A Mile in My Flip-Flops

by Melody Carlson

  I kiss his other cheek and, hoping to avoid any discussion of my morning’s work, head straight for the kitchen where I start making a salad. I can hear Holly making small talk with him, and I feel relatively certain she will not let the cat out of the bag. But all I can think of is that dollar figure. $40,000. $40,000. $40,000. It’s like that number has been indelibly printed into my brain so it’s all I can think about. For all I know I might actually say the figure out loud.

  Finally I’ve done all I can to delay sitting down at the table with my dad. Lunch is ready, and I will myself to be calm as Dad bows his head and says the blessing. Holly says, “amen,” and it’s all I can do not to blurt out, “Forty thousand dollars!” Fortunately I don’t.

  “I talked to the roofers today,” says Dad. “They expect to be at the house by Tuesday.”

  “Really?” I consider this. If we have to pay for asbestos, how can we possibly pay for a new roof or the cabinets or anything else for that matter? I take a small bite of salad and chew for a long time but feel unable to swallow. Actually, I feel as if I might need to throw up. Could it be the asbestos? Am I already getting sick from it? I wonder if Holly asked the expert about that. I glance at her, and she’s looking at me with a worried expression, and I wonder if my skin has turned some horrible shade of gray or green. Maybe I’m about to expire right here at the kitchen table.

  Then, cool and calm as can be, Holly turns to Dad and says, “Say, Hank, I noticed that Gretchen’s flip house has popcorn ceilings.”

  He nods as he takes a whole-wheat roll and slathers some no-cholesterol spread on it, not even complaining that it’s not real butter, which I consider real progress.

  “My parents had ceilings like that,” she continues, and I just stare at her, wondering if I can possibly kick her under the table from here. But this is a wide table, and I’d probably end up whacking Dad’s shin first.

  “Yes, your parents’ house is about the same age as this one, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Gretchen and I were discussing this.”

  Okay, I am feeling seriously ill now. I’m about to excuse myself to run to the bathroom to either throw up or die from having inhaled about a gallon of asbestos—or maybe both.

  “Anyway,” continues Holly, “my parents found out their ceiling had asbestos in it, and they—”

  “Excuse me!” Then I jump up from the table and dash to the powder room. I stand over the toilet for a full minute but finally realize I’m not going to throw up. The door is open behind me, and I can hear Holly and Dad laughing now. Laughing! I’m in here, possibly dying from asbestos poisoning, and they are in there telling jokes? Finally I can’t take it. I go back to where they’re still laughing and demand to know what’s so funny.

  “Holly was just telling me about … about … about h-hosing you down,” says Dad. He’s laughing so hard he has tears in the corners of his eyes, and I’m actually worried about his heart.

  “So she told you about the asbestos?”

  He nods, using his paper napkin to wipe his eyes and then blow his nose.

  “And then, Hank,” gasps Holly, who is hysterical too, “I made her go into the backyard and strip … buck naked.”

  “She wrapped me in a drop cloth,” I add. But they’re both laughing so hard I don’t think they even heard me. So I just sit here thinking that if my own dad and my very best friend don’t care about the possibility that I might be dying, well, maybe I should find myself some new people to hang with. Maybe muggers or thugs or ax murderers.

  Finally they quiet down, and Dad looks at me. “I guess I forgot to tell you that I had the house checked for asbestos right after I saw the place.”

  “You did?”

  “The test came back negative.” He chuckles. “One of the few positive things about this whole crazy house flip.”

  I let out a huge sigh. “So I’m not dying?”

  “Is that what you thought?” asks Holly.

  I nod. “Despite my bandanna, I must’ve breathed in about a gallon of that nasty dust.” I take a long swig of iced tea now, hoping to get rid of that powdery taste.

  Dad shakes his finger at me now. “Asbestos or no asbestos, you need to use a proper respirator when you do projects like that, Gretchen. And at least a fiber mask for sanding regular surfaces. Your lungs are supposed to last a lifetime.” Then he tells me the basics for the proper way to remove sprayed-on ceiling, which doesn’t include a Shop-Vac. “Of course, you’ll have to put some kind of texture up there once you’re done.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, you could probably slap some Sheetrock mud up there, use the broad knife, and move it around to make it look like plaster, then give it a good coat of paint.”

