“Okay, you’re going to have to entertain yourself,” I tell him. “I’ve got to measure those windows.”
I’ve just finished measuring windows when I hear Noah calling my name. I go to find him still at work on the bathroom floor, and to be honest, it doesn’t look much different than it did this morning. I’m tempted to point this out but decide to hold my tongue.
“I don’t know if you’re going out for any building supplies,” he tells me, “but there are a couple of things you could pick up for me for this bathroom, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I was actually about to head out to order the windows.”
“Did you measure them?” he asks as he stands up and uses the back of his hand to wipe perspiration from his brow, making a brown dirty streak across his forehead. I’m tempted to wipe it off for him, but I don’t.
“Yes,” I say a little indignantly. “I measured twice on every window just to be sure.”
He wears a slight frown now. “Do you want me to check the measurements for you?”
“No,” I say even more indignantly. “I know how to read a measuring tape.”
“I’m sure you do, but have you ever ordered windows before?”
“No, of course not.”
“There are a couple of tricks to it. Did anyone explain it to you?”
“Well, no…but…”
“Wouldn’t you rather have me check them than order the wrong windows, Gretchen?” He suddenly sounds bossy, but I’ve spent enough time around contractors, including my own father, to know this is how they talk. “Do you realize how expensive it would be to have to purchase two sets of windows?” he continues. “And then you’d have to wait for the second set to arrive, and your schedule would be shot to pieces, and—”
“Okay, okay!” I hold up my hands as in “I surrender,” not sure whether to laugh or sulk. I hand him my list of window sizes and the tape measure and say, “Go ahead and check it. I mean, what would a kindergarten teacher know about measuring?”
I follow him into the living room, where he begins to measure, then stops. “Which measurement is the width here, Gretchen?”
“Huh?” I look at the paper, then point to the right spot.
“For starters, you should always list the width first when ordering windows.”
“Why?”
He sort of smiles as he remeasures the width of the front window. “Because that’s how it’s done.”
“Oh well, that’s easy. I can change that.”
“Okay, come here and look at this,” he tells me. “This window’s width is seventy-eight inches, but look what you wrote down.”
I look at my list again and see that I’ve written down seventy-four inches. Then I look at where he’s holding the tape. “But that’s the outside of the window,” I point out. “I measured the glass.”
“But that’s not how you order windows,” he explains with a hint of that contractor tone again. “They come already put together with the frame on them. It’s easiest if you replace them in the same size. Then you don’t have to mess with the headers or siding. You just slip them into place.”
“Oh…” I nod, taking this in. “That makes sense.”
“So, you see, if you’d gone in and ordered the windows like this… well, you would’ve been sorry when they got here, because they’d have been too small, and you probably would have had to re-side the whole house and redo the headers, and then there would have been the Sheetrock to be filled in, and you’d—”
“Okay, already. You made your point. I’m stupid.”
He shakes his head. “Not stupid, just a little inexperienced. Trust me, when we’re done with this house, you’ll be a real pro.”
I force a smile. “I hope so.”
“How about I help you remeasure these windows. One of us can measure, and one can write; it’ll go much faster that way.”
“Thanks,” I tell him as I wad up my faulty window list and toss it into the garbage can. “I’d appreciate that.”
And it does go quicker. Noah measures, and I write, and before long we have a proper list.
“Have you decided what kind of windows you want?” he asks.
“Glass?”
He laughs. “Yes, that’s a good place to start. But I mean like which brand, and do you want wood or clad, double hung or casement, or—”
“Here we go again…” I try not to show my frustration or inexperience. “I want the windows to be nice but not too spendy.”
He nods. “But you don’t want them to be too cheap either. Cheap windows on a nice house is like a pretty woman with a bad hairdo.”
Without thinking, I absently reach up and touch my hair, which is pulled back in my usual grunge-day ponytail.
“Your hair is fine.” He smiles.
“Right.”
“Anyway, my point is don’t go too cheap on the windows. And if you do clad, which I’d recommend, you might want to consider what color you plan to paint the house later on. Pick out an exterior color that will go nicely.”
“I was thinking a sage sort of green.”
“Why don’t you stop by the paint section and get some samples along the lines of what you think you’re going to paint. And what about those patio doors in back?” he asks. “Are you going to replace them too?”
“Definitely. But I thought I could deal with it later.”
“Why put it off? They’ll take about the same amount of time as the windows, and if they come sooner, we’ll be that much ahead of the game.”
“I thought french doors would be nice,” I tell him. I agree.
“Want to help me measure the doors?” I ask meekly. “I mean, I know you want to keep working in the bathroom, but it—”
“I think getting the doors measured and ordered is a priority,” he says. So we go back to measuring.
“Okay,” I say when we finish. “I think I have my work cut out for me now.”
“Good luck.”
“And Riley should be fine in the backyard,” I tell him. “But this might take awhile. Do you need those pieces really soon?”
“No, Im fine. Maybe I’ll start tearing into the other bathroom; I think the dry rot in there is only under the sink. We’ll be able to leave the toilet and tub in for a while.”
