling if you don’t have to? Did you see the price?” McKenzie thrust a glossy brochure with photos of the condo and the listing price into Hope’s hands. “You can afford this, no problem.”

  “It is well priced,” Marcia said. “The owners were transferred overseas and want a quick sale. But it’s the only unit for sale in this building. They don’t come on the market very often. I’ll be amazed if it isn’t sold by the end of the week.”

  McKenzie bobbed her head in agreement. “I’ve had my eye on this place for a long time. Lucky thing we were driving by and saw the open house sign. There’s not another building like it in Olympia.”

  “You can’t beat the views,” Marcia added. “Or the location. Just minutes from downtown and the capitol, so it’s a really easy commute.”

  “My dad is retired,” McKenzie said.

  McKenzie was speaking for Rick more and more. Hope didn’t like it.

  She appreciated McKenzie and Zach’s kindness in letting them stay with them this last month. She knew it was an inconvenience, especially for Zach. He’d given up his man cave and moved his treadmill and weights into the garage so Hope and Rick would have room to spread out.

  Hope was anxious to get out of the kids’ place and into a home of their own as soon as possible, but she also didn’t want to rush it. Buying a home was a big decision. Was this the right place for them?

  “Oh. Well, there are lots of retired couples in this building. You’d fit right in,” Marcia said with an efficient little smile that irritated Hope.

  How could she know? Or even suppose she knew? Did a few gray hairs and the fact that Rick wasn’t working sum up the total equation of their lives? Was employment status—or lack of it—to be their whole identity now?

  “You’ll have no trouble meeting people. Some of the men get together for coffee and donuts in the community room at seven every weekday,” Marcia reported with a smile. “And the ladies play Bunco on Wednesdays.”

  “Bunco,” Hope said blankly. “You mean the game with the dice?”

  Hope had played it with Hazel and some of her friends from the office once. The game was based on luck rather than skill, which was a good thing, since wine flowed freely during the evening. Several tables played at once and you moved to different tables for each round. The winner earned the privilege of wearing a plastic top hat covered with gold glitter. It was a fun, silly game. Hope had enjoyed herself. But every week?

  “It’s a very friendly building,” Marcia continued, either ignoring or failing to pick up on Hope’s skeptical tone. “The unit is all on one level, so there are no stairs to climb. Also, the hallways are wide enough to accommodate a wheelchair and the master bathroom is handicapped accessible.”

  Hope’s jaw went slack as she tried to think of an appropriate response. Marcia seemed to mistake her expression for confusion and clarified her comments.

  “It’s something a lot of retired people are looking for, somewhere they can age in place.”

  “Age in place?” Hope choked out a laugh. “Thanks, but wheelchair-width hallways aren’t exactly at the top of my must-haves list.”

  “Not yet. But, you know . . .” McKenzie said, then shrugged.

  When she thought about it later, Hope still didn’t quite understand what had gotten into her. It was a crazy thing to do. But something had been bubbling inside her for days. And when McKenzie shrugged, as if to indicate that, in her opinion, the days of her parents’ dotage were fast approaching, the bubbles fizzed, sputtered, and spilled over.

  Without stopping to think, Hope bounced onto her toes, tossed her hands over her head and her body into the air, and executed a perfect cartwheel, sticking the landing right in front of Rick, who let out a laugh and looked at her bug-eyed.

  “Whoa! What was that about?”

  Hope didn’t know.

  “Mom! Are you crazy? That dining table is made of glass! What if you’d crashed into it?”

  The horror on her daughter’s face brought Hope back to herself. McKenzie was right. What if she’d missed? Before Hope could answer, she felt Rick’s arm around her waist.

  “But she didn’t.” Rick looked at her. “Good job, babe. Nice landing.”

  Marcia, who seemed to have a special gift for ignoring elephants in the room and the emotional angst of possible clients, clapped her hands together and said, “Well, it’s a very special home. Whatever your stage of life. If you’re interested, I wouldn’t wait too long before making an offer. I’m not trying to push you, but I’d hate for you to miss out on the opportunity.”

  Rick nodded. “How much are the homeowners’ association dues?”

  The figure she named wasn’t astronomical, but it wasn’t insubstantial either. When Rick raised his eyebrows Marcia said, “But that includes everything—maintenance, landscaping, insurance, and garbage.”

  Homeowners’ fees, along with reduced square footage and the lack of gardening space, were among Hope’s objections to buying a condo. Convenience came at a price. And it wasn’t like they didn’t have time to deal with household maintenance themselves. Since coming to Olympia, they had nothing but time on their hands.

