Mother of Prevention

by Lori Copeland

“None—do you need extra linen napkins?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Now what? I glanced over my shoulder and saw Liv sitting at the table, her right hand clamped over her mouth. I turned and walked back.

  Liv looked up mutely.

  “No paper napkins,” I whispered. “What about a Kleenex?”

  She shook her head. “Used all of mine,” she lisped.

  I searched through my purse and found one, used. I glanced at Liv and she adamantly shook her head.

  Okay. Use your head, Kate.

  Our waitress spotted the activity and headed for the table, fresh teapot in hand. “More tea?” she asked. She focused on Liv’s odd position. Hand over mouth, refusing to look up.

  Liv nodded.

  “Can I interest you ladies in dessert today? A piece of our special coconut cake or pecan pie?”

  Liv shook her head.

  “Just fresh tea, thank you.” I smiled, trying to get rid of her.

  Eventually another table needed service and the waitress wandered off.

  “Help me,” Liv pleaded behind the napkin. “I’ve got to get out of here!”

  “Okay. Stay put.”

  “Like I’m going anywhere in my condition,” Liv muttered.

  I located the ladies’ room. A few minutes later I returned to the table with a pocketful of toilet paper. I inconspicuously put the wad of tissue in Liv’s hand. She looked at the offering, horror filling her eyes.

  “It’s clean,” I emphasized. I left her and stepped back to the front to pay the bill.

  A short time later I ushered my classy friend through the small shop and its vast array of teapots, charming dishes and other knickknacks, and helped her into her car. Before I even closed the door, Liv was on the cell phone to her dentist, who was at home on a Saturday, advising him she’d be sitting in front of his office in fifteen minutes, and in a lisping threat said he’d better be waiting for her.

  I tapped on the driver’s window. Liv hit the button, and the glass went down.

  “Hey, Liv.”

  She arched a brow.

  “That thing you said about cheering me up?” I broke into laughter—the snorting, not-so-classy kind. Liv shot me a look that would singe tail feathers.

  “You did. I feel better. Thanks.”

  She waved me off in disgust and sped away.

  Sticking my hands into my coat pockets, I took a deep breath of cold air and looked up at a faultless blue sky. Thanks, I acknowledged.

  I wasn’t sure if I was talking to Neil or God. If it was God, it’d been a while since we had corresponded.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please remain in your seat with your seat belt securely fastened until the aircraft comes to a complete stop.”

  I motioned for Kris to put Winter Fantasy Barbie in her backpack, and pick up trash around her seat. All around me I heard the telltale click of freed seat belts.

  Kelli wiggled into her backpack. “Mommy, are we going to look at dumps again all day?”

  “I hope not,” I murmured, applying a fresh coat of lipstick. I’d spoken to a new Realtor; the girls and I had this weekend to find a new home. I was still short fifty thousand on a down payment, but I’d asked the church to pray for me. I still couldn’t pray. The words stuck in my throat like glue and refused to come out. Mom and Dad had insisted on helping with the down payment, to my dismay, but when they pointed out they didn’t want their granddaughters living in squalor, I relented.

  Fellow flyers gathered in groups around the luggage carousel. The girls and I watched every single piece go by three times before I faced the obvious. My one large checked bag hadn’t made our plane.

  The Realtor was probably circling the baggage area, anticipating my immediate appearance.

  Carrying a shoulder bag, backpack and pulling Kris’s—the only smart one in the bunch—wheeled carry-on, we walked out of the terminal. I’d have to find the Realtor, inform him of the delay and then return and fill out the necessary papers.

  A huge Suburban with Moore Realty on the side panels sat idling at the curb. Taxis pulled in and out, cars honked.

  I reached for the door handle and stuck my head inside the vehicle. “I’m Kate Madison.” The leather interior had a nice, manly aftershave scent.

  A good-looking man about my age set a clipboard aside and prepared to exit the truck—to help with our bags, I assumed. I quickly explained what had happened, and since a baggage handler was waving the Realtor on, Gray Mitchell suggested the girls stay with him while I filed the missing-luggage report.

