Moving Can Be Murder

by Susan Santangelo

  Jim kept his eyes focused on the road ahead of him and his mouth shut. Smart man. Forget about that drivel from the old movie Love Story. Remember that famous line: “Love means never having to say you’re sorry”? Not true. Love means knowing when to keep your mouth shut.

  “This was a wasted day,” I continued. “I should have stayed home and cleaned the bathrooms instead.” I hoped I made my point crystal clear to My Beloved. He knows how much I hate to clean the bathrooms.

  “The lunch was nice,” Jim countered. “And you have to admit that Eden’s Grove has everything.”

  “Everything except dogs,” I said, stating the obvious. “And we have two dogs. Whom we love dearly. So Eden’s Grove does not, and never will have, us. End of discussion. Now, let’s go home. And I don’t want to hear the words ‘moving’ and ‘active adult community’ again. Deal?”

  Jim sighed. He knew when he was licked.

  “Deal, Carol.”

  A week had passed since our Geezer Tour, as I called it when I filled in Nancy and Mary Alice about our adventure in house-hunting.

  Predictably, Nancy was angry at me because Jim and I had looked at houses without her. Being a real estate agent in such a down market had made her a little paranoid, so I forgave her.

  “Nancy, for heaven’s sake, they didn’t buy anything,” Mary Alice said in my defense. We were sitting in our favorite coffee shop, The Paperback Café, in the center of Fairport. No Starbucks for us, thank you very much. We’d been coming to this place since we were in high school. It served two kinds of coffee – regular and decaf. No lattes, chais, or any of those other fancy drinks. The Paperback Café was one of the few holdouts in town against the plague of upscale chain stores and yuppie boutiques that were taking over our fair community. Plus, their shelves were filled with books of every description, all available to the clientele to peruse while sipping their coffee. They even had a special shelf featuring local authors, and frequently hosted book signings to promote them. Sort of like a library with caffeine. And all their baked goods were made fresh daily, on the premises. What’s not to like about a place like that?

  I sipped my coffee, burned my tongue, and grimaced. It was piping hot, as usual.

  “God punished me for my sins, Nancy,” I said. “I burned my tongue and I’m suffering. I hope you’re satisfied. See.” I stuck my tongue out at her.

  “Take a drink of this cold water and hold it in your mouth, Carol,” said Mary Alice. “Roll it around on your tongue a little and it should feel better.”

  “Once a nurse, always a nurse,” said Nancy. She reached over and patted my hand. “I forgive you. I was just so shocked I got a little carried away. You’re not really going to move, are you?”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it,” I said. “I plan to be carried out of my house feet first. In a body bag.”

  Mary Alice recoiled at that. “God, what an image, Carol.”

  “When we got home from the Geezer Tour, I sat down and made a list of the pros and cons of moving to an active adult community.”

  I put my glasses on, then continued. “I made a list of what needs to happen to keep our house running, and assigned each task to either Jim or me. Feel free to jump in if I’ve left anything out. Here’s Jim’s list: lawn and landscaping, house painting and outdoor upkeep, snow removal, garbage and recycling. If we moved to an active adult community, Jim wouldn’t have to do any of this. They’d all be included in the monthly common charge, which isn’t cheap.”

  I took a quick bite of the special muffin of the day -- chocolate chip. Yum.

  “Here’s my list: cooking, food service and cleanup, house cleaning, laundry – although Jim’s taken over some of that, much to my dismay – changing beds, pet care. These are the ones I thought of very quickly. Notice anything about my list?”

  “That’s all the things a woman does around the house every day,” Nancy said. “But I see where you’re going with this. If you moved into an active adult community, you’d still have to do all your jobs, right?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “I even asked if there was a maid service at Eden’s Grove, and the sales agent looked at me like I was crazy. And I’m not giving up my dogs. I told Jim that I am not moving to Eden’s Grove – no way, José.”

  “Good for you, Carol,” said Mary Alice. “But Jenny’s going to be moving out this month, right?”

