For Sale By Owner

by Marlene Bateman

  Pulling off a piece of tape, Kenzie grimaced to think of how indifferent Jared had been when she told him how much the house meant to her. He’d even had the audacity to say she could find another home. How dare he? The keystone to her plans to move back depended on buying Tom’s home. Somehow, she had to figure out a way to buy this house, or everything would collapse like someone blowing on a house of cards.

  There was a thump as Mandy tossed another present on the pile. She surveyed the presents they’d wrapped with satisfaction. “I’m bushed. Let’s call it good.”

  “I’ll be glad to wrap more.”

  “You’ve been a good Samaritan long enough.”

  “Is there anything else you need help with?”

  Mandy tilted her head. “Have you been talking to Tom?”

  “No, why?”

  “It was the way you said that. I thought he might have mentioned my little painting project. He doesn’t want me overdoing because I’m pregnant.”

  “What are you painting? Something for Christmas? A table for the kids? A wagon?”

  “Bedrooms.”

  “Bedrooms? Why on earth would you paint the bedrooms when you’re moving?”

  “Honestly, for someone so smart, you sure can be dumb. I want to paint the bedrooms at the Steadman home.”

  “But you’ve got so much going on with packing and moving. Plus you’re pregnant.”

  “Gee, thanks for clearing that up—I’d wondered what this bulge in my stomach could be.” Mandy rolled her eyes. “But think about it. What’s the worst thing about painting? I mean besides taping?” She went on, “Moving the furniture. That’s why this is the ideal time to paint. The house is empty—the Steadmans have already moved to a retirement complex.”

  “I’m with Tom—I’m worried you’re trying to do too much.”

  “I checked with my doctor—as long as the house is well ventilated, the paint is water based, and I don’t get on ladders or get too tired, I’ll be fine.”

  Now was the time to offer her services. The only problem was Kenzie hated painting. Maybe hate was the wrong word. Loathe. Yes, that was it. But what else could she do?

  Trying to keep the funeral tone out of her voice, Kenzie asked, “Do you want me to help?” Then she repeated in her mind, Say no. Say no. Say no.

  “That would be fantastic! Thanks!”

  Kenzie nailed a smile on as she picked up scraps of paper, scissors, and tape.

  Mandy piled the wrapped presents in a large black garbage sack. “I’ll take these over to your folks and hide them in their garage. Then her sister-in-law offered her an out. “Since you can be a little reckless, I’ll give you a chance to back out gracefully. I can tell by that weird look on your face that you’re not too excited about painting. You look like a martyr at the stake just before they light the match.”

  “Of course I’ll help. But this face is as good as you’re going to get. Don’t expect me to be a ray of sunshine.”

  Mandy threw her arms around Kenzie. “You are wonderful. We’ll do it next week.”

  “Yay. I can’t wait,” Kenzie murmured in a melancholy tone.

  “We’ll have fun. You’ll see.”

  “Right. Then as a treat afterwards, let’s scrub your garbage cans.” Then Kenzie had a great thought. “Wait a minute—you can’t paint. You haven’t closed on the house yet.”

  “You forget this is a small town. We do things differently here. Tom’s known the Steadmans all his life. They trust him implicitly. I’ve already asked them about painting, and they said we can do whatever we want.”

  “Carte blanche, eh? Aren’t you taking a big chance? What if something happens, and you don’t get the house?”

  “The only reason we wouldn’t get the house is if we couldn’t sell this one. Mandy winked at her sister-in-law, adding, “And that’s not very likely—not when we have two buyers ready to kill each other to get it.”

  Chapter Nine

  “The trick to making Mexican Wedding Cookies2 is not to handle the dough too much,” Elaine explained to Sara and Hillary, who stood beside her at the kitchen counter. Adam and Brian had begged off, preferring to play video games, and were ensconced in the office.

  “Mix the dough just enough to blend the ingredients. If you overdo it, the cookies will be tough.”

  The girls happily rolled the dough in their hands to make balls. They placed each piece on the cookie sheet as carefully as if it were a crown jewel.

  “I like making cookies,” Sara said happily as she rolled another ball.