  At the suggestion, Kelli turned white as Casper the Ghost. Kris sucked in her breath, staring at me apprehensively.

  “Go on, girls. It’s okay—” I caught myself. Kate Madison! Are you crazy! You don’t know this guy from Adam. He could be some pervert masquerading as a real estate agent, though even the paranoid part of me argued that would be too much of a coincidence. The man was clearly sitting at our agreed-upon meeting place, in a Suburban clearly marked Moore Realty. He had to be on the up-and-up.

  Mr. Mitchell promptly withdrew the offer, saying that he’d circle the baggage-claim area until I was finished.

  I tucked Kelli’s hand firmly in mine, slammed the door and reentered the terminal. The whole process took maybe fifteen minutes, and I was politely assured that when the missing bag was located, it would be delivered to our hotel.

  This time I’d booked my own hotel accommodations. “We’re staying near the airport—Holiday Inn Express.”

  The clerk nodded.

  Now that I had the girls petrified that we were about to embark on an afternoon with a serial killer, I half dragged them back through the double doors and outside in time to see the Suburban’s taillights disappearing around the corner. The girls and I stood in the balmy San Francisco weather and waited for our ride to circle back around.

  “Is it safe to go with him, Mommy?”

  “It’s safe, Kris. Moore Realty is a respected real estate firm. I’m sorry if I frightened you, but I spoke before I thought. I’m sure it would have been fine to let you ride with Mr. Mitchell.”

  Ha. Those girls wouldn’t have come within a country mile of the man without me.

  Kelli sidled closer and reached for my hand. “You won’t leave us with him, will you, Mommy?”

  “Of course not.”

  Panic disorder—that would be Kelli’s first psychiatric session, thanks to you, oh woman of little trust. But a woman—especially a woman alone—couldn’t be too careful these days, and I had the girls to protect.

  The Suburban rounded the corner and I stepped off the curb and waved. Gray Mitchell swerved out of the line of taxis and braked.

  Moments later the girls and I were buckled in the middle seat—a safe distance from Mr. Smells Heavenly real estate agent. I glanced at his left hand, appalled to realize I was looking for a ring. I’d never done anything even remotely like that before, and guilt hit me like a knife in the back. How could I tarnish Neil’s memory with such thoughts?

  Mitchell chatted away in the front seat and I looked anyway. No ring. He talked about the nice weather, how did we like Oklahoma City, didn’t Oklahoma have a lot of tornadoes?

  I answered: wonderful weather—hadn’t lived anywhere other than Oklahoma, so naturally I loved it—and yes, the state was subject to severe weather.

  Then he got into the subject of the big Oklahoma City tornado that had hit May 4, some years ago. The National Weather Service had said that a line of severe storms that passed through the Midwest that night produced forty-five tornadoes in Oklahoma, fourteen tornadoes in Kansas and more in Texas the following day. Forty-four people died, hundreds were injured and damage approached a billion dollars. He seemed to know the statistics better than I did. Our house wasn’t in the path of the F5, and we were still thanking God for that—at least, most were.

  By now we were speeding across an elevated highway. I looked down on both sides of the truck and wondered how I’d ever manage to drive in
eight lanes of traffic. There wasn’t a car going under seventy on either side, and my mind conjured up the World News scenes of massive pileups, involving hundreds of motorists. I broke into a cold sweat, suddenly wanting to go home.

  Eventually he took an exit ramp, and the fast-food stores gradually melted into residential homes. The tree-lined streets resembled scenes out of a magazine—well-maintained houses, older residents. Picturesque. Gray Mitchell brought me back to the present.

  “I’ve given your situation a lot of thought, Mrs. Madison, and your personal preferences as well. After a little research, I’ve come up with a couple of houses I think might suit you well.”

  Only two? I thought, thinking about the cost to fly me and my ear and the girls here a second time. La Chic was paying, but still, I spent company money the way I spent my own, and two houses were hardly worth the effort. And I couldn’t remember what I had written down in the “preferences” column. An estate for under two hundred thousand?

