Just One Day

by Sharla Lovelace

  “Dedra?” I said. “What are you talking about?” My tone combined with her name was enough to tweak his attention because it turned him around. His expression changed to wary and unsure.

  “Your mom’s house? Her name’s on the sign.” He looked uncomfortable and pointed randomly at the air behind him as if to prove it. “I had nothing to do with it. I passed it this morning on my way out.”

  Another leftover piece of a laugh kind of popped out, but with much less confidence. I shook my head as I turned and walked away, knowing he’d follow me in.

  “That’s crazy,” I said. “Has to be a joke or something. I just had lunch with my mom last week, I mean, come on. Don’t you think she’d have mentioned that? She talked about her garden.”

  I landed back on the squeaky swivel chair in my office, as Kevin found a spot on the couch among scattered manila folders. He moved a few aside, turning one over to read the name.

  “829 Montgomery—why does that sound familiar?” he asked.

  “It’s one street over from my mom’s,” I said, clicking through the links that would bring me to the multiple listing database. “And quit snooping, it’s not listed yet.”

  “Oh yeah. The Landry place,” he said, and I ignored the snide change of tone.

  “Yep.”

  “Bobby’s finally unloading it, huh?”

  I blinked and sighed and continued to ignore the shiny object he was dangling to get a rise out of me. “Guess so.”

  “About time,” Kevin continued. “It’s been one strong breeze away from blowing over for years.”

  “Oh, it’s not that bad,” I said, scoffing. “Just needs a little attention. Vacant houses get that way.”

  “Well, I don’t blame him,” he said. “Ben left him high and dry with that place when their mom died. Never even came back for the funeral.”

  The old dig that used to stab me, barely felt like a pin prick. “You don’t know that.”

  “And you do?”

  I cut my eyes at him. “This town can make a lot of noise when it wants to. You believe everything you hear?”

  Kevin tossed the file over with the others, and I was grateful for the change. I watched him take in the overflowing bookshelf, the three different-colored jackets hanging on the treadmill, the row of file boxes stacked against one wall.

  “I assume there’s a method, as usual?” he asked.

  “Ha ha, very cute.”

  In our thirteen years of marriage, he never learned to appreciate my version of décor or organization. Kevin preferred empty space. Like moving into a house with no stuff, kind of empty. No pictures, no decorations, no curtains, no coasters or vases or magazines. Give him a chair and a rug and a TV and he’s good. In fact, the rug would probably be pushing it.

  “So, dating anybody?” he asked.

  I hit a button and gave him a look. “Really?”

  His face went all innocent. “What?”

  Kevin was a very good-looking man, as long as you never had to have a real conversation with him, or a life. The pretty wore thin with the constant perfection and micro-managing.

  “You really want to know about my love life?”

  He looked away with a smile. “I want you to be happy, Em.”

  I coughed again, this time for real. “So, what’s the deal?” I asked, changing the subject as I waited for the zip code filter to update. “You looking to move again? Sherry want to simplify and rub elbows with the common folk?”

  He gave me a look and leaned back, his brown leather jacket making noise against the wanna-be leather of my couch. “I’m thinking about buying some rental property.”

  “Ah, you want to be a land baron, now.”

  “It’s easy money,” he said with a shrug.

  “Not with old houses like—”

  My words died on my tongue as the page populated, and there it was. Three listings down. A familiar address and equally familiar picture of my mother’s house. Listed by Dedra Powers.

  “You’ve gotta be shitting me,” I said under my breath, and I heard Kevin and his jacket sit forward.

  “So, how much is it listed for?”

  I tore my eyes from the screen to glare at him. “Seriously?”

  He lifted a hand. “What?”

  I swiveled around in my chair to find my phone, and leapt up to grab it off the top of my treadmill, hitting speed dial number two. Three rings led to voice mail, and my mother’s voice telling me how sorry she was that she couldn’t answer my call.

  “Mom!” I yelled, then bit my lip and let my mouth work for a second. “Mom?” I tried again. “Please call me.”

  I hung up and stared at the listing again as I hit speed dial numbers one and three, both of which went to voice mail as well. “Jesus, where is everybody today?” I muttered as I tossed the phone to the couch next to Kevin and smiled not-so-patiently at him.

  “I’ve gotta go change clothes and—interrogate my mother,” I said. “So—” I did a little hand flourish that I felt encouraged his exit.

  “You didn’t know.”