  “Me too,” Hillary added, flattening her ball slightly.

  What fun it was to be making cookies with her granddaughters! Spontaneously, Elaine gave each of them a hug. “I like making cookies too—with you!”

  “Do you think Grandpa would like to help?” Sara asked.

  “Hmmm, probably not.” Elaine glanced over to the family room, where Allen was sitting contentedly by the fireplace reading the Ensign. “But he’ll be glad to help us eat them.”

  Sara giggled, then she looked at the large bowl of cookie dough. “We’re sure making a lot.”

  “I’m going to send some home with Hillary, and I want enough to take to the rest home and to serve at the party afterwards.”

  Elaine slipped a cookie sheet in the oven as the girls rolled more balls. When they were done with the next sheet, Hillary had had enough and left to join the boys.

  As she and Sara continued working, Elaine couldn’t help saying, “I’m so glad you and your mom came for Christmas.”

  “Me too. I asked if we could come last year, but Mom said no.” Sara’s cookie fell apart, and she frowned at it like it was misbehaving on purpose.

  Elaine showed her how to squish it back together. “I guess your mom had a lot going on at work.”

  “I don’t think so.” Sara sounded doubtful. “I think she was still mad at Grandpa.”

  Oh, dear. So Sara knew all about it. But that was inevitable, Elaine supposed. At times, the tension between Kenzie and Allen was as noticeable as the nose on her face. And the sad thing was that it didn’t have to be that way. How many times had she told Kenzie and Allen to talk and work things out? She might as well have talked to a stump. Elaine had delicately broached the subject again yesterday, but Kenzie had brushed it away, spouting meaningless words about talking when the time was right. Elaine had heard it too many times to put any stock in it now.

  Sara went on conversationally, “Mom told me that Grandpa hurt her feelings.”

  Glancing at Sara out of the corner of her eye, Elaine was hard-pressed to keep her voice casual. “Did she say what Grandpa did?”

  “Mom wouldn’t tell me.” Sara started to fidget. “Grandma, I have to use the bathroom.”

  “You go right ahead.” Sara hopped down, and Elaine went to the sink to get a glass of water. At least Kenzie hadn’t burdened her daughter with the telling. Sipping the water, she looked over the backyard and on to the woods beyond. Memory swept back to that midsummer weekend nearly two years ago when everything had unraveled.

  Kenzie and Sara had arrived for an unexpected visit. Without Larry. Vaguely, Kenzie explained Larry was busy, but Elaine knew something was up by her daughter’s restlessness and slightly disjointed way of speaking.

  Later that night, Kenzie told them in a broken voice that she and Larry were getting a divorce. The three of them stayed up late, and the tissue box was nearly empty by the time the three of them finally went to bed.

  But it was the memory of the next day which remained imprinted indelibly on her mind. That morning, Kenzie’s eyes were red and swollen, prompting Elaine to decide to make Kenzie’s favorite for dinner—chicken fettuccine. She’d gone to the grocery store, and when she returned she was surprised to see her husband chopping wood in the hot sun.

  Carrying her bags, she walked over to where chips were flying. Looking around, she remarked, “I don’t see Kenzie’s car.”

  “She left.” Allen paused to raise a
n arm and wipe the sweat from his brow. Then he carefully positioned another log on the chopping block.

  “She didn’t go to the store, did she? I told her I was going to get the groceries.”

  The axe flashed in the sun and came down hard, splitting the wood with a crack. “No, she went home. Said to tell you good-bye.”

  The grocery sacks were like dead weights, pulling her arms to the ground. Elaine couldn’t take it in. “I don’t understand. Kenzie said they weren’t going back until after church tomorrow.” She glanced around as if she might see Kenzie. “Why would she go home?”

  Allen paused and leaned on his axe. His face was red, and his shirt was soaked through with perspiration. “She didn’t like what I had to say.”

  The grocery sacks slipped to the ground. They were filled with special things Elaine wanted to cook for her daughter and granddaughter. Boneless chicken for the fettuccine. Cantaloupe, grapes, and watermelon for a fruit salad. Walnuts, coconut, and chocolate chips for Sara’s favorite layered cookie bars.