I tell him his plan sounds good, then head out the door. And I feel more hopeful than I have in a long time as I drive Dad’s pickup through town. Our first official day working together, and we seem to be getting along. To be fair, I think it has more to do with Noah than me. I can’t believe how patient he was about my ignorance. My dad, as much as I love him, isn’t always that kind. Sure, he means well, but it just seems like he expects everyone to know as much about building as he does, and when you don’t, well, watch out. Noah’s got a softer way of dealing with overconfident, inexperienced me.
It takes a couple of hours to order the windows and doors, but when I’m done, I feel good about my choices. Well, other than the expense, which is a considerable portion of my budget. But it’s also unavoidable if I want the house to look good and also function well. And while I didn’t pick the costliest windows and doors, the quality is a major upgrade from the houses current ones. I think Noah will approve. I kept the designs simple—or classic, as the woman helping me described it. And I followed Noah’s advice to get some paint samples, and the exterior clad I chose, in a nice, neutral taupe, looked great with all the greens I selected. Best of all was the wooden front door, which is more of a craftsman style but simple enough that it works for modern/contemporary too. Plus I think it will really set the tone for the house. And I already know what kind of porch lights will be perfect with it.
Since I’m halfway to Dad’s place, I decide to go by to check his mail, get his vitamins, and say hi to the cats. I’m hoping Betty has sent a postcard by now since I know that will lift his spirits, but when I unlock the box, I only find a couple of bills and junk mail. I put these with the rest of his mail on the dining room table, t
hen go to look for his vitamins. As I’m about to leave, the phone rings, and I decide to answer it.
“Gretchen?” says a woman’s voice.
“Yes.”
“Oh, I’m so glad I reached you. It’s Betty. We’re in port in Valencia, Spain, and my cell phone is finally working. Is Hank there?”
“Actually, he’s not.”
“Is everything okay?”
I try to think of the right answer. “Yes, everything is fine … now.”
“I tried to call him a couple of times last weekend. It should’ve been nighttime there, but he wasn’t home. I began to worry.”
“Well, Dad hasn’t been home,” I say, wondering how much to tell her. I know Dad doesn’t want to spoil her trip, but now that he’s out of the woods, or seems to be, maybe she should know.
“Where did he go?”
“He had a heart attack last Friday and—”
“Oh no,” she gasps, “is he okay? Should I come home?”
“No no, don’t come home. He’s okay now. And he would feel terrible if you came home. He didn’t even want me to tell you, Betty.”
“But how is he?”
So I explain about the surgery. “And he’s doing really great now. He will probably be home by the end of the week.”
“But he’ll need someone to help him, Gretchen. A quadruple bypass takes weeks to recover from.”
“Yes … six to twelve weeks.”
“I think I will come home.”
“No,” I practically yell. “Please don’t. Dad would hate to ruin your trip. I’m here. I’ll take care of everything. Please don’t worry.”
“But what about your house, Gretchen? How will you ever manage to do it now?”
Then I explain about Noah.
“Oh, Noah is a dear!” she exclaims.
“You know him?” Okay, I already know this, but for some reason it catches me off guard, like I’ve been missing out on something.
“Oh yes, his mother and I are neighbors and good friends. In fact, it was Noah who introduced Margaret and me to Hank in the first place. Lucky for me, Margaret decided that Hank was not her type.”
It suddenly feels like all these people—my dad, Noah, Betty, Kirsten, and now Noah’s mother—were enjoying this secret social life I wasn’t part of.
I offer a laugh. “So you can see that everything is totally under control here, Betty. Please, do not even think of ending your vacation sooner than you planned.”
“I just wish I had been there for him, Gretchen.” Her voice breaks now. “I really care about him. A lot.”
“And he cares about you too,” I assure her. “In fact the main reason I’m here is that he was hoping you’d sent him a postcard.”
“I’ve sent him at least seven. Haven’t they arrived yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Ugh. International mail is so slow.”
“But he’ll be pleased to know that I spoke with you.”
“Is it all right for me to call him at the hospital?”
“Of course.” Then I give her his room number. “He’d love to talk to you—except that he didn’t want you to know. I hope he’s not mad at me for telling you.”
“Well of course you should have told me. I can explain that I wormed it out of you.”
“And assure him that you’re not going to let it spoil your trip. He needs to know that. Otherwise, he will feel guilty.”
“Yes. I totally understand. Don’t worry. I’ll smooth it all over.”
“Thanks.”
“And thank you for telling me, Gretchen. I’m so glad that you’re there for your dad. I know he acts like he’s so self-sufficient, but he needs us.”
“I know the feeling.”
“Well, good luck on that house of yours. I can’t wait to see it. You are taking photos, aren’t you?”
I slap my forehead. “You know, I was, but then this whole thing with Dad kind of threw me off. I will make sure to take my camera over tomorrow.”
“Well, I better say ‘adios’ before I wake up my sister.”
“What time is it there?”
“After midnight.”
“Oh, it’s just a little past four here.”
“Well, give your dad a great big hug for me, okay?”