  The Suburban pulled into a curved drive. The girls and I bent forward to get our first glimpse of the house: cottage-style, ivy growing along the front. My gaze focused on the dark green canvas awnings and white porch boxes beneath the windows. The house was adorable.

  We got out of the car, and Gray—I wasn’t openly calling him by his first name, but he’d assured me that I could—escorted us to the front, double oak door. He turned the key in the lock, and the door swung open.

  I stood for a moment with the most bizarre feeling. This was it. This was going to be my new home, my new beginning. I didn’t have the faintest idea what the house cost—far more than I had, I knew, but it was as if the house had reached out and purchased me.

  We stepped inside the hardwood foyer. From here I could see a small dining room on the right, and an adequate living area with stone fireplace and floor-to-ceiling bookcases on the left. The room had wood shutters on the windows.

  “This appeals to a woman’s eye,” Gray said. We walked toward the kitchen. Small, but arranged nicely. Dark blue cabinets with glass fronts. A center wooden block counter. To the right, a sunny alcove, ideal for a table and four chairs. The floors were wood and carpet. Both needed replacing. Utility room and half bath adjacent to a one-car garage. I lost my heart, room by room.

  Gray paused, his eyes roaming the outdated decor. “When I previewed this house, I fell in love with it. It needs work—you can see that—but with a little care you’d have a good home, Mrs. Madison.”

  “Please call me Kate.” Anyone who could come this close to my ideal home had earned the right of familiarity.

  “The lady who lived here recently went into a nursing home. She’s alone, and she’s asked me to find not just an occupant, but a family to live here.”

  I stared at him trying to discern if this was his usual sales spiel. If it was, he delivered the pitch with grace and sincerity.

  Trying not to foam at the mouth, I pretended to casually peruse the rooms, going upstairs several times, talking to the girls to get their feel of the house. I knew it was perfect. Too perfect. I wasn’t lucky enough to find the ideal home in one try—I didn’t count the previous visit, because those houses were hovels. Affordable hovels. This house was a real home.

  Finally we ended up back in the kitchen. I stood at the white porcelain sink, gazing at the garden of Eden: the backyard. Well-maintained, mature plants and bushes, and some sort of stone structure, identical to the house only smaller, far in the rear.

  “Storage,” Gray said over my shoulder. I shut my eyes, breathing deep of his aftershave, and a blindly intense physical pain assaulted me. Every fiber in me wanted Neil at that moment, wanted the marriage we’d shared.

  Swallowing, I stepped back from the window. “I’m afraid the house is out of my price range.”

  Gray consulted his notes, and then looked up. “The owner is willing to consider offers. I think I mentioned money isn’t the primary concern.”

  I shook my head, wanting to make an offer but embarrassed to do so. This house had to be at least $350,000.

  “What is the asking price?”

  “Three hundred and twenty-five thousand.”

  Yep. My hope plummeted.

  “We don’t have that much money,” Kelli said. “We have to be frugal.”

  Gray grinned, a charming display of white teeth in a California tan. “I understand frugality, Miss Madison.”

  “You said there was another house?” Why get my hopes up when the effort would only be futile?

  “Certainly.” Shortly after, we locked the front door to my perfect house and got back in the Suburban.

  House number two was nice. It was on a similar residential street, similar floor plan—maybe a little larger and more closet space. Less fixing up to do.

  But it didn’t buy me. It didn’t embrace me. It didn’t grab me and say, this is home, Kate.

  “You like the other one better, don’t you?” Gray observed when I stood in the empty living room and covered my eyes with my hands in frustration. Our words echoed throughout the empty dwelling.

  “Love it,” I admitted. “But I don’t love the asking price.” Sighing, I knew I’d come to the inevitable. “I think I’m going to have to rent.”

  “I understand.” He didn’t push; he didn’t insist that we go back and take a second look. He seemed to understand my dilemma and I was grateful.

  We climbed back into the Suburban, and Gray backed out of the drive.

  “I liked the other one better,” Kris murmured. My seven-year-old snuggled closer to me and laid her head on my lap. Kelli wiggled and made a place for her head.

  “I did, too,” I confessed. “Sorry, girls.”