  “That’s pretty clear,” I said, not enjoying his smirk.

  He stood up and leaned over to view the page on my laptop, which I then flipped closed.

  “Ninety thousand,” he said, narrowing his eyes in that financial thinker’s expression of his, and I shook my head before another second could pass.

  “No.”

  He blinked and met my eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, no,” I said. “I don’t know what’s going on with this, but regardless, you aren’t buying it.”

  “Why not?”

  My head was spinning. I wanted answers and I wanted Kevin to be gone so I could go find them.

  “Because.” He tilted his head again, and I made a sound of disgust. “God, you look like such a girl when you do that. Stop it.”

  “You aren’t answering my question.”

  “And I’m not going to right now,” I said, taking him by the arm and walking. “Come on. I have to leave. I have to get naked first. And unless Sherry-bom-berry is okay with that, you probably shouldn’t be here when I do.”

  We made it to the door and I pushed him gently out. Just as he turned back around, “Oh, I almost forgot. Do you know if Cassidy sent in any of those business school applications yet?”

  I sighed as I slowly guided the door closed. “She’s twenty-one, Kevin. She’s across town and doesn’t run her day by me anymore. Call her.”

  “I have, and she doesn’t call me back.”

  Shocking. “Gotta go.”

  * * *

  I felt a dull headache forming behind my eyes as I rounded the block to a house I could find blindfolded and drunk—not that I knew that—and saw my sister’s car snuggled right up behind my mom’s. My gaze went from there to the FOR SALE sign looming gaudily on one side of the sidewalk, and instantly went hot over the prospect that my sister, Holly, was in on it. Of course she would be. First to arrive, last to leave, always doing the right thing, always there for my mom, always the suck-up.

  FOR SALE. By realtor, Dedra Powers.

  I pulled up alongside the ditch, and took a series of cleansing breaths on my way up the uneven sidewalk and concrete porch. I will not raise my voice . . . I will not raise my voice . . .

  I’d called my daughter for backup, but I wasn’t sure how fast she would get there. She kind of laughed when I told her that Nana had lost her mind. I don’t think she truly got the urgency of the situation.

  When I opened the heavy wooden door with the fifteen-pound metal door knocker, the knocker bounced loudly like it always did with the momentum, announcing door movement to the entire neighborhood. It announced it to Tandy, as well. Her ancient Dachshund with a smoker’s bark and a long-lost sense of smell came in a blaze of glory ready to take out my shins until she saw it was me and backtracked to her beanbag chair, uninterested.

  I steeled myself for the confrontation when I saw my mom and sister sitting at the elonga
ted bar that served as the dining room table, but faltered a little when they looked my way and I saw the anxiety in my sister’s eyes.

  My volatile words kind of died on my lips and came out instead as, “So, this is new.”

  My mom sighed, and my sister just shook her head. Suddenly, I had the impression maybe they hadn’t been in on it together. Holly had that fired-up look going that her red hair just amplified.

  “You didn’t know, either, I take it?” Holly asked.

  I smiled. “No, I just found out from my ex.”

  “Oh shit,” Holly said under her breath.

  I zeroed in on Mom. “Yeah. Care to know how wrong that conversation was?”

  “Sorry, girls, it was just easier to make this decision without the two of you breathing down my neck,” my mother said.

  My mouth dropped open. I had no words.

  “Mom, this isn’t like deciding to sell baskets instead of candles,” Holly said, holding back her hair like she always did when she was upset. “This is your home.”

  “Exactly,” my mother said, rising from her stool. “My home. My decision.”

  “Why?” I asked, watching her go through the motions of rinsing out her coffee cup and setting it back next to what was probably the first Mr. Coffee coffeemaker ever made. I remembered when my dad bought it for her and she balked and made a fuss, claiming that coffee percolated on the stove was a hundred times better.

  “Why not?” she said, her back to us. “Maybe I’m tired of dealing with this old house, ever think of that?”

  “This old house raised your family,” I said, suddenly feeling weirdly defensive of buckled paneling and ancient shag carpet.

  “All your memories, your life—” Holly began.

  “The plumbing, the settling, the cracks, the piers that are crumbling under my room, the wiring that’s held together with duct tape,” she countered. “Who’s here to deal with all that? You?” she said to me and then looked at Holly. “You?”

  My phone rang from my pocket, and I dug it out. It was a text from a client, wanting to reschedule their walk-through until the maid came. Jesus.

