“I have a question.” Margot asked the group, “Does anyone know how to install a light fixture? Mom gave me the chandelier in our old dining room, and I can’t find anyone willing to take on such a small job.”
“Sure, I’ll do it.” Kenny said.
The boys’ interest was sparked. Christopher asked him, “Kenny, can we come up and watch when you hang it? Sebastian and I bought a bunch of cool sconces at an estate sale, but although we are doing most of the work on the house ourselves, we’re a little scared to try doing electrical.”
“It’s easy,” Kenny said. “You kids pick a morning, we’ll all do Margot’s hanging fixture first and then go to your house and put up the wall lights.”
Christopher appeared genuinely excited. “Thanks. Well, Margot, you’re the one with the crazy schedule. What day works best for you?”
“I don’t have my calendar, Chris.”
Kenny let them figure it out. “You kids decide and let me know. I’m pretty flexible. Just give me time to get my tools together.”
Linda and Yvonne coyly exchanged smiles from the ends of the table. Afraid that they were being too obvious, Linda stood up and asked, “Who wants dessert?”
Twenty-Eight
“So was I once myself a swinger of birches. And so I dream of going back to be.”
—Robert Frost
Kenny was in the woodshop of his garage watching the snowfall outside the old paned window above his workbench. December flakes in Vermont tend to be large enough to resemble floating feathers. They caught air currents that reversed their descent up in one curved direction and then swooped back down in another. He planned to meet Georgia’s kids at Margot’s before the storm fully made its way up the coast and anchored on Northern New England. Two feet of snow were predicted over the next two days.
Kenny gathered up the tools they would need and put them in a rawhide sack: a wire stripper, a pair of needle-nose pliers, a screwdriver with a reversible bit to make it either Phillips or flat head, and black electrical tape. For good measure, he tossed in an adjustable wrench and a socket set. He wished he could stop feeling apprehensive about impressing the kids.
Georgia had persuaded Kenny that none of the young people needed to know that they were seeing each other just yet. Kenny felt seeing didn’t really describe what they had been to each other over the last few months. On nights when Zelda rang to let him know she was staying over at Spencer’s, Kenny immediately called Georgia. Sometimes they stayed up the hill at his house overnight, but just as often, they slept at hers, with Dolly Parton coming and going with them.
In the mornings, the couple got up and had coffee together while they read the news to each other. After they were done discussing the day’s events, they checked their email. The usual chain message went out to include Linda and Yvonne as they set up their hike for the day. The memory of their days of hiking reminded him, If we’re going out tomorrow during the storm, I’d better find my snowshoes.
He helped Georgia with the many projects around settling into her new house, and she, in turn, worked with him in his gardens and to repaint his mudroom. These tedious jobs were made entertaining as they told each other the stories of their lives. It was a comfortable and entirely honest exchange, made extraordinary by the depth of the knowledge they mined and their shared sense of humor.
While they were painting, Kenny reminisced. “When we were really small—I think my older sister was in kindergarten, and that would have made me three and my brother two years old—my father got it in his head to take us to the Ringling Brothers and Barnum Bailey Circus. He made a big ceremony out of collecting jars with lids that he cut a slot into big enough for coins to pass through. So the three of us kids each had a sort of piggy bank.
“On the nights that he came home early enough for us to see him before bedtime, he would empty all the change out of his pockets and hand little fistfuls of coins to each of us. Once the jars were full, he made a big deal of emptying them out and counting it all out on the kitchen table. Apparently, there was enough to buy four tickets—or close to it. My mother didn’t come with us, so it was just my dad and us kids.
“I remember I had an earache that day, and Mom didn’t think that I should go with them. I was sick and a little out of it, but we had all been looking forward to the show for so long, and Dad had built the whole thing up. I can still picture it. The stage and show seemed far away from our seats, yet the smell of the animals was overpowering. The most exciting part of the afternoon was when my dad let us pick out something to buy as a keepsake. I had seen little leather lion tamer whips as we passed by. Oh, how I wanted one! It was the only thing that caught my eye as I was walking around in a bit of a daze. I must have had a fever.
“So my father hands me five dollars. Five dollars! Do you remember how much that was worth back then? I couldn’t have been more shocked. Now he’s busy with the other two kids, and when we looked back at the booth we’d passed, it was jammed with customers. Dad told me, ‘You have to walk back to that table alone. I can keep an eye on you the whole way. This is quite a crowd, Kenny, and you’re not very tall. When you come back, there will be times that you won’t be able to see me, but try to remember that I can see you. And I’ll be right here waiting. Do you want to try it?’
“Apparently, I said, ‘I can do it, Dad. I’m not a baby.’” Kenny laughed out loud and clapped his hands together at the thought. “My father told this story many times. Can you picture how tiny a three-year-old boy is? And I thought that I was so tough. I’ve got the five-dollar bill clenched in my fist, and I’m walking toward the counter to get my lion-tamer whip when a clown appears before me. A really depressing clown. His wig was matted, and the white stuff on his face was either flaking off in parts, or there were places where he was dripping with sweat and it was melting the face paint off. The clown grabs my money and disappears into the sea of people. I’m standing paralyzed staring at my fist. I couldn’t believe it! That was not the kind of world that my family lived in.”
