She snuck another peek out the window. The kids hadn’t started to disperse. “I just hope Roseanne’s not collecting information to build some case against the homeowner’s board.”
“HOB isn’t on the hook.” He reached the door. “We suspended all fines this month.”
“Couldn’t she be overzealous and file a nuisance suit?”
He grasped the door handle. “If she does, I’ll file a counter-suit for all the pain and suffering I deal with around here over hocus-pocus.”
“I’ll round Eva up.” Maryellen stood.
“I’m already right here,” he said.
“I need her to help me carry in some yard sale goodies I left in the trunk of the car,” she said on her way down the hall. She was in the garage and had the door rolling upward before Frank opened the front door.
Eva turned toward the house with the sound of the front door and garage opening simultaneously. Luckily, she was both empty handed and smiling.
Maryellen waited by the open trunk of the car while she said good-bye to her friends and sauntered back over.
“I knew I had to come home and everything.” Eva exhaled heavily as she reached the garage. “You didn’t both have to stand there and wait.”
Maryellen picked up an antique cookie jar and handed it to her daughter. “I needed a hand with some of this stuff.”
As Eva examined the hand-painted Three Little Pigs scene, an airplane passed overhead.
“Does this mean you’re actually going to eat some of the cookies you’re constantly making for everyone else?”
With the extraneous noise, Maryellen wasn’t sure she’d heard the question correctly.
“Won’t it be darling in the kitchen?” she said by way of answer.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Section 9.1. Declarant’s Rights to Grant and Create Easements: Declarant hereby reserves the right to grant and create temporary or permanent easements provided such easements do not create a permanent, unreasonable interference with the rights of the owners.
Hope passed a Super Target, a Safeway, and countless gas-station mini-marts. She was halfway into Denver proper and still couldn’t bring herself to stop. It was hard enough to get out of bed and make herself presentable enough to go grocery shopping. The effort involved in getting out of the car for a gallon of milk before Jim came home from Dallas or Detroit or wherever he’d been for however many days—three or four—seemed insurmountable.
Maybe it was time to face the fact there might never be milk in the house.
Maybe they should never have bought a family house in the first place.
Even though she’d cried more tears in the last three days than she could possibly produce, a whole new batch began to drip down her cheeks. Approaching Leetsdale and Monaco, she grabbed a handful of tissue and tried to pull herself together enough to stop in at the King Soopers on the southeast corner.
A misshapen stucco building caught her eye first.
Set back at an angle, on an inconvenient bend in the road, the structure appeared to be a house, re-fronted and refaced at some point to look commercial. With a Broncos purple front door and matching windowsills, she couldn’t believe she’d never noticed the place before.
Or the sign:
Readings by Renata
Walk-ins Welcome
Hope made a questionable U-turn from a left-only lane for a drive-thru Starbucks and found herself in the tiny lot parking beside a dented Explorer. The view to whatever chicanery awaited inside was obscured by stained-glass decals covering the front window. A turban-headed woman gazed into her mist-filled crystal ball from the hand-drawn sign propped in the window in front of her.
Hope climbed out of her car, stepped up the rickety wooden steps, and opened the door.
“Have a look at the menu.” Renata, ostensibly, said over the jangling bells twisted around the inside doorknob. “I’ll be right out.”
Trying not to read too much into the Muzak version of “You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” Hope stepped into the crimson wallpapered front room filled with antique parlor furniture. She sat on the edge of a worn velvet, high-backed couch and looked up at a gilt-edged mirror on which an elaborate list of offerings were written in gold ink.
The Tea and Tarot package caught her eye.
So did the unsettling lack of prices next to the various services.
Before she had time to consider the psychic ramifications of getting fleeced, the inner door opened and Renata, requisite red hair, abundant bosom, and flowing caftan, appeared in a stereotypical mist of incense and rose perfume.
Had the woman not been carrying a tray with a teapot and two cups, Hope assured herself, she’d already be in a rush home, with or without her half-gallon of milk.
“I just went out to get some groceries,” Hope said. “I’m not exactly the type to… I mean I’ve never stopped in at a psychic before, but…”
“But here you are,” Renata said.
She felt both more relaxed and tense at the same time. “Here I am.”
“I don’t feel Tarot is going to be necessary today.” Renata seemed disarmingly kind as she sat and set the tea service on the coffee table in front of them. “I think your leaves will tell us enough.”
Had she even said she was looking at the Tea and Tarot package?
Renata poured the tea into two white cups and pushed one over to Hope. “Wait a minute for the tea to cool, drink, but leave a tiny bit of liquid and the leaves in the bottom of the cup.”
Hope watched the leaves swirl then settle in her cup. “How much will the reading be?”
Renata lifted her cup and blew lightly across the top. “Not more than you can afford.”