  “I’ve told you, Greg can help—” Holly said, but Mom cut her off.

  “Oh please,” she said, flipping a hand. “Greg would spend more time analyzing a nail than pounding it. That man’s too soft for real work.”

  I bit my lip as Holly’s face went scarlet. She laughed sarcastically as she got up and carried her glass of tea with her to the den, which was really just an extension of the kitchen.

  “Wow, Mom, don’t hold back.”

  “And by the way,” Mom said, turning attention to me. I suddenly had a flash to when I hid my fifth-grade report card and received a similar expression. I tucked my phone back into my pocket. “This old house didn’t raise anybody. The people paying the mortgage did.”

  “Okay then,” I said, wanting to get back to the real topic at hand. “Why the big secret? Why suddenly sneak this out there without even telling us?”

  I noticed then as I waved a hand around that things were already different. Holly had stopped to look in a box that sat on the ottoman in front of Mom’s chair, and I saw for the first time that the wall of family pictures was—just a wall. I joined her as she fingered through the frames gently, as if touching them wasn’t allowed.

  “Yeah, Mom, why the rush?” Holly asked, not looking up from the black-and-white picture of our parents, young and kissing in front of the county courthouse the day they bought their marriage license.

  “Oh, for pete’s sake, there was no secret, there was no rush,” Mom said, pulling a metal container of cookies from the cabinet and setting it on the bar. “What there is now is a whole bunch of hullabulloo, which is exactly what I wanted to avoid.”

  Holly abandoned the pictures and faced Mom square on. “Avoid? What—did you think we wouldn’t notice someone else living here when we come over next month for your birthday? Were you just going to mail us a change of address card?”

  “We’re just saying you might have mentioned it—oh, like last week when we met for lunch at the chicken place?” I said, turning in a circle to see what else wasn’t in its preordained place. “Speaking of which,” I said, stopping to face her straight on. “Dedra Powers?”

  It wasn’t speaking of that, but it had to be said. My mother let out a heavy sigh that said I was wearing her out, and turned back to the cabinets for a glass. “I need some tea.”

  “That’s all you can say to that?” I asked.

  “No, I’m gonna splash a little Captain Morgan’s in there, too. That better?” At my likely bug-eyed look, she continued. “What do you want me to say?”

  I scoffed and even Holly, for once, looked put out on my behalf. “Maybe that you’re aware your daughter is a realtor?” I said, hands on my hips as my phone went off again.

  “God, I know that,” she said irritably. “But you would have taken over.”

  I nodded like a crazy woman. “Yes! That’s the whole point, Mom. A realtor takes over. Your realtor will take over.” I felt the sneer shaping my lips without my input. “Dedra Powers will take over.”

  “And not be all up in my business, telling me what to do and what not to do,” she said, perching back on her stool with her iced tea.

  “Yes, she will,” I said, the sneer turning into a smile. Probably not a nice smile. “She will be more about your business than anyone could ever be, Mom. And what kind of charge do you think she got over you bringing the listing to her instead of me?”

  Mom held her head up defiantly. “I told her that I wanted to keep it out of the family so you wouldn’t be burdened with a freebie.”

  I just closed my eyes and mentally switched gears. The current ones were going in circles. I pulled my phone out again and read as I spoke, asking the question I could ask in my sleep. “Okay, Mom, how does the contract read? Please tell me there’s a contingency on you finding a home first?”

  “I’m not getting another home.”

  You could have heard crickets in that silence. Holly and I both stopped breathing as we stared at the woman we once thought so wise. I wondered if Holly’s panic journey included what room she’d have to give up in her house. I, for one, saw my messy office go up in a frenzy of silk flowers, craft glue, and Tandy’s beanbag chair. Aside from that, the fleeting seed of doubt about her state of mind was skipping around in there, too.

  “I think I need some rum in my tea, too,” Holly said quietly.

  Mom pulled the bottle from a box in the pantry, since the alcohol was evidently already packed. She poured some in both their glasses, and then held it out for me. Not having a glass was beside the point.

  “That’s okay, I think I need to be sober for this,” I said, holding up a finger.

  “All right,” Holly said, gulping down her happy tea and sucking in a deep breath like that would prepare her for war. “Explain.”

  Mom gave each of us a look and began, “Your Aunt Bernie has that big Winnebago—”

  “Oh dear God, tell me no—” Holly started.