  “Maybe we could sell some of my toys.” Kelli yawned, rubbing her eyes. “The big bear, the wagon. My dolls. That might help, huh, Mommy?”

  I patted my daughter’s head, thinking how proud Neil had been of this baby.

  Later, the Suburban swung into the Holiday Inn Express and stopped at the entrance. The girls were sleeping soundly.

  Gray whispered, “You go check in, and then I’ll help you carry them to the room.”

  “Oh, no—” I protested.

  “Please, Kate. I don’t mind. The children have had a big day.”

  I slid out of the truck and within minutes I was back with a key.

  Gray carried Kris, and I took Kelli. We rode up the elevator in silence. I suddenly felt awkward and tongue-tied around him.

  He unlocked the door, and we carried the sleeping children to one of the double beds and gently deposited the girls on the mattress. Kelli stirred briefly, opened her eyes and then dropped instantly back to sleep. Kris never moved.

  “Thank you so much,” I whispered.

  “No problem.” We tiptoed quietly to the door.

  Gray stopped, turning to face me. “You know, I’m an Exclusive Buyer’s Agent.”

  I didn’t know what that meant.

  “It means that I work for you, not the seller. I can advise you whether the seller will accept a lower price, the seller’s reason for selling, how long the home has been on the market, true house value, previous offers, if any, strengths and weaknesses of the home and comparable market data.”

  I nodded as though I understood every detail of real estate buying. Neil and I had gone through a dual agent when we bought our house, and whether the agent listed or sold the home, he was legally bound to represent the seller.

  “You want that house, don’t you?”

  I nodded again. “It’s perfect.”

  “Then make an offer.”

  “I couldn’t—the price would be insulting. I can’t afford anywhere near the asking price, honest. My husband was killed in an on-the-job accident a month and a half ago, and while he left insurance, I have to be careful. I adore the house—so do Kelli and Kris—but it’s out of our price range.”

  “Make an offer. And I’ll do everything within my power to get that house for you.”

  I stared at him. “W
hy would you do that?”

  “Because I lost my wife to breast cancer last year, and I know what it’s like to be alone and up against the world.”

  Tears smarted in my eyes. “The owner wouldn’t be insulted?”

  “She doesn’t insult easily, and she wants to sell the house.” He bent closer and informed me in a stage whisper, “She’s leaving her millions to her three cats.”

  My mind raced. Exactly how much could I pay and not cheat the woman? Not nearly enough; but an offer. That’s all it would be. The owner could take it or leave it. We’d never personally meet.

  After a moment I said, “Two hundred and seventy-five thousand. That’s it—that’s all I can pay, and even that will be stretching me.” Not only would I have to sell our house in Oklahoma City, but I’d have to borrow more from Mom and Dad than I’d intended, and take a second mortgage on this house to come up with that kind of money.

  Gray pulled out his pen. “Take a chair, Kate. I’ll write up a contract.”

  By the time he’d left, I had made an offer on a home. I knew in my heart I wouldn’t get the house; my offer was fifty thousand short of the asking price. But Gray assured me that all the owner could say was no. She couldn’t shoot me.

  When I locked the hotel door behind him, I kicked off my shoes and sat down on the edge of my bed. Six o’clock. The children would be hungry when they woke. I hoped there was a fast-food restaurant nearby.

  Lying across the spread, I closed my eyes and pictured the house. A rosy fire in the fireplace, new carpet—someday—refinished floors.

  I wouldn’t get the house.

  If Neil’s death had taught me anything, it had taught me cynicism. Bad things do happen to people like me. Even if the woman was out of her mind and accepted the contract, the house would have termites—or dry rot. Or both.

  Sewer problems.

  Boundary line disputes.

  Tax liens…

  Chapter 8

  Kelli stirred and sat up in the bed, rubbing sleep from her eyes. I was aware of the movement, but too exhausted to respond. Outside the hotel window lights flashed.

  “Mommy.”

  I breathed deeply, pretending to be asleep. I didn’t want to cope. Not now. The day had been emotional and physically draining. Five more minutes…