A tea reading minus the Tarot couldn’t be any more than an hour with the masseuse or, at worst, a day at the spa. If the woman was a total charlatan wouldn’t she have tried to add services, not subtract? Besides, she could always refuse to pay if Renata saw fit to charge some outrageous amount, or better yet, she could say nothing, pay with a credit card, and then dispute the amount later if…
“Clear your mind of all extraneous thoughts and concerns,” Renata said. “And concentrate on whatever it is that brought you in to see me.”
For the next few minutes, they sat next to each other in an oddly peaceful silence punctuated only by the sounds of polite sipping until everything else fell away and only one question remained:
Will I ever get pregnant and when?
Renata reached for the cup as Hope finished her second-to-last sip. She held the handle in her left hand, covered the top with her right, and swirled clockwise three times.
“How do the leaves… ?”
“The tea leaves form images.” Renata peered into the cup at the brown clumps on the sides and bottom of the cup. “I see in yours that one great desire has overtaken all others.”
Hope took a deep breath to calm her pounding heart. Didn’t everyone who walked into the roadside psychic have some burning question they needed answered?
“Many women come to me with the ache that can only be relieved by the divine pain of childbirth.” She shook her head. “And so often I see a long, difficult path ahead.”
“I thought it would be so easy.” The black sinking feeling Hope knew so well settled deeper into her soul. “I get my period like clockwork every four weeks and I eat right and I exercise. There aren’t any issues the doctor can find wrong with either of us that would keep us from getting pregnant …”
“But in your cup, I see an open book with an oar and a leaf upon it.”
“Meaning?”
“A new life is ready to come through very soon.”
Crazy as it was to buy into the words of a woman who’d just read the muck in the bottom of her cup, the heaviness of a second ago and the last ten months gave way to a lightness so intense, she put a hand on the armrest as if to keep from floating away. “Really?”
Renata, still staring into the cup, shook her head. “But, I also see ants.”
“Ants?”
“And a forked line.” Renata looked up.
“Meaning?”
“Impending difficulties and a coming decision.”
A fog of terror snuffed out the light. “Like there might be something wrong with the baby?”
Renata tilted her head sideways and examined a leaf configuration stuck to the side of the cup. “I don’t think so. There’s an oak tree—which means robust health.”
The fog, thick and unforgiving, lifted again. “We would love any baby we were blessed with, I guess it’s just that in all the effort involved in trying to get pregnant, I guess I never considered the possibility that something could be…”
“Your marriage.”
“What about it?”
“Is it a happy one?”
“Happy?”
Renata nodded.
Before she met Jim, her definition of a happy marriage would have included living somewhere like Soho, owning a funky little mid-century modern furniture store, and spending evenings and weekends with her soul mate debating the merits of the film or play they’d managed to take in despite the shared demands of their growing family. The parameters necessarily changed when they married and he got a job in Denver, but how could she complain about what could only be called a comfortable existence? There were times when she did wonder why, when they looked and seemed so well-suited, were from such similar backgrounds, and had the same long-term goals, they didn’t have more in common to talk about? She wished she felt more out-of-control, madly in love instead of just meant to be, but maybe that was too Hollywood to expect, given their even temperaments. “I’m not unhappy.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
The answer, that she really believed once they had a baby, were a real family, the inadequacies would fade and they would truly be happy, was too trite to actually utter aloud. “I mean, the stress of trying to get pregnant and Jim’s work schedule make things a little more trying, but I’d say we’re content.”
“I see.” Renata paused for an overlong moment. “Well, that could explain the boiling kettle. There is also a wheel, which indicates business advancement.”
“My husband is something of a workaholic, which is challenging in the short run, but in the long run is good, I think.”
“I don’t typically find answers for one spouse by looking into the other’s tea leaves.”
“I do have my own business. It’s small, but I plan to grow it once I have kids and they are in school and stuff.”
“The garden and anchor must relate to that.”
Hope shifted in her seat, suddenly itchy to get to the grocery store.
“Meaning what?”
“A party and an awkward situation.”
“Weird,” Hope said. “I’m not really sure how those symbols relate to me.”
“You will.”
“And will I be pregnant, soon?”
“That is definitely one of the paths that lies directly before you.”
***
The psychic otherworld of low lighting, velvet draperies, and a future foretold in wet leaves faded into the mundane reality of strip malls and box stores as Hope headed home with milk. Still, the paltry $25 she’d paid for what anyone in their right mind would say was a brilliantly orchestrated parlor game, was more satisfying, more healing to her aching psyche, than any hour she’d spent with a therapist, or listening to Frank’s soothing but ultimately unsatisfying message.
A new life is ready to come through very soon.
She set her grocery bags on the counter next to her flashing phone. Three days had passed since she’d answered a call from anyone but Jim. Even then, she had to summon all her strength to mask her devastation. She grabbed the milk jug and a block of cheddar from the bag and started for the refrigerator. On the way back to get the orange juice and a few containers of yogurt, she jiggled the mouse beside the computer on the built-in kitchen desk.
She hadn’t checked e-mail at all.