  “Right…” I wonder why I even bothered with the stupid ceiling to start with.

  “And if you need advice, Gretchen, you know my number.”

  “Next time I’ll call you, Dad, I promise.”

  “That’d be good.” He glances at Holly and chuckles again. “You really hosed her down like that? Right there in the front yard with God and the whole world watching?”

  Fine. I am relieved to know I’m not dying—at least not today. But their jokes at my expense begin to grate. So I quickly finish my lunch and start putting things away in the kitchen as well as straightening the house and watering the plants and checking on the cats. Finally I tell Dad I’ll change his bandage and then I need to get back to the house to clean up my unfortunate mess. The nurse at the hospital showed me how to do the bandage, and although it’s not easy seeing a big incision like that on Dad’s chest, I’m reassured that it looks clean and healthy, with no signs of infection.

  “Looks good,” I tell Dad as I gently tape the fresh bandage on.

  “Still hurts sometimes,” he admits as he buttons up his Hawaiian shirt.

  “Take your pain meds if you need to,” I remind him. “The doctor said you’ll heal more quickly if you’re not in pain.” I reach for the ones that I set by his bed last night and hand them to him along with the water bottle. “And then you should take a nap.”

  He kicks off his slippers now. “Maybe I will.”

  “Because you are still recuperating,” I say as I help him lie down. “And you promised the doctor you’d follow her instructions if she let you go home.” Then I pull the cover over him and kiss him on the cheek. “I’m sure glad you thought to check for asbestos,” I say, and he chuckles. “I’ll see you at dinnertime, okay?”

  He nods slightly, closing his eyes. “You be careful, Gretchen Girl. You’re all I’ve got, you know.”

  “Same back at you, Dad.”

  “Tell Holly thanks for coming.”

  I find Holly putting the last of the dishes in the dishwasher and tell her that Dad’s going to rest now. Then she drives me back to the house and actually apologizes for my cold morning shower.

  Now I have to laugh. “Under the circumstances, I guess I can’t blame you. You must think I’m an idiot.”

  “I actually think you’re very smart. And taking on this whole house-flipping project is very brave.”

  “You think?”

  “Yeah, as I was painting outside, I started to get a vision for this place. I mean the trees in the backyard are great. I can imagine a family really enjoying this place. If Justin and I hadn’t just bought that condo, I would consider something like this for us.”

  “Really?” I begin to feel hopeful again.

  “Well, if it was fixed up. I don’t think I’d try to do it myself. But then we both have to work full-time. You’re lucky to have summer vacation.”

  Summer vacation? I wonder, what is that?

  Holly goes back to work on the primer, and I head to the building-supply store to get the things on my list as well as the items Dad said I need to continue to safely and efficiently remove the gunk from the ceilings. When I get back, I see that Justins car is now parked in front of my house, and I worry that something’s wrong. Hopefully Holly hasn’t fallen off
the ladder. I hurry around to the side of the house to see that they’re both painting now.

  “Wow,” I say as Justin swipes on a fresh swath of white primer. “More help!”

  Holly winks at me. “I figured at the rate you’re going, well, maybe we should call in the troops.”

  “The troops?”

  “Well, this is it for now. But what about our Bible study group?” Holly makes a face. “Even though someone—we won’t mention names—doesn’t go anymore.”

  “Yeah,” says Justin. “How about a work party sometime?”

  “When?” I say eagerly.

  “Not next weekend,” says Holly. “That’s Tina’s wedding.”

  “How about the one after that?” suggests Justin.

  “That’ll be one week before my supposed open house,” I say, feeling even more desperate than I felt last night.

  “And you’ll probably need help, won’t you?”

  “Or a straitjacket.”

  “We’ll talk to them about it this week,” says Justin as he dips his brush again.

  “Thanks,” I tell them. “I’ll owe you guys big time.”

  “We’ll know who to call when we need to repaint,” says Holly.