  Ugh. Elaine’s stomach felt like she’d swallowed one of the melons. She loved Allen, but for heaven’s sake! He had to learn to control his tongue. Speaking in carefully regulated tones, because that was the only way she could stay in control, Elaine asked, “What did you say to her?”

  “We were talking about the divorce. I asked her what went wrong—why Larry left. That’s all.”

  The defensive tone in her husband’s voice put Elaine on alert. Sometimes, Allen wasn’t aware when he offended people by what he said, but this time he knew. Oh, yes, he knew. He just didn’t want to admit it. It must have been very bad if Kenzie, who had grown up with him, had been offended enough to leave.

  In a voice like steel, only an octave higher, Elaine ground out, “What did you say?”

  When he told her, Elaine’s lips went white, and even though the sun was beating down, a shiver ran through her.

  Leaving the groceries scattered on the ground, Elaine turned and stumbled into the house. She sat at the kitchen table, holding her head in her hands and refusing to look up when the door opened and closed. Sounds told her Allen was putting groceries away, but he didn’t speak. There was no need. Elaine knew Allen had said more than he was admitting. Probably much more. But she couldn’t talk to him now. It would have to come later, once she’d calmed down enough not to throw the melon at his head.

  So Allen had asked Kenzie why Larry had left her. That would be the crux of the matter—the thing Allen couldn’t understand. Allen loved Larry like a second son. So when Kenzie had told them they were getting divorced, he had to deal not only with his daughter’s pain but the knowledge that he was losing Larry. Ever since Larry had asked for Kenzie’s hand in marriage, he could do no wrong in Allen’s eyes. And so now, it was nearly inconceivable for him to wrap his mind around the fact that Larry had been—was—a jerk.

  But Elaine had seen things her husband hadn’t during the nine years of her daughter’s marriage. She always pushed the worries aside, though, since Kenzie and Larry seemed happy—for the most part anyway. But at times, Kenzie made little comments that made Elaine afraid all was not well. A further, telling change was when they stopped sitting close and no longer held hands. And sometimes, when Kenzie and Larry spoke to each other, the words were polite but their tone and body language said something else entirely, indicating a widening gulf.

  More disturbing were the times Elaine noticed Larry staring a little too long at another woman. It might be for a waitress or a sales clerk that Larry turned his charming smile on. And at their Christmas Eve parties, Larry often seemed a little too animated and attentive to unattached women.

  Elaine came back to the present when Sara tugged at her blouse. “Grandma, the timer’s going off.”

  “Oh, dear, it certainly is.” She bustled over and slipped on an oven mitt.

  As she set the cookies on a cooling rack, Sara asked, “What were you thinking about? Mom and Grandpa?”

  Elaine peered into her granddaughter’s blue eyes, which were so like her own. How astute Sara was for her age. “I was indeed. Those two need to talk and work things out.” She put a ball of dough on the cookie sheet and flattened it slightly. “If someone hurts your feelings, go talk to them about it—don’t let it go on, or you’ll keep being sad.”

  Sara dusted her hands with flour and rolled another clump of dough. “I think Mom’s sad about a lot of things—not just Grandpa.”

  “She is?” Elaine’s chest tightened.

  “Yeah. She tries to hide it, but I can tell.” Then Sara added confidentially, “I think she’s lonely.”

  That was bound to happen—after being married for so long. “I thought your mom went out on dates.”

  “Sometimes.” Sara grimaced. “But she usually comes back in a bad mood.”

  Oh, dear. That didn’t sound good.

  Sara went on. “I wish Mom could find her friend for Christmas.”

  “What friend is that, dear?”

  “The one Mom knew when she was little—the one she played with in the woods.”

  “Oh, yes, Tyrone. Such a funny name, but don’t tell her I said so, okay?”

  Sara grinned as her grandmother handed her the last bit of dough. “I won’t. But Mom said she liked him a lot. It would be cool if she could find him.”

  Elaine put the last batch of cookies in, and they washed their hands at the sink. “Well, honey, Tyrone moved away a long time ago. Back when he was a little boy.”

