A Mile in My Flip-Flops

by Melody Carlson

  “What?” I turn and stare at her. She has a smudge of dirt on the tip of her nose, and I use my bandanna to wipe it off.

  “You said you weren’t Dad’s girlfriend,” she says.

  “I’m not.” Okay, I’m blushing now, and I hope she’s too young to know what that means.

  “But he got all dressed up and took you to that wedding. And my grandma says she wants to meet you now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re Dad’s girlfriend.” She states this as if she’s questioning my ability to understand English just now.

  “I think that’s an overstatement,” I say.

  “What’s that mean? Don’t you want to be his girlfriend? Don’t you like him?”

  “Of course, I like him.”

  “Don’t you like me?”

  “Yes, of course I like you!”

  Now she looks disappointed. “Then what’s wrong?”

  I have to laugh. “You’re so sweet to want me to be your dad’s girlfriend, Kirsten. But what if your dad doesn’t like me as a girlfriend?”

  “But he does,” she insists. “I know he does.”

  I decide to change the subject now. No way am I going to allow a seven-year-old to be the middleman between Noah and me. This is getting too crazy. “So, do you think you and Cory can plant some of those petunias for me?” I ask as I point at a big flat of red blooms.

  “Yeah!” she says. “Where?”

  “In front,” I say, “out by the walk.”

  As we continue to talk about flowers, all I can think about is Noah. Well, Noah and the fact that there is only one week before my so-called open house, and the cabinets still haven’t shown up. Dad had practically promised they’d be here this week, but Miguel, the cabinet guy, has not been answering his phone lately. Not a good sign. Still, I’m not going to freak out. Instead of worrying I’m trying to rely on God. And somehow that relieves much of my anxiety.

  “There you are,” says Noah as I help Kirsten down from the pickup. Her sore foot makes it hard for her to climb in and out.

  “What’s up?” I ask, trying to act nonchalant.

  “Not much … except that the floor is down.”

  “I can’t wait to see it!” I exclaim. I don’t know why I feel so excited, because it was nearly finished when we left. But something about seeing completed projects is very fulfilling these days. And the idea of the new wood floor meeting the old one—making it into one complete space—is encouraging.

  “I’d join you,” he glances at his watch, “but Kirsten and I need to get going.”

  “Already?” complains Kirsten. “I wanted to plant flowers.”

  “Sorry, princess,” he says. “But we’ve got places to go and people to see.” He turns to me. “I wish I could be more help this weekend, but I’ve got to—”

  “It’s okay,” I say quickly. Noah made his position clear from the start. As a recovering workaholic, he has determined that weekends weren’t made for working. I know he has a life beyond Lilac Lane. Maybe someday I will too. “Have a great weekend,” I tell them.

  “I’ll see you on Monday.” He pauses after helping Kirsten into his pickup. Then he looks directly into my eyes with a gaze so intense that my knees turn to mush. And I think he’s about to say something… well, romantic. But all he says is, “Too bad about those cabinets.”

  “I know…” I swallow hard and take a steadying breath. “I’m trying not to freak out. I’m trying to pray and have faith…”

  “Do you have a backup plan?” His eyes are still fixed on me, and the air between us seems to crackle with electricity. Even as we discuss what now feels like the most mundane of details, it feels more like we are talking about us—our future together—and that makes me wonder if I’m becoming delusional.

  I push a strand of hair away from my face, then look away. “Not really … other than delaying the open house.”

  “That’d be bad.”

  I look back at him now, and my chest tightens … like I’m on the verge of tears or something else altogether. “I know… but I haven’t given up yet.”

  “No…” He smiles now, and his eyes sort of twinkle. “Neither have I.”

