A Mile in My Flip-Flops

by Melody Carlson

  With this in mind, I take a swing up high, around where I think the top of the doorway should go. The Sheetrock breaks apart fairly easily, and to my relief nothing goes wrong. I swing again, making the hole go all the way through this time. Feeling more confident, I take a few more swings, and my excitement builds as I begin to see the bedroom through the opening. This is going to be great. I take another big swing and realize that something stopped the sledgehammer from going all the way through the wall. Then, as I pull it back, I see a squirt of water. I reach down to pull off the Sheetrock that’s hanging there, and suddenly that squirt of water becomes a spray.

  I grab the dirty towel and shove it against a pipe I hadn’t noticed before, a now broken pipe, but the towel doesn’t help. Water is coming out fast. There must be a way to shut this off, but I don’t know how. I see some knobs and attempt to turn one of them, but this results in water coming out from a different pipe, so I quickly turn it the other way. Then I run outside, thinking there must be some place to shut all the water off. I’m sure I’ve seen this on HGTV. But I’m running around the yard, literally looking like a chicken with her head chopped off, when a guy from the yellow house across the street walks toward me.

  “Anything wrong?”

  “Yes!” I yell at him. “I broke a pipe inside, and I need to shut off the water.”

  “If it’s like our house, it’ll be over here.” And he jogs over to the side of the house and hunts about in the shrubbery. “Here it is,” he calls. “I’ll shut it off.”

  I look over his shoulder as he strains to turn a handle that’s in a box underground. “Does that shut off all the water?” I ask as he stands and wipes his hands on his denim shorts.

  “Yep.” Then he sticks out a hand. “I’m Jeremy Stein.”

  I wipe my brow, then shake his hand. “I’m Gretchen Hanover.”

  “I know. My wife, Jenna, said she met you this week.”

  “Oh yes. In fact, I should give you her plate. I’ve been meaning to return it, but it’s been kind of crazy with this remodel.”

  “No problem,” he says. “We’re just so thankful that something’s actually being done about this place. The people who lived here before turned the house into a dump, which of course affected the value and even the morale of our neighborhood.” He stops there, maybe realizing the pressure he’s inadvertently adding to my shoulders. “Anyway, what color are you going to paint the house?”

  “A sage green,” I say as we go inside. “Hopefully soon.”

  “Jenna wants to paint ours blue, but I’m trying to talk her out of it. I think an earth tone would be better.”

  “Earth tones are preferable for resale,” I point out, knowing that I sound like the narrator for House Flippers.

  “Wow,” he says, looking around. “You’ve made some progress in here,” he says. Then he points at the wall that I beat up this morning. “Are you taking this out?”

  “Yes. I want to open it up into the kitchen … like a great room.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’d like to do that too. But aren’t you worried about this being a—what do you call it—a supporting wall?”

  “You mean a load-bearing wall? Actually, it is. We’re going to support the house with beams.” I hand him the cookie plate. “Sorry. I would’ve washed the plate…” I wave to the barren kitchen. “But no dishwasher.”

  “No kitchen,” he points out.

  “Yes. New cabinets and appliances are coming soon.”

  “Well, anyway, I hope that broken pipe isn’t too serious.”

  “It’ll be okay,” I say, mostly to assure myself.

  “I’m interested to see how the house looks when it’s done.”

  “Come to our open house,” I offer. “Hopefully in about three weeks…”

  “That soon?”

  I sort of laugh as I walk him to the door. “That’s the plan, but it seems more like the impossible dream right now.”

  “Well, good luck.”

  “Thanks for helping me locate that shutoff.”

  “No problem. I’m sure we’ll be running to you for some remodeling advice before long.”

  I decide not to tell him that I won’t be around here by then. At least I hope not. But on the other hand, it’s kind of fun imagining what it would be like to live in a neighborhood like this, getting to know your neighbors, sharing cups of coffee, helping them fix up their houses. Maybe someday.

  It’s time to go back to Dad’s now. And I’ll admit I’m feeling like a yo-yo. The possibility that I’d be caring for Dad and working on the house never crossed my mind when I decided to do this flip. Of course, I should simply be thankful that Dad’s okay. Still, taking care of him requires time…and time seems to be getting scarcer and scarcer.

  Since I won’t be returning to the house because of the pipe incident, I bring Riley with me. After fixing Dad dinner and cleaning up, I take Riley back to the apartment. I can tell he’s not too pleased with this arrangement. But I promise him that it’ll only be for a few days. “Just until we have water and electricity again.” I try not to beat myself up too much. I did what I thought was smart, and everyone makes mistakes, right? I decide the least I can do is make use of the evening by heading to Lowe’s to pick up a few things for tomorrow.

  On my way to Lowe’s, I’m thinking about Noah. I don’t want to be thinking about him, but the fact is I have been missing him a lot this weekend. And I’ve been thinking about him more than I want to admit. Then I remember that horrible scene where I blasted his daughter with mud. That’s when I decide I must attempt to make it up to her. So I stop by Old Navy, where I pick up an adorable pair of overalls, a couple of T-shirts, and some flip-flops for her. Now if she ever comes to my house again, which I suppose is unlikely, she will at least have some “work” clothes to wear so we can protect her expensive designer clothes from further destruction. I also pick up a few things for myself. Work-type clothes, but with a little bit of style. And a new pair of lime green flip-flops that are on sale. Okay, it’s not exactly haute couture, but for work clothes…I think even Holly might approve.