  “No problem.” Then I go inside, and equipped with spray bottles, a respirator, coveralls, lots of disposable plastic drop cloths and tape, and goggles, I attack my mess in a much more strategic manner. At first it seems hopeless, but after a while I figure out a few things. And finally I have the messed-up bedroom and hallway fairly clean, as well as not one piece of popcorn on the ceiling. I’ve just tossed the nasty, goopy drop cloth, along with my coveralls, out the window when Justin and Holly come to check on my progress.

  “Wow,” says Holly, looking at the scraped-clean ceiling. “You did that?”

  I nod proudly as I remove the safety eye gear. “Yep.”

  “But it looks kind of rough,” observes Justin.

  “I’m not finished with it,” I explain somewhat impatiently.

  “Speaking of finished,” says Holly lightly. “We have to go. Tina’s in-laws-to-be are having a barbecue, and the family is expected to be there.”

  “Thanks so much for helping,” I tell them both. “I really, really appreciate it.”

  “It was fun,” says Justin. “And we’ll be back.”

  I want to ask him when but think that might be a little presumptuous. It’s already five, but I think I have enough time to get the next bedroom set up for scraping the ceiling tomorrow. Or maybe even tonight after I check on Dad.

  As it turns out, I’m still scraping that ceiling at midnight. After taking Riley to visit Dad at dinnertime, at which I surprised Dad with takeout buffalo burgers from Henrys, I came back and painted the room where I’d already scraped the ceiling. I just wanted to have one room that felt close to being done…although it still needs a new window, closet doors, baseboard, and trim, not to mention the floor being refinished… But oh well.

  Then I was so pleased with my progress and since it was only ten o’clock, I attacked the ceiling in the second bedroom. Probably a mistake. Anyway, it’s two in the morning, so I decide to stop, and I quickly realize I’ll be forced to shower in the nasty bathtub with no shower curtain. So I tape up one of the plastic drop cloths, and as I clean myself up for the second time today, I consider writing a handyman’s guide titled 150 Ways to Use Drop Cloths.

  I feel slightly guilty for missing church the next morning, but besides not having any clean or proper clothes at this house, I didn’t wake up in time. I make a pot of coffee in the bathroom, which is admittedly a gross place to make coffee, then walk around my sorry-looking house sipping coffee as I assess what seems like an impossible mountain to climb. To make myself feel better, I go out in the backyard with Riley, but unfortunately it’s not terribly encouraging either. Not that he minds as I toss his ball for him. I’m sure he’d be happy to spend the rest of his days here. Not only does he have a big backyard to romp in, he gets to sleep with me every night. What dog can beat this setup?

  I move the rug and furnishings from my makeshift boudoir to the most finished room, complete with a clean ceiling and painted walls. I consider attacking the ceiling in the last bedroom and actually get the room all draped and ready to go, but for some reason I cannot force myself to take it on. Maybe it’s because my coveralls are still outside drying from last night, and anyway it’ll soon be time to go check on Dad and make his lunch.

  So, feeling somewhat useless, I pick up a sledgehammer and start whacking on the living room wall that I want removed. Admittedly, I’m not sure this is the wisest thing to do, but it does relieve some stress, and I’ve seen people do this countless times on TV. The main thing is to avoid hitting the studs since this is a load-bearing wall, and I don’t want the whole house falling down on my head. Or do I?

  I’m swinging hard and wishing I was more comfortable using swearwords since the idea of being stuck in this flip house for three more weeks, if not the entire summer, is making me seriously angry. Suddenly I hit something that makes a loud pop, and the electricity cuts out. I know this because my CD player stops playing Corrine Bailey Rae, and the work light that’s been illuminating this wall goes dark. I peek into the hole that I just smacked open to see that I’ve managed to hit some wiring. Great. Call in the electricians. While we’re at it, why not call in the wrecking ball or the guys with dynamite? I am hopeless. I drop the sledgehammer with a thud, whistle for Riley, get my purse, and leave. What in the world made me think I could take on something like this? Am I losing it?

  Dad and I are both quiet as we sit down to eat the lunch I fixed. He doesn’t inquire how the work is going, and I don’t bring it up. Maybe this is our new don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy. Whatever. It works for me.

  Then, as Im cleaning up, I realize how selfish I’m being. I haven’t even asked how he’s feeling. For all I know he could be having heart pains and doesn’t want me to know. What kind of nurse am I?