  If we were in a movie and I was directing this scene, I’d have these two characters fall into each other’s arms … kiss passionately… fade out … and live happily ever after. But in this real-life scenario, I stand in the cracked driveway and wave as I watch his old turquoise pickup drive away. Then I go into the house and admire Noah’s craftsmanship. The floor looks amazing. He has seamlessly matched old to new. And other than the color variation, which will disappear once the new wood is stained and the old wood is refinished, it is perfect. I can’t wait to get to work on it, and I’ve already reserved the floor sander for the weekend—and I didn’t scrimp. I got the big machine that you simply push like a vacuum over the floor. And I have the baseboard and window-trim pieces laid out over sawhorses in the garage, ready for their final coat of paint.

  I walk through the house, admiring the progress made this week. Dad was right; once things start falling into place, it happens quickly. The windows are in, and except for the missing trim, they look fantastic. The new light fixtures are in and working. Most of the interior painting is done. The doors have all arrived, and Noah will install them next week. The bathrooms and my tile work are nearly completed, and all the plumbing fixtures are in and functioning. The only thing missing is the kitchen—only the most important selling feature of any house. Other than that small glitch, everything looks pretty good. Even the kitchen appliances are here, still in their boxes, waiting for the missing cabinets to join them. Of course, I still have the exterior painting to do…and the landscaping…and a dozen other “final touch” chores. But even if all that’s completed, without a kitchen, what’s the point? I decide this is a good time to mentally hand these concerns over to God. And while I’m at it, I also give God my turbulent feelings toward Noah.

  After a brief but quiet moment, I go out and unload the plants and flowers to the garage, where I apply the final coat of paint to the baseboard and window trim. I check on Riley, who is happy as a clam out on the cool green grass in the backyard. I fill his food and water dishes and sit down on the deck, which still needs refinishing. Although it’s not too high on my priority list right now, if enough helpers show for Holly and Justin’s work party, I might want to have the materials ready to go. I look around the backyard and imagine how great it’s going to look once the house is painted and the flowers and shrubs are planted. All it needs is some outdoor furniture. And this gives me an idea. Just this week Dad asked me to see if a particular set of teak outdoor furniture was still at one of the home-improvement stores. And it was. What could be better for Fathers Day? And then I can bring his old set back here.

  So I tell Riley to be a good dog and I’ll be back later, and I head back to Home Depot, where I purchase the teak set along with some deck sealer and planters, putting all these on my project card, which is close to maxed out now. Then I head over to Dad’s and surprise him. Of course, this poses a problem, because now I have to unload the heavy pieces, and I cannot allow him to help. Fortunately, as I’m lugging the second chair out of the pickup, which is backed up as close to the condo as possible, I notice a couple of teenage boys and offer to pay them for some help. They seem glad to make a few bucks, and in no time we have switched the outdoor furniture sets, and my dad is happily sitting on his patio in a teak chair.

  “Let’s order takeout,” suggests Dad as he sips his iced tea and admires the finish on the table. And so we do. Then as I’m cleaning up, Dad reminds me that his physical therapist told him it’s okay to venture out now and that he’d like to see the house.

  “How about after the weekend?” I suggest. Then I explain about tomorrow’s work party. “And on Sunday, Father’s Day, I thought I’d come over and fix you a special lunch. We can celebrate out here with your fancy new furniture.”

  He smiles. “Sounds pe
rfect. But on Monday, I want to see the house.”

  “Speaking of the house…,” I begin slowly, not sure I want to broach this subject, “any word from the cabinet guy?”

  Dad brightens. “Yes!”

  “Really? Good news?”

  “I think so. I spoke to him this afternoon, and he assured me the cabinets are done.”

  “They’re done?”

  “Not only that, but he said his brother can give you a great deal on a slab of granite.”

  “No way!” I practically spill my iced tea I’m so excited.

  Dad laughs. “But what about your budget? You said we’ve already put a huge dent in the reserves.”

  I frown now. The truth is, the reserves are almost completely gone. There’s just enough left to pay for the cabinets and counter-tops. “But he said a great deal?”

  “Yes … but it’s granite, sweetie. You know that’s pretty spendy.”

  I do some mental calculations now. I still have a Visa card that I’ve been holding on to for emergencies. Is this an emergency? Maybe I can get the rest of the building materials on my credit card and use the remaining reserves to buy the granite. Mostly, I’m so happy to hear the cabinets are coming that I feel slightly euphoric.