Kenny climbed down off the stepstool he’d been using to reach up near the ceiling with his brush and took a swig from his water bottle. “Next thing I know, my father is there with my brother on one hip and my sister by the hand. He somehow was able to hug me for a moment with the other kids still attached to him. He always told us that tears were running down my face but that I tried to be brave. ‘It’s all right, Dad, it’s my fault, I should have held on to it tighter.’ Well, I think that about melted his heart. He wedged us into the booth and described the clown to the people who worked there. Dad counted out every cent that he had left but was still short. Even so, all the grownups felt bad about what had happened so I wound up with the leather whip just the same. I had it for years. You know, to this day, when I see someone wearing white makeup, I get furious.”
Four afternoons a week, Georgia would head up to the school to teach her classes, but even then, they stayed in constant contact. It was astonishing to him that there was so much left to say to each other. They spoke by phone between some of her teaching blocks and sent each other text messages during others. He found himself fascinated by every detail of Georgia’s life until she came home after dark. When he saw her again, the world once again felt completely set to rights.
On Georgia’s days off, they often headed out on day trips. One Saturday, they went to an art show in Burlington and had lunch. Another weekend, they read about a gospel brunch on Sunday mornings, and they made reservations and drove over to attend it. Sometimes, just for fun, they decided to take a route they’d never been on before and explore antique shops, country stores, and farm stands along the way. This past week, Zelda and Spencer had gone on one of their horse trips, as they were experimenting with winter camping. Georgia turned to Kenny that Saturday morning and said, “Billy Joel is playing in Boston tonight. Let’s drive in and see if we can scalp some tickets.”
“Do we know how to scalp tickets? Where will we stay?”
“I
think we can figure it out. I’ll find the hotel that’s closest to the TD Garden concert venue. Wait . . .” She got on her laptop and took out her credit card. “Done. We have a room tonight at the Onyx Hotel on Prospect Street, and it includes parking. It’s ten o’clock now, so let’s plan on leaving by noon. I’m going down to my house to shower and throw some things in a bag. We’ll check in sometime between three thirty and four. Apparently, the hotel has a sponsored wine hour from four to five. What do you think?”
“I think it sounds great.”
“Let’s try to strike up some conversations to find out where people would be selling seats if they had the tickets.”
Kenny said, “Good idea. Then, we can explore and find out where we want to have dinner. We’ll be doing a lot of walking, okay if we go casual? I mean, who are we trying to impress?”
Doggie daycare agreed to pick up Dolly Parton, Kenny made good time driving, and Georgia’s impromptu plan went off without a hitch. At the wine tasting, they were warned, “Be careful, scalping is illegal. Don’t make the transaction right in front of a police officer.” The last time Georgia had done something like this, it was an exchange with a hippie in front of Aquarius on Hamilton Place in 1973. Instead of peace, love, understanding, and pot smoke, they found a block full of thugs acting like crack dealers in the movies.
Georgia had cash in her pocket to facilitate a quick trade, but the strong police presence threw her off the negotiating scenario she had been playing in her head.
When a young man wearing an earpiece approached her and asked, “You want tickets?” she froze.
Kenny took over, “How much and where are the seats?”
“Two hundred a piece. Front section, tenth row.”
Georgia was shocked by the price, but Kenny handed off cash, put his hand on the small of her back, and just as a police officer was walking toward them, ushered her inside the hall. She was so proud of him, his confidence, and obvious protection of her.
She told him, “Wouldn’t it have been hilarious if we’d had to call the kids to come bail us out of jail?”
They were directed to the area of the middle section and down front just as Billy started singing “Uptown Girl.” She was glad they were close to the stage, as she considered him to be one of the voices of her generation. He was, quite literally, a big part of the soundtrack of her youth. When he played “Only the Good Die Young,” her tears began to flow, and when the band followed with “Always a Woman to Me,” her wedding song, she lost it.
Kenny held her with one arm, gently kissing the top of her head until her tears dried. They danced and sang along with nearly every song. Billy’s stamina was stunning, and it was nearly midnight when he said goodbye to his audience with his signature line, “Don’t take any shit from anyone.” Whatever reservations either of them had about spending four hundred dollars for admission had passed hours ago. By the time they reached the street, it was twelve thirty, and they were far too jangled to consider sleep.
Georgia said, “I’m starving. Let’s pick a place and go in. On this block, we have Italian and a steakhouse.”
“Tough choice. Italian in Boston is hard to beat, but it looks closed, and the other place has music.”
It was more of a bar than a restaurant. They were seated at a table in a dark green leather booth, which was the perfect spot to listen to their jazz trio. They perused a menu that included Italian dishes, so they wound up having the best of all things. Georgia told Kenny, “I’m having the veal because I rarely make it at home.”
It turned out that when Georgia booked their hotel, she’d actually bought a getaway package without realizing it. They didn’t have to check out until three o’clock the following afternoon, so they slept in and went down at ten to enjoy their complimentary breakfast. The hotel kept a fleet of well-tuned bicycles and detailed attraction maps. After their meal, they had a blast playing tourist. Driving back up north to Vermont, the two meandered along back roads and explored. It was nearly eight o’clock by the time they walked into Georgia’s front hallway.