  “He could have come back. Mom told me Tyrone liked it here. Do you think he could be here?”

  It wasn’t very likely. But who was she to squelch a child’s hope at Christmastime? “It’s possible. It might take a bit of Christmas magic, though, for Tyrone and your mom to find each other.”

  A huge grin split Sara’s face. “I like Christmas magic!”

  “Me too. It’s pretty powerful stuff.”

  “Can we read that book—Christmas Magic?”

  “About the little girl who goes outside and finds there’s Christmas magic in the air?”

  “Yeah!” Sara cried. “And her pets were singing ‘Jingle Bells.’”

  “And the mice were baking Christmas pies.”

  “And the snow people she built came to life and started dancing. Can we read it, Grandma?”

  “Sure. You get it while I wash this bowl.”

  When Sara returned, Elaine took the last batch of cookies out, and the two of them went to the family room. Sitting by the fireplace, they took turns reading. Sara’s face was glowing when they turned the final page. “See! I bet Tyrone’s come back. Mom just has to find him.” For some reason, reading the book had fueled her hope.

  Elaine smoothed a stray wisp of hair from her granddaughter’s face. “Well, the book certainly says there’s a lot of magic in the air at Christmastime, making dreams come true.” Although she didn’t hold out much hope that Kenzie would meet Tyrone, Elaine did hope her daughter would meet someone special.

  As if reading her mind, Sara said solemnly, “Mom needs someone so she’s not lonely.”

  Giving her granddaughter a squeeze, Elaine asked, “How could she be lonely when she has you?”

  Sara considered. “I’m in school a lot though. I told Mom she ought to have a baby, but she didn’t think so.”

  Oh, dear. What could she say? “Having a baby is a big responsibility. A baby needs a mommy and a daddy.”

  “That’s what Mom said.” Sara pursed her lips. “But I still think she needs someone.”

  “But, honey, don’t you like it with just you and your mom?”

  Sara nodded vigorously. “But I want Mom to be happy. I don’t want her to be alone.”

  “She’s not alone. She has you.”

  “I think she’d like a grown-up friend.”

  * * *

  2 The recipe for Mexican Wedding Cookies can be found at the end of the book.

  Chapter Ten

  The tires crunched on the gravel driveway
as Kenzie pulled up to her parents’ home the following morning. As she grabbed the grocery sacks out of the Camry’s trunk, Sara came out of the house and bounced down the front porch steps, wearing her purple coat and matching hat and gloves.

  “Where are you going?” Kenzie asked.

  “To the woods.”

  “Sounds like fun. Want company?”

  Her daughter said eagerly, “Yeah!”

  “Let me take these inside.” Sara followed her in, and after putting the food away, Kenzie pulled on her gloves and grabbed her daughter’s hand. The road in front of her parents’ house dead-ended a third of a mile away with a parking lot for people who wanted to hike in the woods. While growing up, Kenzie felt privileged to live next to the woods—a gateway to her own special kingdom.

  They crossed the backyard to the metal gate and went through. Taking the well-worn path, Kenzie and Sara walked through woods of oak and hickory. The branches of the ash trees were thin and bare in contrast with bulky green pine trees scattered here and there. Cold had turned the ground to iron and made the snow crunchy. Silence reigned supreme, and it was so restful and peaceful there that Kenzie wasn’t sure how she had ever survived without being able to walk daily in this fairyland of trees and serenity. There was only an occasional bird or squirrel to witness their passing. The woods had always been Kenzie’s favorite playground—the first place she went as a child when she finished with homework or household chores.

  This was where she had spent two enchanted summers with Tyrone. Every day they did something new, fun, and exciting. One time, they collected pinecones, thinking they could sell them in town and become millionaires. Another time, they pretended to be Indians and stuck tall dried grass in their hair and shirt collars. They often laid in an open meadow, watching puffy clouds drift by and calling out any shapes they discovered in the constantly changing panorama.

  Kenzie stepped over a fallen tree. What was Tyrone doing now? Was he happy? Did he ever think, like she did, about the summers they had spent together?