“Right…”
“You can either accept his counter, or you can raise your offer to somewhere between the two figures.”
Okay, I feel like I’m getting in over my head now, and I want to call Dad, but I know he’s tired … maybe already in bed. So I grab a pen and write down the numbers: the asking price, what I offered, and what he said he would take. And I just stare at them.
“Are you still there?” asks Judy.
“Yeah … I was just thinking.”
“Do you want to wait until tomorrow?”
“No,” I say quickly. “How about if I offer him $460,000?”
“I can give it a try.”
“Is that too low?”
“You never know.”
“It’s just that I need to have enough money left to fix up the place and keep my head above water if, heaven forbid, it doesn’t sell for as much as it needs to when I’m done with it,” I explain. “So I don’t think I could pay any more than that.”
“I understand.”
“Can you tell him that I really want the house,” I say feebly, “that I really care about it and that I’ll make it look really nice?”
She laughs now. “I can tell him that, but I don’t know that it’ll make any difference.”
I feel embarrassed now. “Right. I mean, I realize it’s business.”
“Do you have a fax machine?”
“No.”
“I really should get your initials on the new offer,” she says. “But since he’s out of the country, maybe we can bend the rules. If he’s interested, I’ll have you pop in first thing in the morning, and we’ll do it right.”
“Do you think he’ll be interested?”
“I don’t know.”
“So, you’ll let me know what he says?”
“As soon as I know, I’ll let you know. But that might not be until morning.”
“Okay.”
So I go to bed feeling a mixture of emotions. I’m trying to be hopeful, trying to believe that the impossible is possible, but I feel anxious and worried. Finally I remember what Dad said about God closing a door. I think that might be what’s happening. Maybe this is not going to happen. Maybe I was never meant to be a house flipper. Maybe all I will ever be is a single kindergarten teacher, living in a tiny apartment with an oversized dog who likes to chew on expensive shoes.
After a restless and nearly sleepless night, it’s finally morning, and I’m walking from the parking lot toward the elementary school with a feeling of dejection, not to mention exhaustion. I’m guessing that my offer has been refused and that the other buyer will probably get the house today. That’s what I get for dreaming too big. Maybe I just need to learn to be content with my lot in life. What made me think I could pull off something like this anyway? Just then my cell phone rings, and it’s Judy.
“He accepted your offer!” she says happily.
“No way!” It’s honestly the last thing I expected to hear.
“Yes. Ron just called. I actually told him what you said last night about loving the house, and it must’ve gotten to him. He said that he and his wife bought that house in the late seventies and did some upgrades, like carpeting and whatnot, and that they really did love the house and felt bad that it had been so abused by the renters. He said that his wife wanted the buyer to be someone who cared about it.”
“Really?”
“So if you can pop in and sign this new offer, we should be good to go.”
“How about if I come during my lunch break?”
“Great. I’ll have the paperwork all ready for you.”
“Thanks!” As I close my phone, I feel like I just won the lottery.
Needless to say, I am completely distracted during the morning session of school. But I also feel happy, and my kindergarten kids, just like little mirrors, reflect that happiness back at me. When we gather on the carpet for circle time, they look bright and expectant. When we sing our songs and do our rhymes, their voices are lilting and full of joy. Just how I feel.
And it occurs to me, not for the first time, that I really do love my job. I love these little kids, and despite wanting to teach a higher grade level when I got my degree, I feel completely at home with five-year-olds now. Im not sure I’ll ever want to switch. This reminds me of my mom and one of the ways we are alike. She loved little kids too. When I started fourth grade, Mom took a job teaching at a nearby preschool. Her training had been in art, but she loved being around small children, and I think since she was unable to have more after me, the preschool kids filled that spot in her life. I can even remember feeling jealous at first, worried that she liked those “other” kids better than me. But after a while I got used to it. I realized that I was still her number one girl. And I enjoyed helping her put crafts and things together at home for her to use at preschool. Sometimes, when I’m teaching my class, I almost get the sense that she’s checking in on me … and smiling.
But by noon I am so eager to get to the Realtor’s office that you’d think I was on my way to a party. The new offer is quickly signed, and Judy shakes my hand. I tell her that I’ve already called Dad and he’s meeting this afternoon with his lenders—the same company he’s worked with for years on his own contracting projects.
“He assured me that the loans already approved,” I explain. “Just a matter of signing some papers.”
“The final paperwork should be ready by Friday,” she tells me. “It really simplifies the sale when you and your father have the financing all worked out. The sellers were hugely relieved that it was a cash offer. So much time is saved that way. It won’t be long until you’ll be the proud new owner of your first home.”
I consider this. In some ways it’s true, and I do feel a certain sense of ownership already, but I’m also fully aware that this is an investment deal. The house is not really going to be mine, not in the long run. It’s being financed by a short-term loan—a loan that must be paid back in six weeks or it cuts into the profits. The interest rate will rise, and we’ll incur severe penalties if we default. I know this. Also, Dad’s credit rating will suffer. A lot is at stake here.