  “What’s Noah doing this weekend?” asks Dad.

  “Huh?” I pull myself back into the present. “I don’t know,” I admit. “Something with Kirsten.”

  Dad nods with a curious expression. “So…have you changed your opinion of him? I mean, working with him and all…do you still—”

  “What is it with everyone?” I say quickly. “Noah’s a nice guy, okay. And he’s a fantastic carpenter, but that’s where it ends. We have one week—no, make that five working days since he won’t be back until Monday—to work together, and then I expect Noah will move on with his life. End of story.” Okay, I don’t know where that outburst came from; I think I’m just tired. Or maybe I’m just sick of everyone—well, except for Noah and me—being very certain about our so-called relationship. Or maybe I just need a nice long vacation on some deserted island in the South Pacific.

  “Me thinks thou dost protest too much.”

  “Dad!” I decide to humor him with a smile as I walk out toward the pickup.

  But as I drive back to the house, all I can think about is the fact that there are only five days left to spend with Noah and Kirsten. And that is killing me.

  Saturday’s work party is larger than expected, and although I had planned to sand the floors today, I find myself directing traffic and playing gofer instead. But the amount of work that is completed by the end of the day is nothing short of astonishing. Even the kitchen cabinets arrive and are much nicer than I could’ve imagined—well worth the wait. Miguel and Justin put them in place, and I’m so pleased that it’s all I can do not to just stand in the kitchen and stare. The finish on the maple is like silk, and the sleek, contemporary styling is absolutely perfect. I can’t wait to see them with the nickel hardware I picked out. And when Miguel shows me a sample of the slab that his brother can use for the counters, I gladly agree. When I hear the cost, I know it will stretch me, but I am convinced it will be worth it.

  “Wow,” says Holly at the end of the day. She and I are walking around now, both inside and outside, observing what looks like a brand-new house. The work crew, tired and paint splattered and full of pizza, has dispersed, and Justin is just finishing the last of the baseboard in the great room. Tyler Barrett, the handiest guy of the bunch, was in charge of cutting and fitting the baseboard and window trim, and I think that even Noah will be satisfied with his work. It turned out that Maureen McCulley knew how to use a floor sander, and she and her sister Megan took over the floors, which are now ready to be stained and sealed. I plan to do this tonight so they can have a good long time to dry before Monday. Riley and I will spend the night at the apartment.

  Other than the exterior window and door trim, which still isn’t in place, the outside painting is almost completely done, and the soft, dusty shade of green is perfect. Also, the landscaping is finished except for the two flats of petunias I’m saving for Kirsten and Cory. Kelly Majors took charge of this, and we all decided that she may need to give up her nurse’s job to take up landscaping. The deck is repaired and sealed, and before long I will be placing the beautifully arranged flowerpots and deck furniture around. I can hardly wait.

  “I think we’re going to make it,” I say to Holly as we stand in the kitchen and admire the most amazingly transformed area of the house.

  “I can’t believe what you’ve done with this place,” she admits. “You might want to take this up professionally.”

  “Oh, I don’t know…” I think of the sacrifices … the stress … the work … the sleep deprivation.

  “Noah’s going to be surprised, isn’t he?”

  I shrug. “I guess.”

  “What is it with you, Gretch? Every time I mention his name, you just freeze. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Come on, spill the beans. I know you, and I know something is going on. Out with it.”

  “Really,” I say, “there’s nothing going on, Holly. If there were, you’d be the first one I’d tell.” But the fact is, I can’t bring myself to tell her the truth. I can’t even admit the truth to myself. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to get my hopes up. Most of all I don’t want to get hurt … not again. I know I’m making assumptions … getting my hopes up. And I’m afraid before long I’ll be sorry.