  “So, Dad,” I say as I set a fresh glass of lemonade on the end table next to his recliner, “how are you feeling?”

  “Useless.”

  I sit down across from him on the sofa now. “Dad, you are not useless.”

  He shakes his head. “I was thinking about the Eskimos.”

  “Eskimos?”

  “The way they put their elders out on an iceberg when they’re too old to work. I was thinking you ought to do that with me.”

  I actually laugh at this. “Well, admittedly, it is pretty hot out there, and an iceberg sounds kind of refreshing. But they’re a little hard to come by around here, Dad.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Dad,” I give him a stern look. “You are useful. Good grief, it’s just one week since you had heart surgery, and you’re home and—”

  “And being nursed by you.” He sighs. “And I know you need to be at that house. Confounded house. I wish we’d never done this.”

  “Me too.”

  Now Dad looks up at me with surprise. “You too?”

  I nod sadly. “I think it’s hopeless.”

  “Oh, now, well, okay, I’m sorry… It’s not hopeless, Gretchen.”

  Tears are starting to come now. “Yes, it is, Dad.” Then I confess how I just knocked out the electricity.

  “Oh, that’s nothing.” Then he gets a concerned look. “But you did turn off the circuit breakers, didn’t you?”

  “Circuit breakers?”

  “Well, shoot.”

  “What?”

  “If you’ve got broken wiring in the wall, you better get back over there and turn the power off.”

  “Turn the power off?” I frown. “How?”

  “Switch … off … the … breakers.” His expression and slowly enunciated words might make one think he was addressing the village idiot. Maybe he is.

  “I don’t even know where the breakers are. Or what they are.” I’m imagining waves breaking on the ocean now. The ocean… Wouldn’t that be nice?

/>   “In the laundry room, Gretchen. By the back door. There’s a metal panel with switches inside. You might as well turn them all off until an electrician can come take a look.”

  “Okay.”

  “Better hurry.”

  “Why?”

  “We don’t want the place burning down, now do we?”

  I consider this. My Karastan carpet is still in there. And Dad’s tools. Okay, maybe I don’t want it to burn to the ground. Not yet anyway. Of course, I do feel a little nervous when I hear the sound of sirens as I drive through town. It doesn’t help when I begin to imagine several fire engines parked along Lilac Lane, hoses spraying as they put out the inferno. Consequently I do drive a little faster. But when I get to the house, I’m relieved to see that it’s still standing. At least I think I’m relieved. Then I wonder if we have any sort of insurance on it. Of course, I’m not actually considering torching the place; that would be illegal. But accidents do happen. My decision to become a house flipper is proof enough of that.

  I turn off the breakers like Dad has suggested, then attack that third bedroom ceiling. No electricity needed to scrape popcorn. After it’s done and the debris tossed out the window, I go ahead and paint the walls. And although I realize there’s still a lot of work left to complete these bedrooms, I think this is at least a start. I’m feeling a tiny bit more hopeful. Then, after a trip to the “usable” bathroom, I notice that the partially torn-out wall—the one that’s been damaged due to dry rot—actually abuts the largest bedroom. Suddenly I wonder if there’s any way to open that bathroom to the bedroom and create a master suite. I know from watching House Flippers that a master suite always increases the value of a home.

  I walk back and forth from the bedroom to the bath, trying to figure this out, and finally I think it makes perfect sense. Instead of being a shared bath, like it’s been for decades, it could be closed off where the current door is, perhaps with room for a storage closet there, and then it could be opened up to the bedroom. Why not?

  Since the electricity is already off, I wonder, what could it hurt to open that wall up a little? So I go for the sledgehammer. True, there’s a little voice in my head warning me to be careful … perhaps even call Dad. But he might be resting. And he could get all worried if he thinks I’m tearing the place down. Really, what could it hurt? This isn’t even a load-bearing wall. The electricity is out. I look at where the sink used to be, the exposed pipes, and where the replacement sink will go. This bathroom did have double sinks with a long vanity. My plan is to replace this with a space-saving pedestal sink. That, combined with the extra storage where the door used to be, should provide plenty of space. Besides, I saw a gorgeous pedestal sink at Home Depot last week. And with the travertine tile that I plan to lay in here, it will be sleek and beautiful.