  “I can’t be selfish about that,” I said. “Jim and I have loved having her home since last summer. She was wonderful last year when Jim was in that awful mess about his retirement coach. I don’t know what I would have done without her. But it’s time for her to be out on her own again. And I have to admit, I’m thrilled that she and Mark Anderson are getting so close. Although I’ve tried not to push the relationship. I doubt Jenny even knows how much I’d love to see them become a permanent couple.”

  “Yeah, Carol,” said Nancy with the wisdom of someone who’s known me since grammar school, “we all know how subtle you can be when you want something.

  “Not!”

  “Hey,” I protested. “I can be subtle.”

  “Humph,” retorted Nancy. “Manipulative, yes. Subtle, no.”

  “Anyway,” I went on, determined not to let Nancy’s needling get to me, “we haven’t seen much of Mark the last few days. He’s up to his ears in that hit and run accident case. The one that happened at Fairport Community College last Friday night.”

  “That was so awful,” Mary Alice said. “I’d gotten called to work at the emergency room that night, and by the time the paramedics got that poor girl to the hospital, she was gone. I can’t imagine what her parents must be going through, losing a child so tragically.”

  Nancy and I didn’t respond right away. We were both remembering the premature death of Mary Alice’s husband, Brian, killed in an auto accident some twenty years ago. It must have been extra tough for our friend to deal with the young accident casualty and her grieving family.

  “What I can’t imagine is how anyone could be so cowardly as to hit someone in the dark and then just drive away and leave her to die,” Nancy said in disgust. “I hope the police find who did it and put him away for life.”

  At that moment, my cell phone rang. It was Jenny. She didn’t waste time with pleasantries.

  “Dad’s had a heart attack. You’ve got to get to the hospital right away.”

  Chapter 7

  There’s so little difference between husbands that you

  might as well keep your first one. Just look at all the time

  you’ve spent breaking him in. Do you really want to

  go through that again?

  Thank God I was with Mary Alice and Nancy when I got Jenny’s call. I was so upset I know I would’ve had an accident driving to the hospital myself.

  By the time we got there, breaking who-knows-how-many traffic laws, I was relieved to see Jim was already sitting in the out-patient area, ready to be released. Typical man, he assumed an ornery persona when he saw that Nancy and Mary Alice were with me. I think he was embarrassed at causing all this excitement.

  “God, Carol, you didn’t have to bring reinforcements with you. I’m not dying.”

  I started to blubber and Jim stood up – a little unsteadily, I thought – and gave me a hug. “I’m really all right. It was just a scare. A mild angina attack, the doctor said. He’s referred me to a cardiologist, as a precaution. And then he released me.” Jim fished in his jacket pocket and held up a card. “See? I’ll call and make an appointment right away when we get home. Promise.”

  “But, Jim, why did this happen? What were you doing?”

  I knew My Beloved was hardly a couch potato, but he wasn’t an exercise nut either, like some men I know.

  “All I was doing was clearing more of the ice off the front sidewalk,” he said defensively. “You know how worried you always are that someone’s going to fall and sue us.”

  Humph. Seemed to me that he was the one who worried about getting
sued. Not a good time to argue about that point, however.

  “Sorry I gave you such a scare,” he said. “Fortunately, Jenny was home and she called nine-one-one and here I am.” At my questioning look, Jim continued, “she stayed with me until the doctor saw me, but then she had to leave to go teach a class.”

  “As long as you’re all right, Jim, Mary Alice and I’ll get out of here,” said Nancy, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet.

  “Wait a minute, Nancy,” said Mary Alice. “We have to give them a lift home. I’m sure they don’t want to travel in an ambulance. You can pick up your own car later, Carol. It’s safe in the Paperback Café parking lot.”

  “I’m just glad to be going home,” Jim said. “I was afraid the doctors were going to keep me overnight for observation.”