After rooting through and deleting the junk, she opened her Yahoo fertility and interior decorator chat groups, glanced at the conversation thread topics, and printed out an e-mail for filing away from someone who wanted to be added to her holiday décor list. Despite the warmth of traipsing around the kitchen putting away groceries, a chill rushed through her when she spotted the last remaining message. An Evite:
EVERYONE NEEDS A HOUSEHOLD HELPER!
GET YOURS WHEN YOU COME!
THURSDAY, APRIL 26th
10 AM
DON’T MISS THIS ONE!!!!!!
BIG REGRETS ONLY!
[email protected]
Much as she dreaded oohing and aahing over stuff she didn’t need or want at a multilevel, home-shopping party, big regrets, particularly in light of Renata’s mention of a party, seemed too ominous a warning to ignore.
So did the red message alert blinking on the phone.
She pressed the button.
Hope, Frank Griffin here…
CHAPTER TWELVE
Section 4.4.17. Landscaping: A maximum of 25 percent
of the unimproved area of each Lot may be landscaped
with a combination of short-lived landscape materials as approved by the HOA and maintained in a neat, attractive, sightly,
and well-kept condition.
“I really needed another pair of eyes on this.” Frank unrolled the landscape design blueprints on the table beside the diorama. He paused to look earnestly into the ocean blue of Hope’s eyes. “Yours.”
Hope’s smile was as genuine as he’d ever seen it.
“I’m glad you called,” she said.
Glad hardly covered his feelings. After the near-miss with her at the rec center, he’d kept an eye on her house for nearly three days, waiting for Hope to go on a run, take out the trash—anything that would give him a chance to start up the conversation that would culminate in her agreement to oversee the playground planting.
“After I got your message, I ran by the sites and looked around.” Hope glanced at the outstretched plans. “I’m eager to see the plans.”
The Lord, in his grace and wisdom, finally led him to a window just as Hope’s garage door rolled open. The minute she drove away, he went to the phone and left a more-humble-than-in-person, favor to ask message.
She called back by early afternoon, not only positive, but also eager to meet with him.
“Hope.” His shoulder brushed hers as he joined her in looking at the already near-perfect design. “I appreciate your professionalism in light of what I realize are objections to the project.”
She looked away. “I never really had a problem with the proposal per se.”
Laney and Sarah’s comment about the effect of fertility drugs on the psyche helped him swallow the acid burbling in the back of his throat. “But you did sign Will’s petition?”
Her cheeks colored. “He sort of caught me at a bad time.”
“I see,” he said, hoping for something more along the lines of, I couldn’t face looking at the playground with my empty womb, or Will wouldn’t leave until I signed, or even a far-fetched, the fertility drugs made me do it. “Well, I’m glad you’re on board, now,” he said, to break a looming awkward silence. “As I’ve said, I know you’ll enjoy all the benefits of a playground across the street soon.”
“Thanks.” Her face, beautiful to begin with, glowed with what seemed to be a new confidence. “I’m in a much better place about everything related to that now.”
“Good,” he said, and sensing the lack of need for an additional platitude or word of advice by the way she dug into the plans, said nothing more.
“Have plant materials been ordered?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
“So there’s flexibility on substitutions?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. Why?”
“The half-court plan looks great,” she said. “But I’m afraid the flowers slated to go alongside could get trampled.”
&nbs
p; “I see what you mean.” Much as he would have preferred a more personal interchange, what more could he hope for than Hope, standing beside him, visualizing the soon-to-be flowers on his playgrounds. “Good call.”
And smelling of lilac.
“I’m thinking a hearty grass or a pea gravel would wear better,” she said.
He glanced at the area in question. With Hope on board, couldn’t the sorry he thought he wanted be considered an unnecessary technicality? Furthermore, if she did a good job, who was to say where their partnership might lead, particularly once the church began to take shape?
He pointed to a corner of the diorama. “How about moving the pea gravel slated to go behind the retaining wall and swap it with flowers—at least for the northerly playground.”
“Hmm.” Hope scrunched her nose as she examined the diorama.
“If you want to take the plans home and look them over before—”
“Definitely,” she said. “But…”
“But what?”
Hope narrowed her eyes. “Does that leg of the play structure look a little bit crooked to you?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Careful landscape planning and detailed design of your site will greatly enhance the ultimate appearance of our Blue Ribbon Community—From the Melody Mountain Ranch Homeowner’s Welcome Packet.
Tim Trautman spotted a silver Volvo at the intersection of Melody Highlands Road and Songbird Canyon Court. What were the chances the driver, blond, with the same car and coming out of Hope Jordan’s street, wasn’t her?
He slowed to allow the car, to make a right turn ahead of him.
Definitely her.
The groceries and dry cleaning he’d picked up for Theresa would keep. Considering he’d brought home lunch every day since the doctor put her on semi-bed rest last week, so would her sandwich.
Maintaining a safe distance, he followed Hope’s Volvo past the treble clef pillars at the development entrance and out onto Parker Road. He tailed her for a few miles, trailing to the right and a car back, until she merged into the left lane and turned into Home Depot.
The Big Bang Page 9