  Hope needed people in her life
and meaningful things to do. So did Rick. She had no objection to an occasional morning of coffee, donuts, and idle conversation or to playing Bunco now and again, but she wasn’t going to make a career of it. And she wasn’t going to let Rick make a career of it either, not if she could help it. Nor was she going to let McKenzie turn him into an old man before his time.

  Initially, Hope thought that spending time with McKenzie would be good for Rick, raise his spirits and restore his energy. But rather than help him shake off his depression, it seemed to Hope that McKenzie was encouraging him to lean into it.

  It was getting to the point where McKenzie barely let Rick do anything, even get up from the table to pour his own coffee. Didn’t she realize that she was making things worse? Rick needed to get away from McKenzie’s coddling, and soon.

  “How soon are the owners planning on moving?” Hope asked.

  “Already gone. All this is rented,” Marcia said, casting her eyes over the color-coordinated furniture and accessories. “The new buyers can move in as soon as the paperwork is finished. Have you been prequalified for a loan?”

  Hope started to answer, but McKenzie beat her to it.

  “Yes. They’re working with David Simms over at EBA Mortgage,” she said, turning to her father. “Well? What do you think, Daddy? It seems like a perfect—”

  “Excuse me,” Hope said, addressing Marcia and interrupting McKenzie’s interruption, “but would you mind giving us a minute? I think Rick and I need to discuss this, alone.”

  Even Marcia couldn’t miss the pointed nature of Hope’s tone. After an awkward moment, she excused herself and went down the hallway to the master suite. McKenzie followed but not before shooting her mother the sort of look Hope hadn’t seen on her face since McKenzie was a teenager.

  “Well? What do you think?” Hope asked when they were alone.

  “You’d rather have a house,” Rick said matter-of-factly.

  “True. But none of the houses we’ve seen fit in our budget. Except that one in Lacey. The yard was awfully pretty,” Hope said wistfully. “I loved all those evergreen trees.”

  “Three of them dead,” Rick said. “Ready to topple over any day. We’d have to pay an arborist to remove them. Plus, the roof needs to be replaced. And did you check out the mortar on the fireplace?”

  Hope shook her head.

  “The floor in the dining room was warped,” Rick reported. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the foundation has issues.”

  There was no denying it; the house with the beautiful yard was in rough shape. Still, there wasn’t anything wrong with it that time and money couldn’t fix. The problem was, they couldn’t be careless with either.

  They weren’t old. Not yet. But they were older. They couldn’t pull decades out of their pockets the way they once had, when time seemed an infinite line and Hope had faith in their ability to overcome every setback.

  “Well,” Hope said, wandering toward the window and looking out at boats and blue sky, “we wouldn’t have to do a thing here, would we?”

  “Nope. And I like that it’s so close to McKenzie and Zach. That’s a plus.”

  Was it? Hope wasn’t so sure.

  Rick walked to the window and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Helluva view,” he said.

  Hope couldn’t argue with that.

  “Do you want to put in an offer?”

  “That depends. Do you think you could be happy here?”

  “Could you?”

  “I like that it’s move-in ready and within our budget. I like that it’s close to the kids. And I love this view.”

  That wasn’t quite as definite a response as she’d hoped for, but it was the nearest thing to enthusiasm Hope had seen from him in months.

  Rick pulled his fist from his pocket, unclenched it, and took hold of her hand. He hadn’t done that in months either. The warmth of his skin and gentle pressure of his fingers felt like a promise, or a down payment on one.

  Maybe he could be happy here. And if he could, then she could too.

  Chapter 7

  McKenzie choked so hard that she practically spit ginger ale into her pasta.

  “Real estate?” She laughed, her eyes wide and surprised. “You?”

  “Yes. Me,” Hope said. “Is that so impossible to imagine? Hazel’s done really well with it.” Hope stabbed her salmon with her fork and dipped it into the accompanying sauce. It was too spicy, but she ate it anyway.

  “Well, yeah. Sure. Hazel,” McKenzie said, her tone making it clear that her aunt’s obvious success in business didn’t mean it ran in the family.

  Hazel shot McKenzie a look. “If your mother decided she wanted to be a Realtor,” Hazel said, fixing McKenzie with a laser beam gaze, “then she’d be a brilliant one. Best in the business.”