  Then I go to Lowe’s and do some serious shopping, picking out plumbing fixtures and faucets and even some carpeting for the one bedroom with the bad wood floor, and I arrange to have it all delivered and installed by the end of the week. Then I go home to my stuffy little apartment and am relieved to sleep in my own bed.

  The next morning Riley wakes me up bright and early. It’s as if he knows that we need to get out of here and over to the house. Or maybe his canine sense informed him that I want to beat Noah there this morning. I know I have some explaining to do about the lack of electricity and water, and I’m not looking forward to it.

  Unfortunately, I discover that I’ll need to get up a lot earlier to beat Noah to work in the morning. His truck is already there. Feeling sheepish and in need of caffeine, I attempt to sneak into the house, but Riley races straight to where Noah is surveying the damage in the bathroom and gives me away.

  “Looks like someone had fun this weekend,” Noah says as he emerges with a curious look.

  “Yes. I sort of broke a pipe.”

  “And the electricity?”

  I jerk my thumb over my shoulder toward the living room. “I hit some wiring on that wall. Dad told me to shut the electricity off.”

  “How is Hank?”

  “Better every day.” Then I frown. “Well, except that he feels useless.”

  “Useless?”

  “He said I should put him on an iceberg.”

  Noah laughs. “I’m sure it’s normal to feel like that after such a serious surgery. Maybe we can do something to make him feel useful.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, you know, just involve him more. Let him keep track of the subcontractors. Like when are the roofers—”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Then you can ask him to track down a plumber and electrician.”

  “Because of me?”

  “B
ecause you’ll need them soon. You need an electrician to install lights and move some of the wiring and a plumber to move some pipes and put in the plumbing fixtures.”

  “What about the things I messed up? Do we need them to come out today?”

  “I can temporarily fix that pipe. And show me the wiring. Maybe I can do something about that too.”

  “Good,” I say, “because I’d really like to make some coffee.”

  Noah takes a look at the damaged wiring and decides it can be temporarily fixed as well. “But call Hank and ask him to get the pros lined up to come in here and do these things right.”

  Before long, Noah, true to his word, has both the water and electricity running, and feeling like I just won the lottery, I am making a pot of fresh, hot coffee. I take my coffee and a camp chair out to the back deck to sit in the dappled sun and watch Riley happily romping in the backyard like he just won the doggy lottery.

  Then when Noah comes out, toting a camp chair and a cup of coffee, and asks if he can join me, I find myself thinking, This is good. This is really, really good.

  I spend most of Monday morning running from tile stores to home improvement stores to lighting stores and finally to my dad’s to check on him and fix him lunch. Afterward, as Im cleaning the kitchen, I begin to list things he can do to help me with the house. He sits at the kitchen table and writes it all down on a yellow legal pad. Mostly the list is just the subcontractors he can call, but it also includes finding a good deal on hardwood flooring since he “knows people,” and we need matching hardwood so that the kitchen and dining areas can seamlessly connect to the living room in my new open floor plan. As Im getting ready to leave, he seems pleased and already has out his Rolodex and is flipping through it, which makes me think Noah was right. Dad does need something like this to keep him busy.

  “And you need to order some turf too,” he says as I’m heading for the door.

  “I know.”

  “Have you done it yet?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll take care of that too.”

  “I planned on it going in right before the open house,” I say.

  “Why?”

  I shrug. “Why not?” The truth is, that’s how I’ve seen it done on House Flippers. They always seem to wait until the last minute to put in the yard, and it’s always a dramatic improvement just in the nick of time. I guess I just figured that’s how it’s done.

  Dad frowns. “I can think of lots of reasons.”

  “Like?”

  “Like the lawn needs time to establish. It keeps the dust and dirt down when you’re doing the exterior painting. It’s a—”

  “Fine, fine,” I say impatiently. “Go ahead and order it then.”

  “Not if you don’t—”

  “No, really,” I say more gently. “It’s fine. I’m sure you’re right.”

  “But it’s your house, sweetie. I don’t want to—”

  “Really, Dad, it’s okay. I guess I’m just a little overwhelmed. Did you know that our time is more than half gone? And it seems there’s still so much to do…”

  “Sometimes it just looks like that, Gretchen. Sort of like being darkest before the dawn.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  He grins now. “Of course I’m right. I’m your dad.”

  I get back to the house just in time to see a white Mercedes convertible pull up. Fortunately I beat her into the driveway, and she parks along the street. I’m tempted to dart into the house without speaking to Camille since she’s obviously not here to see me, but then I realize that Noah’s truck is gone.

  “Where’s Noah?” she demands as she clicks up the driveway in what I swear must be five-inch heels, making her look like an Amazon. Okay, a gorgeous Amazon.

  “I don’t know,” I admit.

