“Your mother never did get the joke.” Prue commented, seeing my reading choice.
“No, she wouldn’t.” I closed the book and absently pressed down the torn piece on the front book jacket. So much to do, so little time.
I looked at my phone, should I call my parents and tell them we’re all right?
“Should I call mom?”
Prue grimaced. “Your mother doesn’t even watch the news. Maybe we should call your uncles, they may be worried.” She said the later part with satisfaction and it gave me a bit of a start, her voice sounded just like Mom’s.
Prue picked up the kitchen phone and poked a few buttons but apparently didn’t get a response.
“Do you have your uncle’s numbers?” She nodded to the phone in my hand. I used precious battery life to find the numbers.
My uncles and I used to be close. In fact, I have more in common with my uncles than my brothers. One of my brothers is an accountant and one is an electrical engineer. They have real jobs and leave their homes in Rivers Bend exactly at 7:00 AM and arrive back home at 7:00 PM. It’s lovely for them.
My uncles on the other hand, are a bit different.
My uncle Steve negotiates dive spots with cannibals and my uncle John pilots balloons. I scrolled down and found my uncle Steve’s number first.
This is what I’ve learned from my uncle Steve.
“When I’m negotiating with the natives, I bring a big bag of betel nuts. I sit down with the village elders and we pass around the nuts.
“Do you have to eat them?”
“Oh yes,” he smiled. “Nasty taste.” He glanced over at his sister, prim in her twin set and leaned over to me. “And give you a nice buzz if you know what I mean.”
I was ten at the time and had no idea what he meant, but Uncle Steve fascinated me, especially since he was the most handsome man I had ever met. Why couldn’t I have been his child? But Uncle Steve never reproduced. He came close, with a cashier in a gift shop on top of Arenal in Costa Rica but it didn’t work out. Maybe she didn’t want to leave the volcano. Uncle Steve is full of stories like that.
“We chat, they want to know everything about the outside world, so I just answer their questions and munch on those nuts and they turn your mouth red and they are yucky and,” Uncle Steve leaned back in his chair. “When we’re all finished, the chief smiles, shakes my hand and we have a contract.”
“But you don’t mention your purpose.”
“They know my purpose, but if I even mention business, the deal is off.”
“That’s why you’re the best,” I said seriously.
“That’s why I’m the best, at least with the cannibals,” he agreed.
I wanted to negotiate with Cannibals when I grew up. And I do. I just don’t have to chew on betel nuts to do it. Which is a relief. I replace the beetle nuts with Starbucks lattes, which seem to have the same buzzing effect. What ever works in your particular culture; that’s what I learned from my Uncle Steve.
My Uncle John married late to another balloon pilot and they traveled around the country. I thought they were great. My mom thought they were irresponsible.
I pressed the contact and the phone call miraculously went through. But I had to leave a message.
Maybe Uncle Steve was chewing Betel nuts in New Guinea as we speak, which means he will not see CNN which means he won’t be worried anyway.
Check off Uncle Steve.
I got through to my Uncle John and handed the phone to Grandma.
“Everything is fine,” she said. “No, all that is fine, the fire isn’t close to here at all. No, don’t worry.”
“He’s so sweet.” Grandma handed me the phone and I clicked it off.
“You should call mom.” I followed up.
She sighed. “Oh all right, you call her.”
“She’s your daughter.”
“She’s your mother.”
I scrolled down and pressed my mother’s number. Ha, it did not go through.
“Can’t get hold of her.” I tucked the phone under my arm.
“Oh well, we tried.” Grandma shrugged. “Looks like the party is outside. Let’s go.”
No one slept until the sun lightened the sky and overwhelmed the sight of fire with its own hot light.
The good news is that fire of this magnitude only last a day because if it lasts longer, no one is left to talk about it.
By five in the morning as the day light started to filter back into the sky and we could hear cars breaking up the traffic jam. The sirens of emergency vehicles tore up the road, louder and faster. We dispersed. Mike, Pat and Peter left the house in a slow funeral march. Brick and Raul shuffled back to the guesthouse quietly arguing over who would shower first. They knew not to ask Prue for showering privileges in the main house.
There was some long story about the last time she granted one of them access to the bathrooms in the main house. I think it involved seventeen towels and a girl, but I’m not entirely clear on all the details.
By breakfast, the electricity came back on, bless PG & E, and I’m not just saying that to get a break on my bill. They often do great work.
Prue and I took our coffee into the parlor and watched the TV. I remained standing. I was so tired I didn’t even want to sit down.
“Hundreds could be dead.” Offered the cheerful summary from CNN.
“Great,” I flipped off the TV and waiting impatiently for eight o’clock so I could call the Christopher’s office. And I needed to confirm with Inez that she could write up the purchase agreement for Norton and Joan. I forgot to ask whom they were using for their loan. Maybe they didn’t need a loan. I hadn’t thought about that.
My phone rang before I could hit send.
“My house is fine,” Mathew announced. “Have lunch with me today to celebrate my close call.”
I glanced over at Prue, who nodded in agreement with whatever I was up to. “Sure,” I agreed.