I thank Judy and head back to school, getting into gear for my afternoon kids. Fortunately my aide, Claire, is already there, providing good insurance if there are any early birds. I count off the days until summer break. I can’t believe there are only eleven, not including today. Because kindergarten starts a week earlier than the rest of the grades so the young children have a chance to acclimate to the school environment before it gets too busy and overwhelming, it gets out a week early as well. A nice little dividend, I think.
The afternoon kids, as usual, are more subdued than my morning class. They’re more worn out by this time of day, and it hasn’t been too long since these little ones were having their naps. Plus the classroom is always warmer in the afternoon, especially this time of year. Snack time is surprisingly quiet, although they do liven up for recess.
Finally the day is done, and as soon as the last stragglers of the day have gone home, I call Dad to see how the financing is going.
“I signed the final loan papers about an hour ago,” he tells me. “And I told them you’d come by after work and sign them too.”
“No problem. Did you see the house yet?”
“Not the inside. But I drove by it on my way home.”
“What did you think?” I ask eagerly.
“It looks pretty much the way you described it. It needs work, but it has good potential.”
“Do you think we need an inspection?” I ask cautiously. Holly mentioned this to me the other day. She said Justin thought it would be wise. And now I’m starting to wonder if they could be right.
“I’ll admit things are moving quickly,” he says. “But Betty said a house at that price wouldn’t last another day on the market. I’m hoping I can get in there before the three-day cancellation rule expires.”
“What’s that?”
“We have three business days
to change our minds and cancel the loan if we need to. Since today is Thursday, that gives us until Monday to rescind.”
“Oh…” Now this should be a comforting thought, but I really hope it’s not necessary. I so want this house.
“I’m sorry I’m not more help just now,” he says. “But this is Betty’s last day before her big trip. I spent most of the day with her. Took her to the mall to pick up some last-minute things. And now she’s here at my place, and we’re about to head out. I wanted to drive up the coast and take her out for a nice seafood dinner.”
“Sounds lovely.”
He chuckles. “Well, I want to give her something special to remember me by when she’s over there with all those fancy schmancy continentals in Europe.”
I have to laugh at this. But then I realize that my dad might be even more smitten with Betty than I’d suspected. “Well, you guys have a good time, and tell her bon voyage for me.”
“Will do.”
“And tell her thanks for connecting me to Judy and helping to find that house. I owe her one.”
“She’s thrilled that it worked out for you. She said she can’t wait to see it when you’re done. And she said to remind you to take photos. Did you tell Betty about your photography, Gretchen?”
“No … I don’t really do it much anymore, Dad.”
“Well, you should. You’re an excellent photographer.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Then we say good-bye, and I wonder about that last comment. It was sweet, but Dad never really seemed to be that into my photography before. Not that he ever said anything negative about it; he just never really seemed to notice. In fact, other than Holly, the perennial optimist, no one has ever given me much encouragement about my photography. And the last time I did much with it I was engaged to Collin… I suppose that was one reason I gave it up. A couple of insensitive comments from him sort of shut me down. I filed my photos away and stuck my camera in a drawer somewhere. I’m not even sure where, but I suppose I should dig it out if I’m going to get some good “before” pics of the house.
The thought of dusting off my camera is kind of exciting. Like perhaps I’m finally returning to who I used to be…or maybe someone even better. And I’ve been wanting to get some shots of Riley before he’s full grown. I should also take some end-of-the-year photos of my class at the kindergarten picnic. It’s something I’ve done every year, except for last year. I was disengaged then—literally—and it was all I could do to make it to the last day of school. Looking back, it seems like I was in a deep fog… I can barely remember my students now. That makes me sad.
But as I park my car, I realize that things are changing for me. Now I’m starting to feel this fresh sense of newness and anticipation, like doing this house flip is some sort of personal awakening for me too. I think this is the first time I’ve felt this kind of hope since Collin dumped me. And it feels good.
It takes what feels like a year to sign all the loan papers, but I know that Dad’s done the bulk of the work. And I’m well aware that the equity in his fully-paid-off condo is backing this loan. All I’m doing is putting my name below his, as well as today’s date in a few places.
“Who knew my autograph was so valuable?” I joke to the loan officer when I finally hand back the stacks of papers, in triplicate.
“Keep the pen,” he tells me as he puts the papers into various folders and finally hands me back two folders. “One for you and one for Hank.” Then he shakes my hand. “Congratulations. And good luck on your project.”
By Friday afternoon a check has been issued from the loan company, and all the real-estate paperwork has been completed and signed by both Dad and me. Judy tells me that she’s faxing the contract and as soon as the sellers sign off, the house is officially ours.
“I’d say it’s official now,” she says. “But I need to get this paperwork back from them first. Anyway your work here is done.”
“Thanks. Does that mean I can have the key?”
She considers this. “I really should get their signatures first.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” I tell her. “I’ll have plenty to do this weekend anyway. There’s so much to plan and figure out.”