  “Are you sure it’s safe for you to leave the hospital, Jim?” I couldn’t help it. I was scared, and if I sounded overprotective, I didn’t care.

  “I’m fine, Carol,” Jim snapped back. “For God’s sake, don’t make this into a crisis.”

  I couldn’t help myself. This was first sign that one of us was showing signs of our mortality. I know we all have an expiration date. I just didn’t want Jim’s to come too soon.

  For the next few days, I hovered over My Beloved like a hawk stalking its prey. I drove him so crazy that he even started going to the newspaper office even when he didn’t need to, just to get away from me.

  I also spent a lot of time wrestling with my conscience. What right did I have to insist on staying in our house if Jim’s health was at stake?

  I forced myself to take another look at my home-maintenance jobs list, and realized that Jim’s were all labor-intensive, requiring physical energy that could seriously damage his heart. Of course, in my own melodramatic way, I could easily imagine My Beloved keeling over, clutching his chest, just from taking out a bag of garbage, and saying with his last breath, “Honey, I’m sorry. I was only doing it for you.”

  You can’t take that chance, Carol.

  I made the only decision I could, under the circumstances. I called Nancy and told her I wanted to list our house for sale.

  “You’re absolutely sure you want to do this?” asked Nancy. “You don’t want to talk it over with Jim first before you sign the listing agreement?”

  It was a few days before Valentine’s Day, and Nancy was helping me set the tables for our monthly Bunco game, which is a game of dice requiring no brain power whatsoever. My Beloved claims that Bunco is just an excuse for a group of women to get together for eating, drinking, and gossiping. And laughing – there’s always a lot of that.

  Bunco night is the one night of the month when Jim can’t get out of the house fast enough. He’s even has been known to walk on the wild side and pay full price for a movie instead of a twilight bargain show, something he’d never consider doing under any other circumstances.

  Nancy had arrived long before the other players. Come to think of it, she was spending much more time in my house these days than in her own. Her husband, Bob – or The Bobster, as we called him when we were kids – was a financial guru and always seemed to be on the road solving one crisis after another for clients. I knew Nancy would never admit it, but I think she was lonely. Which is probably why she was such a successful real estate agent – she put all her energy into her job rather than her own home.

  Not that I’m one to criticize anyone else’s priorities.

  Nancy pulled the listing agreement out of her Gucci briefcase and carefully put it down in front of me. She then took the next ten minutes to try and talk me out of what I was determined to do.

  “I want you to be absolutely sure about this, Carol,” she said. “I’ve known you too long, and I know you too well. You love this house. Once you and Jim sign the agreement, you’re in a contract relationship. Not that you have to take any offer that’s made. But I don’t want this to spoil our friendship, and it could, if you haven’t really thought this through and try to back out.”

  “I don’t want to sell my house,” I said. “But if I have to choose between keeping our house and Jim’s health….” My eyes spilled over as the enormity of what I was signing hit me. And the equal enormity of what could happen if I didn’t. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place.

  So I switched gears, an avoidance technique that’s worked well for me over the years. “Are you cold, Nancy? Now that Jim’s gone out, I can push up the thermostat.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Carol,” Nancy said. “Once everybody gets here, all the gabbing and laughing will keep us warm. And no trying to change the subject. Are you positive you want me to list the house?”

  I immediately became defensive. “I’m entitled to change the subject in my own home.” I gestured around my dining room with its beautiful fireplace, built-in corner china cabinet, and gorgeous wainscoting. “And this is still my home. Until you sell it. Besides, Jim has to sign the listing agreement, too. You know the house is in both of our names. It won’t be final until he does. I want to give him the listing agreement as his Valentine’s Day present. The way you’re trying to talk me out of this, it sounds like you don’t want the listing.”

  “Of course I want the listing, you doofus,” said my friend. “I just want to be sure you really know what you’re doing. I know how impulsive you can be.”