At eight O five I called the escrow officer.
“I have all the signatures I need. Mr. Bixby was the only one on title. And he has signed, almost everything, I have a call into him to schedule the closing papers.”
“Excellent, one piece of good news.”
“The Browns just have to get funded.”
“They will.”
But it didn’t feel great. It felt odd. I called the Browns and told them to go with the inspector to check out the house.
“Isn’t there a big fire up there? We saw it on the news.”
“Yes, there’s a big fire up here, but it’s nothing really, happens all the time.” I brushed it off.
I thought of calling Ben, but then I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure of anything with him right now. Distance was not helping. I think I missed him.
I fired up my computer to see if Inez had put the forms onto the TR system. Then I could review Norton – And Joan’s – offer and see what they were all up to.
I opened an email from Rosemary first.
“Feel the calmness.” The email read. “Mediate on one thing a day, take deep breaths and count to ten. Focus on a rose, focus on your breath.”
I was not ready to meditate just then, I wasn’t even willing to practice yoga (notice they always call it practice, does anyone ever become proficient at this thing?). A joke forwarded by Ben, but no personal message. Rosemary would say I was blocking my own opportunities. Maybe. But they were mine to block.
I took a breath and counted to one.
I should be relieved about the escrow. I should be relieved about Norton’s offer.
Two.
I should be happy we didn’t burn in the inferno.
Three.
I needed a plant or two on which to meditate.
I closed the computer and walked out to the back yard and the greenhouse.
The green house was in good shape, just a thin layer of gray ash covered the roof, no broken glass. I’d hose that off in a minute.
I reached for the door. The lock
was broken.
I turned the lock in my hand. I glanced back at the house. No one was standing around the back door, there was no movement from the guest house. I opened the green house door and set the locked just inside on the closest shelf. Then shut the door.
Meditate on plants. I wandered in the dimly lit greenhouse. The plants seemed all in place, nothing was broken.
I shook off the futile impulse to meditate. The dim close air was beginning to make me feel creepy. I left, closed the door and hung the broken lock to hold the door closed.
“Lucky Masters just drove by.” Prue announced as I entered the kitchen.
“The fire probably just cleared more land for his new development. Look at this, fifty homes went up, that seems like a lot.” She scrutinized the local paper as if reading closely would garner better information.
“Maybe that’s just an estimate.” I offered. “It was hard for the equipment to get up.”
She nodded and held up her mug for more coffee. I obliged.
“A few years back a couple of houses burned really fast. It was like as soon as the trucks arrived there was nothing left of the houses I don’t remember what the reason was, or if there was even an investigation.”
“I heard something about that at the river.” I said. But I didn’t have any more information to add to the discussion.
I hadn’t heard from Carrie, should I call? I stood in the kitchen and tapped my silent phone. Call, call whom? Call my mother? Call. Maybe I should breathe and count to ten.
I changed my clothes and took my time walking downtown for my lunch date with Matthew. I nodded to mothers and children standing in their doorways watching the tow trucks pull the cars out of the street. A couple children bounced with suppressed excitement under their mother’s hands. Three little kids were dashing here and there on their lawns. For them it must have been like a holiday, relief created special day. If you almost lose your house, what difference does it make if we eat cookies for breakfast. Which means I celebrate life almost every day.
Very few cars were parked on Main Street. Merchants stood in their doorways, peering up the activity on Marsh Avenue. Some people stared apprehensively at the blue, calm sky. No one talked much, no one yelled or did a victory dance. Main Street was as quiet as a snow day, only the sun was blindingly bright overhead.
“You okay?” I head a man talking on his cell phone.
“The house is all right?” The owner of the bead store talked on her phone from her perch in her shop door. “Ah good, well you can always bunk with us.”
Merchants nodded to me as I passed, but didn’t step out from the protection of their store entrance. No one moved. It was like a ghost town filled with mannequins. Disney after the disaster.
Mathew had chosen to dine at Fabulous, a new restaurant situated along lower Main Street in what was once a Japanese restaurant. It was probably the fifteenth restaurant to occupy the same historic space.
“So I hear your grandmother’s house is fine. And Lucky’s new development sites are intact as well – so good news!” Mathew gestured from a window seat as I entered the empty restaurant. The seating hostess looked partially relieved that there was some business today, and partially put out. I smiled and vowed to order something easy
“I’m fine too,” I replied, feeling a little perverse. I had not signed up for excitement on my visit here. I sank into the tiny café chair, which wasn’t very comfortable. I was suddenly tired after my walk down the hill. Even wearing sensible shoes didn’t help, in fact the sight of them probably made my mood worse. My legs do not look good in flats.
The windows were open to catch a warm breeze. It was lovely, but it was lost on me.
The waitress girl plunked down sweating glasses of ice tea, rested her weight on one hip and flipped open her order pad.
I hoped Mathew wasn’t one to request elaborate modification to the menu. Our waitress did not look like she’d tolerate any deviations from the norm.
“Everyone is talking about the fire,” Mathew started. “Hey Clemet.” Mathew leaned out the window to greet a man walking down the street.