“Good for you. Consider yourself a homeowner, or house flipper. My guess is that I’ll be handing you the key to the castle first thing Monday.”
“That’s great,” I tell her. “I’ll use this time to check out the local home-improvement stores. Even if I don’t buy anything yet, I’ll start making lists and budgeting and pricing things and getting information.”
“Sounds like fun,” she says.
And it does sound like fun. Much better than sitting around my crummy apartment, porking out on ice cream and watching HGTV. This is like having a real life!
On Saturday, after taking Riley for a long stroll on the beach, where I dusted off my camera and took some great shots of him, I’m hoping he’s so worn out that he’ll take a nice nap and refrain from chewing up anything too valuable. I tell him to be a good dog, and promising that things are going to change as soon as school is out, I stick a notebook in my bag and head for the local home-improvement stores. I considered inviting Dad to join me, and at some point I will, but for now I just want to process this on my own. I think I need to figure out some things for myself on the front end—like what kind of countertops, appliances, hardware, and all that fun design stuff that doesn’t require contracting expertise to choose well.
By the end of the day, I have dozens of pamphlets and price lists and material descriptions. Not only that, but after talking to a helpful window salesman, I even applied for what they call a “project” card. It’s six months of interest-free credit that earns points toward future purchases. I’m already thinking about the next house I’ll be fixing up—the one I’ll buy from the profits of my flip house—maybe as soon as August, before school starts back up.
“The first thing you need to do is start measuring everything,” the window guy told me just as I was finishing up. “And then measure it all again just to be sure.”
“Measure twice and cut once,” I shot back at him with confidence.
This barely-out-of-high-school dude seemed duly impressed. “Sounds like you’ve done this before.”
“Sort of. My dad’s a retired contractor.”
“Then you’ve got it made in the shade.”
And as I sit in my apartment Saturday night, sorting out all the stuff I’ve collected, marking file folders and organizing everything into an oversized bag, I think maybe I do have it made—or at least I’m on my way. After going over the costs of the upgrades I know I’ll need, I think maybe I can afford granite countertops and stainless appliances—real top-of-the-line items.
On Sunday after church Dad and I meet to look at the house again. We don’t have the key yet, but he wants to check the exterior more thoroughly. I think maybe he’s getting a little worried. He told me about a dream he’d had the night before in which the house we were working on collapsed.
“I’m thankful we have until tomorrow to cancel the loan,” he says as I get out of my car.
“Why’s that?” I ask, suddenly worried.
“Well, I was in a hurry when Betty and I stopped by here last week. And I suppose I was distracted, but I didn’t notice a couple of things.”
“A couple of things?”
He nods with a concerned frown. “That roof needs to be replaced.”
“Really?” I peer up at the roof and just shake my head. “How can you tell?”
“See how those asphalt shingles are curling on the edges. They’ve definitely seen better days. I’m guessing that roof is about twenty years old.”
“Oh…will that be expensive?”
“Yeah. I’m afraid it would take a good-sized bite out of your budget, sweetie.”
“And you said a couple of things’?”
“Well, as you mentioned, the windows definitely need to be replaced. I’m surprised to see they still have the original aluminum o
nes. Most folks upgraded that kind of thing ages ago. But, besides that, some of that siding may need to be replaced as well.”
I feel myself gulp. “And that’ll be expensive too?”
“Depends on how much we can save.”
“Do you have any idea how much these exterior things will cost?” I ask as I pull out my notebook and pen.
“Well, offhand, I’d guess about ten grand. But that’s only if we do most of the work ourselves, Gretch. And that doesn’t include the cost of windows, which could be another ten grand.”
“Yikes.”
He nods and adjusts his sunglasses. “I wish we had the key to go inside.”
“Judy said we can probably have it tomorrow.”
“Well, we should just be really thankful for that three-day cancellation law. We may need it, sweetie.”
“Oh, I hope not…” But I feel my spirits seriously slumping as Dad puts an arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “If this house isn’t the right one, there’s probably another one. Maybe we jumped the gun a little. I take partial blame… I’m sure I was too distracted with Betty.”
I peer curiously at him now. “You really like her, don’t you, Dad?”
He smiles. “She’s a good lady.”
I nod. “I think I like her too.”
“I know she’s very different from your mom, Gretchen. But I always knew that your mom was one of a kind … irreplaceable.”
“I know…”
“And I never thought I’d actually consider settling down with a wife again.”
“You want to marry her?” I feel a wave of shock, but I guess I should’ve seen this coming. Why wouldn’t he want to marry her?
“Oh, I haven’t said anything to her yet. But, yes, I do think I’d like to marry her, Gretchen. It’s not easy being alone … when you’re old.”
I want to add that it’s not easy being alone when you’re my age either, but I think that might be a little self-centered.
“And Betty has a very nurturing spirit.”
I nod. “Yeah. I like that she cares about your health, Dad.”
A Mile in My Flip-Flops Page 5