As he stood reminiscing about their jaunt to Boston, Kenny felt born anew. Looking out his workshop window he thought, The whole world looks different with her by my side. Just like the blanket of snow collecting, his thoughts were fresh and clear. He was careful to appreciate everything about these early days with Georgia, as he knew with certainty this was the last time in his life he would ever fall in love.
Twenty-Nine
“Just try and stay out of my way. Just try!
I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too!”
—The Wicked Witch of the West
Margot’s building had gone up in 1925 as apartments, long before the idea of condominiums became popular in the United States. When Barmy River Glen ski area opened in 1945, it was purchased by a group of friends who each took one and managed them cooperatively. There were only six units surrounded by ten breathtaking acres that included a large swimming pond and an almost full circle view. They were more expensive than most condos in the area, but Margot insisted that this was the one that she wanted.
Georgia had convinced her daughter to trade in her car, whose payment and maintenance she couldn’t afford. Margot was now driving a perfectly good used Subaru. When Jack’s camp closed and she came into her inheritance, Georgia went over figures with Margot so she would understand what went into home ownership.
“While you may be able to afford the monthly mortgage payment, you still have to think about insurance, the condo fee, and maintenance of things like your appliances. I think a good rule of thumb is to take your mortgage payment and add another forty percent on top. If you can afford that, then it is doable.”
Even with her seventy thousand dollars, the monthly expenses were out of Margot’s reach. “Mom, it’s the only place around here with any character! I have to have this one.”
Georgia had to admit it was a fantastic building. It was designed in old Tudor style with an exposed beam-and-stucco exterior. Inside, the walls were the original plaster sealed with a clear, impenetrable finish in the hallways and the giant entryway. Whoever did the plasterwork had been an artisan. Stamped into the walls here and there were carvings from old English legends: a dragon, a shield, and a coat of arms. The previous owners had been smart enough to preserve the integrity of these pieces, and they were topped off by a masterwork of cast molding layers. Like a crown, the very top was a curved ceiling.
The apartments were nearly soundproof due to the thick walls and, for the same reason, provided formidable insulation against heat and cold. Although each apartment had only two bedrooms, they were designed during a time when many people spent their entire lives in such places. The front entry was big enough to accommodate two large pieces of furniture, and it had a coat closet lined with cedar. The living-dining area was open, but large enough to have overstuffed couches and a full dining room set. The kitchen was built when most families had a Hoosier cabinet and ate at the kitchen table every night, so it too was enormous.
There was a master bedroom with a full bath including a tub. The guest bedroom utilized the bathroom in the hallway that had a shower, a white pedestal sink, and a stacked washer and dryer. A set of real French doors, with the original glass that had gone a bit wavy, opened up from the living room out onto a terrace that was deep enough to have a picnic table and grill, and long enough to have outdoor couches. Instead of a railing, it had a half wall made of stucco, and the floor and ceiling were cement. It gave the area the feel of a true outdoor room, and you could imagine how cool it would be to sit there in the summer.
It was an added bonus that the condo was in turnkey condition and certainly worth the money that they were asking for it. Not to mention the building was slopeside to the chairlifts, and therefore a good investment, as skiers were often looking for second homes.
Margot asked her mother, “How much more of a down payment will I need to bring the expenses into range? I feel like we’re so close.
” She was about ten thousand dollars short and Margot knew Georgia had the money. “Can’t I borrow it, Mom? I’ll pay you back.”
“I have a better idea. You can save the money. The purchase will mean all the more to you because you worked so hard for it.”
“By that time, someone else will have bought it.”
In the end, Georgia was happy with the small victories she had brought about in Margot’s spending habits and, in her opinion, Margot’s developing maturity. She accepted it might take the rest of her life to undo the way Jack had spoiled Margot, but she knew she was equal to the task. It was essential if Margot was ever to be a happy and responsible adult. Yet Georgia struggled with withholding the money from her daughter; after the sale of her own home, ten thousand did not seem like a great deal of money.
But what she did for her daughter, she believed strongly, she should also do for her sons. Georgia meditated on the financial ramifications of gifting her children a total of thirty thousand dollars. She asked herself, Can I really afford to do this? I just sold my home so that my future will be secure. If I can give this kind of money away, shouldn’t I put aside ten thousand each for their weddings? She was torn. In the end, she decided to take a lesson from Kenny.
Georgia asked for meetings with the real estate agent who represented the seller, a bank representative, and a real estate attorney. She scheduled them all in a single morning. Georgia sat next to her daughter when they met the bank’s mortgage officer.
She told her, “We love the property. We want it, but we have recently been through the loss of my husband and Margot’s father. Money is an issue, we must be practical, and we must be careful. Margot has a substantial amount to put down and I am grateful you have the authority to pre-approve the mortgage if you see fit. What we need is to save thousands in closing costs and lower her monthly payment to nine hundred and fifty dollars. We’d like to go with your bank because you are local, but if we can’t reduce her monthly payment, we may have to shop around.”
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