“Oh, hey Mathew.” The man stopped and then looked at me.
“Hi, I’m Clemet Foley.” He thrust his hand through the window and I took it.
“Hi, Allison Little.” I shook his hand. He was a heavyset man. His shirt and slacks were creased and dirty. He had either been inspecting burned homes, or had slept in his clothes. He nodded and then continued to address Mathew. “I head the fire was set.”
“How?” Mathew asked.
“Fireworks, cigarette, but possibly on purpose. It turned out most of the homes burned were Lucky’s.”
“A fire isn’t that selective.”
He glanced at me, the woman who was speaking up, then ignored me. Oh, that’s why I’m not living in Claim Jump. I took a big sip of my ice tea and of course it went down the wrong way and I choked and hacked so much I finally had to excuse myself and leave the MEN to talk.
When I returned to the table, Mathew was alone again.
“I don’t know why anyone would start a fire, that’s insane.” He said.
“Yes, but maybe that’s the point.” I said.
“That he was insane?”
“We have unstable people where I live. You can’t tell me you don’t have developmentally challenged residents here in Claim Jump.”
Mathew shook his head but his expression was thoughtful. “We do.”
Another good old boy stopped by while we ate. My sandwich was passable, but I didn’t expect much else. Mathew was only picking at his order.
“Henry,” Mathew stood.
“How’s it going Matthew?” Henry, another man in his mid-sixties greeted Mathew with a friendly pat on the shoulder.
“This is my date, Allison.” Mathew introduced me.
“Hi.” I offered my hand, but Henry just nodded politely.
I ate my sandwich, using my full mouth as an excuse to not engage with the next three people Mathew hailed from the street. It was as if I was his alibi. Here we are in day light, he seemed to say. Here I am with this beautiful woman feeling good about life and how it is in the world.
Here he is with me.
I couldn’t finish my sandwich, but thanked him for lunch anyway.
“Have dinner with me tonight.”
I stared at the empty street. “I really need to spend time with my grandmother. She’s pretty shook up about the fire.”
“Oh right. Of course. How about a drink then? Before dinner? Say, meet me at the Sun and Moon around five?”
He was very persuasive with his beautiful brown eyes and six pack stomach.
“Okay, one drink.”
He leaned in and kissed me on the lips and I let him. I heard the sound of a truck a second too late. I looked up and there was Danny.
Shit. I smiled to cover my embarrassment and my relief, he was alive.
“Hey, Danny.” Mathew greeted the other man.
“Hey, Mathew.” Danny said neutrally. But he looked daggers at me. Remember all that sexual freedom in the seventies and eighties? Didn’t last.
“Is your grandmother home?” He asked me, icy polite.
“She is.” Before I could catch my breath and ask about his house, he took off in a burst of exhaust. Didn’t even offer me a ride. Fine.
“Need a ride home?” Mathew, in contrast, had the decency to offer.
“No, it is my lot in life to walk and inadvertently get some exercise. I’ll be fine, thank you for lunch.”
“See you at five.”
The walk was long and depressing. I walked on the lower side of the street, snaking around the cars still parked up on the sidewalk. The city had towed some of the cars blocking egress from Marsh Avenue, Melissa Patterson must have called and complained. I walked, one foot in front of the other. What was Mathew up to? Why parade me downtown and introduce me as his date? An odd turn of phrase now a days, usually single men are very, very careful with
their terms and definitions. This is my working partner from the office. This is my cousin. This is my sister. This is a friend. Very clear.
Mathew was not clear.
I walked past my favorite white house, there were tracks of red dirt on the pretty green lawn. I paused and looked at the damage. But no one came out to greet me or talk about the incident.
I hesitated and pulled out my phone. Since I was already depressed and feeling taken advantage of, I was in the prefect mood to call my mother.
I scrolled down to her number and hid send.
She was home.
Well damn, leaving a message would have been so much easier.
“Hi mom.”
“Allison! We’ve been trying to call mother, but the phone just rings off the hook what are you two doing up there?”
“Burning the place down.” I couldn’t help it.
“Very funny missy. Is your grandmother all right?”
“She’s always all right, you should come up and see for yourself some day.”
“Oh, honey you know how busy I am, but I’m glad she has you.”
Strangely, the conversation was comforting. We reviewed all our tropes: me encouraging her to come and visit, she making excuses. Like a lullaby or favorite story.
“We’re fine, just wanted you to know. That’s why I left the message.”
“Well, say hello and I’ll call over the weekend.” My mother signed off with audible relief.
I clicked off and crested the top of the hill to Grandma’s. The city had a way to go before the whole road would be cleared. I still didn’t know how many injuries or fatalities had been recorded.
Danny’s truck was parked in the driveway.
I squared my shoulders and walked to the back yard, because I knew they’d be there, sitting on the shaded patio.
“Hi honey,” Prue greeted me cheerfully. “Would you like a cosmopolitan? I took a poll at the Safeway, martinis were considered the best solution to last night stress.”
Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 02 - Time Is of the Essence Page 14