  She held out a pen and several sheets of paper. “I only wrote the contract for a three-month listing, and I cut my usual percentage from six percent to four. That wasn’t easy with our new boss, but I managed to persuade him. And I left the listing price out for now. We’ll deal with that after you talk to Jim. Let’s get this show on the road. Go ahead and sign. In two places. I’ve highlighted them to make it easier for you.”

  I grabbed the pen and did the deed. “Now, zip your lip. I’m not telling anyone about this until I spring it on Jim.”

  I took the listing agreement and shoved it in the pocket of my jeans, then gave Nancy some silverware and napkins. “There are three other tables to set besides the one in the dining room. Remember, I invited some of the younger neighbors as well as the usual players, so I’ve set up card tables in the family room and my office. We’ll have to use the kitchen counter and island for the bar and buffet. There should be sixteen of us, if everyone comes. Get going. They’ll be here any minute. All I need is for a neighbor to hear us talking about moving. It’ll be all over the block in a millisecond.”

  “Hey,” protested Nancy, “I’m a Realtor. It’s natural for me to talk about moving. Why don’t you put me with some of the older neighbors, so I can see if anyone else is thinking of putting their house on the market? It’s always good to know about possible competition, especially when we set the price. If I should happen to pick up any neighborhood gossip, I’ll let you know.”

  “Who has neighborhood gossip?” asked Mary Alice, coming into the kitchen loaded down with three shopping bags. “You guys were yakking away and didn’t even hear me knock. Good thing you left the door unlocked, Carol, or I would have frozen to death out there.”

  “First of all, you don’t live in this neighborhood,” kidded Nancy. “And second, you don’t listen to gossip. At least, that’s what you always tell us.”

  “Ha!” I said, grabbing two of the bags. “Don’t kid me. Everybody listens to gossip.

  “Let’s set these on the island. You’ve got enough food here for an army, Mary Alice. Why’d you bring so much? Did you forget that everyone is supposed to bring only one thing to share?”

  “You know me,” Mary Alice said. “I worry there won’t be enough healthy stuff, and all that we’ll have to snack on are nachos and chips. And cheap wine.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” called Nancy from the family room. I swear, that woman has the ears of an elephant. And an appetite to match.

  Incredibly, she can still eat just about anything, including junk food, and not have it travel immediately to her hips and thighs.

  Although she is my best fr
iend, I sincerely hate her for that.

  “I miss Claire,” Mary Alice said, dumping the contents of one of her cartons onto a plate and stirring it around to try and make it look presentable. “She was the one who always set out all the food and made it look so appetizing. Why did she and Larry have to buy that condo in Florida anyway?”

  “Remember that question the next time you’re shoveling out your car,” said Nancy. “I think the answer will become pretty clear.”

  “And she does e-mail us at least once a week,” I added.

  “Yeah,” said Nancy. “In between visits to the beach and the condo swimming pool. What a life.”

  The good news for me about Claire and Larry’s move southward was that their condo was only a few miles away from Mike, our second-born child, who had deserted the rigors of New England winters a few years ago to sample the high life of South Beach, Florida. He was now part owner of a successful club called Cosmo’s, frequented by all the so-called beautiful people. Claire made an effort, surreptitiously of course, to keep on eye on Mike and report back to Jim and me.

  “I miss her, too,” I said, “but she won’t be back until late May, so we’ll just have to do the best we can. Nobody comes to Bunco to critique the food presentation anyway. All people care about is that there’s plenty of it. Especially the desserts.”

  “Did you put out the nametags with everyone’s first names and addresses on them like I suggested?” Nancy asked as she returned to the kitchen with leftover plates and cutlery. “It’s a great icebreaker.”

  Rats. I’d completely forgotten.

  “Sorry, Nance. I had other things on my mind.”

  The doorbell rang, and Nancy raced to answer it before Lucy and Ethel started to bark. Fat chance of that. I’d confined both dogs to the master bedroom and they were complaining bitterly, even though I’d explained that this was a special treat and just this once they could snooze on the king-size bed without being reprimanded.