“I’ll do that.”
I feel slightly guilty as I hang up. I know that Dad didn’t want Betty to know about his heart attack. But how could I not tell her? Hopefully, she’ll help him understand that. And I know he’ll be happy to hear from her. It was nice to hear her say how much she cares about him too. Maybe their affection for each other really is mutual. Who knows, there might be a wedding in our family after all. I wonder if Betty would like to use any of the things I still have from my wedding that wasn’t. I tried to pass some things off on Holly, as well as her sister, but they were worried that the things might be jinxed.
By the time I get back to the house, Noah has made good progress by tearing out the sink and cabinet from the other bathroom. But the expression on his face is not encouraging.
“This is worse than I thought,” he says, poking a screwdriver into a piece of Sheetrock that’s already crumbling. “This whole sink wall will have to be replaced.”
“Oh…” I feel my spirits crumbling just like the wall. “How’d the door and window shopping go?” he asks more cheerfully.
I quickly give him the lowdown, and he nods with approval. “Sounds perfect. And don’t worry about this dry rot, Gretchen. It’s all fixable.”
“Why do they call it dry rot anyway?” I ask. “I mean, isn’t it caused by water? Why don’t they just call it wet rot?”
He smiles. “That’s a good point. But don’t worry, whether we call it dry rot or wet rot, we’ll get it whipped.”
“Yeah, but it’ll just take longer now.” I throw my arms to my sides. I feel like a whiny child, but this is so frustrating. “What if everything just keeps taking longer … gets more expensive … is harder to finish? What then?”
“You know, I’ve learned from certain experiences…over these past few years…” He stops now, as if he’s unsure he wants to continue. But that only makes me curious. I hate when people start to tell me something, then change their minds. It’s one of my pet peeves. And he looks now like he’s about to change the subject.
“What?” I persist.
He smiles. “Oh, it’s a long story.”
I frown at him. “You shouldn’t start to tell someone something and then stop like that, Noah. It’s not nice.”
“How about if I tell you about it later?”
“Yeah, right.” I give him a skeptical look.
“It’s just that I want to finish ripping this dry rot out before I quit for the day.”
I nod. “Actually, that’s a good thing. I’ll forgive you for leading me on like that.”
“And if you’re really interested in hearing my story, you’ll have to treat me to a cheeseburger for dinner.”
“A cheeseburger?”
“Yep.” He turns his attention back to tearing out Sheetrock. “I’ve been craving one for the past hour. Have you been to Henry’s yet?”
“You mean that new diner downtown?”
“Yeah. Want to try it out with me tonight?”
“And if I treat, you’ll talk?”
“That’s the deal.”
“Then it’s a deal.” Okay, I’m telling myself this isn’t a date, but I still want to run home and get cleaned up. “I’ll just need to go check on Dad first. Oh yeah, and Betty called.” So I fill him in on that as he works. “And I need to take Riley home. You want to meet at Henry’s?”
“Sounds good. I’m thinking around six thirty. Does that work for you?”
“I’ll see you there.”
Then I unload the rest of the things from the pickup, do a little more cleaning, and finally decide it’s time to take Riley back to my apartment, get in a shower, and check on Dad.
Is it a date?” Holly asks as I towel dry my ha
ir. She stopped by on her way home to pick up the present I was unable to take to Tina’s shower last week.
“No, it’s not a date.” I tighten the belt of my bathrobe. Okay, I honestly don’t think it’s a date, but I suppose there’s a little part of me that wishes it were. And that bugs me.
“But you’re going to spruce up a little, aren’t you?” she asks hopefully.
“Spruce up?” I laugh. “Who says that anymore?”
“My mom. And me.” She reaches over and gives my hair a fluff. “Anyway, aren’t you going to fix yourself up a little, Gretch?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Why?”
“Because, in case I haven’t mentioned it before…” She laughs. “You kind of let yourself go this past year and a half.”
“Thanks, Holly. With friends like you who needs—”
“I’m sorry,” she says, “but if your best friend can’t be honest with you, who can?”
I roll my eyes at her. “Look, I need to hurry, Holly. As it is, I’ll only have about half an hour with Dad. I can’t waste time fix—”
“Then get moving!” She grabs me by the arm and drags me into the bathroom, positioning me in front of the mirror. She quickly digs through my weird assortment of cosmetics—mostly things that she’s talked me into buying since I’m not naturally talented when it comes to this sort of thing—and she starts having her way with my face. And I must give her credit, not only is she quick, but she’s good. Unfortunately, I’m not paying very close attention to her techniques. “You know, Holly,” I say as she finishes up with some powder blush over what I can only assume are my cheekbones, “someday you should teach me how to do this for myself.”
She laughs. “I’ve tried. You never listen.”
“Maybe if you wrote it down.”
But she pulls me into my bedroom and rips open my closet to forage for … for what? “You really need to go clothes shopping, Gretchen. Or else lose some weight.”
“Just keep the compliments coming, Holly,” I say sarcastically. “I needed that little ego boost.”
A Mile in My Flip-Flops Page 14