  It’s around one on Sunday when I take Riley and several bags of groceries over to Dad’s house to fix us a late lunch. For Dad’s sake, I primped some and dressed nicely, even putting on a flowery sundress that I was surprised actually fit. And Dad seems genuinely pleased with everything. As I wash and clean the seafood I just picked up, I give him a full progress report. I even get out my digital camera and try to show him some shots I took yesterday, but as usual he complains they’re too small to really see.

  “Someone’s at the door,” I call outside to Dad. “I’d get it, but I’ve got shrimp gunk all over my hands.” So he and Riley go to the door.

  “Betty!” exclaims Dad joyfully. I put down the shrimp I’m cleaning, quickly rinse my hands, and rush out to greet her, only to discover that I have to wait for Dad to let go of her first. I cannot believe how happy he is to see her. He’s beaming like a sixteen-year-old boy after his first kiss!

  “I came home a week early,” she explains as she hugs me. “I enticed Louise’s husband to join her in Paris for the last week, and I changed my flight, and, well, here I am.” She hugs Dad again. “Boy, did I miss you, darling.” Soon they’re sitting together outside, catching up and celebrating her homecoming with a glass of Pinot Noir that she brought all the way home from France. I’m back in the kitchen as I continue to fix one of Dad’s favorite meals—-seafood linguine—but I’m starting to feel like the best thing would be to serve it and leave. Maybe Dad and Betty would like to be alone. If I could just come up with a graceful way to do this. As I’m draining the pasta and getting an impromptu steam facial, I hear Dad calling me.

  “Another guest,” he says, and I go to see that Noah is standing by the door with a slightly sheepish expression.

  I use the back of my hand to push a damp strand of hair from my eyes and stare at him curiously. “What’s up?”

  He holds out another bottle of red wine to Dad. “Happy Father’s Day.”

  “You’re just in time for a late lunch,” says Dad. “And Betty’s here too!”

  “I don’t mean to intrude,” says Noah, looking cautiously at me. Does he think I don’t want him here? That I might throw him out?

  “Where’s Kirsten?” I ask.

  “With Camille and Peter.”

  “Oh…” I want to ask why but then decide not to. I have a feeling it’s not a happy subject. “Well, there’s plenty of food. Do you like seafood linguine?”

  “Love it. Need any help?”

 
I consider this and then decline. My confidence level in the kitchen is usually high, but I have a feeling Noah could rattle me today. So I encourage him to join Betty and Dad and to check out the new patio set. Soon we’re all seated together, enjoying the meal, and the conversation is lively. Betty tells great stories about her trip, and Noah and I update her on the house, telling her it might actually be ready to go on the market in a few days. And she offers to act as my real-estate agent—without charging a fee. I can almost safely say that things are coming together.

  We’re just finishing up when Dad asks Noah about his boat. Noah grins. “As a matter of fact, Kirsten and I took her out on her maiden voyage yesterday.”

  “How was she?” Dad asks.

  “Very nice.” Noah’s look of humble pride shakes me a little.

  “Well, you’ll have to take me out sometime,” says Dad. “I’m pretty sure it’d be good for my heart.”

  “Not for several more weeks,” I point out.

  “How about you then?” asks Noah.

  I blink. “Me?”

  “You’re not working today, are you?”

  “That’s a great idea,” says Dad. “You kids take off and enjoy yourselves.”

  “Perfect,” agrees Betty a little too quickly. “Be on your way, kids, and I’ll clean things up in the kitchen.” She pats me on the back. “That was a fantastic lunch, Gretchen, and you need a break.”

  So it is that I find myself sitting on a boat out in the San Diego harbor and wondering if life can get any better than this. It’s amazing how thoughts of house flips and remodels totally evaporate with the smell of the fresh sea air and the clean blue water to focus on. And the sailboat is incredible. I can hardly believe that Noah actually built it, well, except that I’ve seen his work. The man is an artist when it comes to wood.

  “This boat is absolutely beautiful,” I tell him as I run my hand over the sleek mahogany surface of the deck. It’s as smooth as satin. “You are a master.”

  “Thank you.” He smiles, and his eyes crinkle at the edges. “It was very satisfying to complete.”