  McKenzie shrank in her chair. Hope took momentary pleasure from her sister’s defense, then quickly regretted it. McKenzie was her daughter, her only daughter. Why were they always at loggerheads, always competing?

  Wait.... Am I competing with my daughter? Is she competing with me?

  If it was true it was awful. And more than Hope was ready to deal with just then. She pushed the questions from her mind and took another bite of salmon.

  “Is that what you want?” Hazel asked, turning toward Hope. “To become a Realtor?”

  “Well, I like houses,” Hope said, realizing she had spoken without really thinking things through. “I like fixing them up.”

  “You’re good at that,” Hazel agreed, spinning a knot of noodles onto her fork. “Selling them is different, though. You’d have to sublimate your taste and opinion to those of your buyers and sellers. You’d have to bite your tongue. But, if you’re really interested—”

  “I’m not,” Hope admitted. “I just want to do . . . something. Or change something. I just want things to be different.”

  Hazel tipped her head to one side and waited.

  Their mother used to do the exact same thing, with the same expression on her face. She would sit there for as long as it took. There was no use trying to obfuscate or change the subject. Like their mother, Hazel was comfortable with silence. And waiting.

  And I am completely not.

  Hope held out for all of ten seconds.

  “I thought things would be different here, better. With Rick, I mean. For a couple of weeks, it was. Or maybe we were so busy unpacking and arranging furniture that I didn’t notice? I don’t know,” Hope sighed. “Now he’s just as miserable in Olympia as he was in Portland, maybe more. Back home, at least he had his old rugby buddies, Cal and Joe and the rest of them. They’d call him up and goad him into going out to watch a match or have a couple of beers. Now he never leaves the house.”

  Hope stopped herself and sipped some water, thinking about how that sounded, wondering how she’d gotten to the point where she actually wished her husband would go out drinking with his beer buddies. It did sound awful. Because it was. And Hope had no idea how to help him.

  “Apart from watching cooking shows and staring out the window at the beautiful view that I am actually starting to despise, all he does is bake bread. And eat bread. I bet he’s gained another ten pounds since the move. I know I have,” Hope said, reaching down to the waist of her jeans and grabbing a love handle.

  “Oh, you have not,” Hazel said. “You look just the same.”

  “At least ten pounds,” Hope said, knowing for a fact that it was fourteen because she’d weighed herself that morning. “But I don’t care about his weight so much as his attitude.” Before, he was morose; now he was angry.

  “Last week, I saw a listing for a discussion at the library on a book about the rivalry between Thomas Edison and Nikola Tesla and asked Rick if he wanted to go. He practically jumped down my throat for even suggesting it. Apparently, me coming up with ideas for fun things he could do translates into nagging and impugning his manhood. Don’t ask me how,” Hope said bitterly, “but it does.”

  The waitress came by, proffering
a basket filled with the last thing Hope needed—more bread. She waved her off. Hazel took another brioche.

  “Maybe you need to try another approach, find something Rick is more interested in,” Hazel said after the waitress left. “I saw somewhere that they’re looking for new contestants for Cake Wars. Maybe Rick should audition.”

  When Hope snorted a laugh Hazel looked very pleased with herself, as if she was happy to have brought a little levity to what was supposed to be a fun girls’ day out but had quickly become a downer. Hope laughed again, deliberately this time. She hadn’t seen Hazel in a month. She didn’t want to spend what little time they had together moaning and complaining.

  “Anything but that,” Hope said. “Bread is bad enough. If Rick starts baking cakes I’ll get so big we’ll have to remodel the whole condo—make the doors bigger, widen the hallways.”

  “Hey”—Hazel shrugged—“if that’s what it takes to reignite his interest in engineering—”

  Hope snorted again, for real this time. Hazel started in too. Among the many things the sisters had in common was an unfortunate, uncontrollable snorting laugh that came over them when surprised by humor, a noise their father had once compared to a sea lion clearing its sinuses.

  The sound drew a few curious looks from nearby tables, but not nearly as many as followed when McKenzie, whose presence Hope had almost forgotten, practically shouted, “What is wrong with you! Daddy lost his job and almost his whole identity, and you sit here making jokes? He’s depressed! Don’t you get it?”

  McKenzie’s outburst caught Hope by surprise. She felt her cheeks get hot but from anger, not embarrassment. She waited a moment, until the other diners finally looked away, then glared at her daughter.

  “You think I don’t know that? I’ve been married to your father for more than thirty-four years. I think I know him at least as well as you do. Possibly even a little better.”