  “I thought he was working for you.”

  “He is.” I force a smile, trying to be nice for Kirstens sake. “And he was here when I left this morning. My guess is he’s picking something up.”

  “Well, I need to leave Kirsten with him today.” She glances over her shoulder to where Kirsten, once again dressed in an adorable outfit, is standing near the car as if she’s afraid to make a move.

  I consider this. It would be very easy to say “Too bad, tough luck.” But I can see that Kirsten is the one caught in the middle here. And then I remember the work duds I got her at Old Navy and think it might be fun to have her here. Also I know Riley would love someone to play with. “Why don’t you just leave her with me?” I suggest in what I think is a cheerful tone.

  Now Camille grimaces, folding her thin, tan arms across her front as she looks down on me like she thinks I might be some degenerate loser lady who enjoys hosing down children with power washers before she rolls them in the mud. “I, uh, I don’t know… Do you think Noah will be back soon?”

  “I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” I say, sounding more patient than I feel. “Don’t worry; Kirsten will be fine. If it makes you feel better, I’m a kindergarten teacher, so I’m technically licensed to hang out with young children.”

  She looks surprised. “You’re a teacher?”

  I nod. “I have been for eight years.”

  “Well, okay then…” She turns to Kirsten. “Come on; it’s all right. Greta is going to baby-sit you until Daddy gets here.”

  Kirsten chimes in, “It’s Gretchen, Mom, not Greta.”

  I want to hug her, but I simply stand straighter and wait.

  “Sorry.” Camille tosses a long strand of glistening blond hair over her shoulder in an impatient way. “Gretchen is going to baby-sit you, Kirsten.” Then she kneels, looking her daughter in the eyes as if she thinks Kirsten is uneasy with this. “You’ll be okay, Kirsten,” she says in a babyish way, like Kirsten is two and a half. “Gretchen is a kindergarten teacher.”

  “I know,” says Kirsten in her wonderfully no-nonsense voice.

  “Well, good then.” Camille stands up and smiles down on me. “Perfect.”

  “Do you know when you’ll be back?” I call out as Camille clicks back toward her car.

  She turns and frowns. “Tell Noah I’ll give him a call.”

  Then Kirsten and I watch as Camille starts her car, waves, and drives away. Fortunately a little slower this time.

  “I’ll stay out of your way,” Kirsten says in a serious tone. “I know you’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  I sort of laugh. “You don’t need to stay out of my way. In fact, I might put you to work.”

  “I get to work?” Kirstens face brightens.

  “Do you like to paint?”

  “Paint?” Her eyes light up, then suddenly darken as she looks down at her cute yellow and white sundress. “I’m not supposed to get dirty.”

  “Well, you’re in luck because I bought you some work clothes.”

  “Really?” she looks up eagerly at me. “You got work clothes in my size?”

  “I think so. I sort of had to guess, but they should be close. Let’s go inside and check them out.” I take her to my makeshift bedroom, find the Old Navy bag, and pull out the things I got last night.

  “Wow,” she says, “these are cool.”

  “I felt really bad for ruining your other outfit,” I explain. “So I thought maybe you could keep a set of work clothes here…you know, in case you dropped in again, like today.” I go to the door now. “You can change in here if you want.”

  Then as she’s changing, I hear someone at the front door and go out to find that the refrigerator is being delivered. “Oh yeah,” I say, slapping my forehead. “I totally forgot.”

  “Where do you want it?” asks the guy.

  “In the kitchen,” I say, like, Duh. Then I realize I don’t really have a kitchen. But before long, they’ve set it up in the spot where I think it should go.

  “Most people get their appliances delivered after the cabinets are in,” says the guy as I sign the delivery paperwork.

  “Yeah, well, I guess I’m not most peopl
e.”

  “Can I go say hi to Riley now?” asks Kirsten when she emerges, looking adorable in her overalls, T-shirt, and flip-flops.

  “Sure,” I tell her. “By the way, I like your outfit.”

  “Me too.” She grins now. “Thanks, Gretchen.”

  I smile as she walks out the door. I transfer drinks and a few cold snacks from the cooler into the new stainless-steel fridge, then unload some stuff from the pickup, and do some sweeping in the house. Finally I am ready to begin painting where Holly and Justin left off on the front of the house.

  “It’s really okay for me to do this?” asks Kirsten after I’ve given her a quick painting lesson.

  “Sure, why not?”

  “What if I make a mess?”

  I laugh. “You know, that’s just what my best friend, Holly, asked. I’ll tell you what I told her. You can’t possibly make more of a mess than what’s here already. Just do your best, and don’t worry about it.”

  “This is fun,” says Kirsten as she swipes some white primer on a board below the window.

  “And if you get tired, just stop,” I tell her. I don’t want to be accused of breaking any child-labor laws. To make sure I don’t drip on her, I go to the other end of the house to paint. After a few minutes I hear Kirsten talking to someone and turn to see that the boy from across the street is watching her.

  “It’s easy,” Kirsten is telling him. “You just dip the brush in the paint like this and then go like this.” She swishes it across a plank like an old pro.