A Mile in My Flip-Flops (13 page)

Then I lock up the house, get in my car, and follow him as he drives my dad’s pickup to my dad’s condo. We both go inside, and while I clean some perishables out of Dad’s fridge, Noah waters the plants. When we’re done, he rides with me to my apartment to drop off Riley before we return to the hospital so he can pick up his truck.

“How’s the custody thing going with Kirsten?” I ask as I drive through town. I’m mostly just trying to make conversation, although I am curious. I just hope I’m not stepping over the line. “Will she get to spend the summer with you?”

“It’s not looking good.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“How does Kirsten feel about it?”

“She’s disappointed. She’s also pretty miffed that she has to be in day care now.”

“Day care? Isn’t she a little old?”

“Her thinking exactly. Unfortunately the day-care center has a summer program for school-aged kids up to seven. But it also still has a lot of little kids … or
babies
as Kirsten calls them.”

“So instead of being with you, she’s in day care?”

“Yep.”

“Of course, you wouldn’t be able to watch her while you were working,” I point out.

“I was going to take the summer off. Just finish my boat and hang with Kirsten.”

“What are you—independently wealthy?” Of course, I regret my nosiness as soon as I say this.

But he just laughs. “I wouldn’t say that. But I have rearranged some of my priorities when it comes to work and money and living. I think life’s too short to spend all your time trying to get more and more. I’d rather just be happy with what I have and enjoy what’s going on around me more.”

I consider this. Maybe that works for him, but I’m not ready to settle for being cooped up in a tiny apartment. I wonder if he thinks I’m wrong to want something more. Maybe he thinks I’m one of those people who just want more and more. Maybe I am. Okay, that’s a little unsettling, but I decide not to think about it too hard as I drop him off by his old turquoise blue truck.

“I like your pickup,” I admit.

“Thanks. So do I.”

“Did you do the restoration yourself?”

“I did.”

“Looks good.”

“I still have a few things I need to address, but for the most part, it runs pretty well, and I’m happy with it.”

I look curiously at him now. “You’re just a pretty happy guy, huh?”

He laughs. “I try to be. The truth is, I spent too many years being unhappy. I guess I’m trying to make up for it now.”

“Oh…”

“Tell Hank I’ll pop in tomorrow morning to tell him my assessment of your house, if he still wants it. But I’ll only do that if you’re there too … since you’re the boss, Gretchen.”

“Do you want to come up now?” I ask.

He glances at his watch. “I would, but I’ve got a dinner date that I’m already running a little late for. I better get going.”

“Sorry to keep you,” I say quickly.

“No problem.”

I watch as he gets into his truck, wondering who his dinner date could be. Then I realize that, of course, a guy like Noah has to have a girlfriend. Duh. For all I know he might have several. Most women wouldn’t think twice about his divorced status or baggage, not with a good guy like Noah. And nowadays most single women in their thirties realize that you can’t be so picky if you want a good guy.

Most women except for me, that is. Maybe I need to have my brain examined!

I
told Noah he can help me,” I announce to my dad as I sit down by his bed. It looks like he’s just finished his dinner and maybe getting a little groggy. But he does seem relieved at my news.

“I don’t think you have much choice,” he says in a tired voice, “that is if you still want to turn the house around and make some money.”

“I really do want to flip it, Dad. I wasn’t sure earlier. This whole thing with your surgery and all … well, it was a setback. And I’m willing to admit that I do need help. And Noah still seems interested in helping.” I almost add,
I don’t know why
, but keep it to myself.

“Good girl. I was hoping you’d come around.”

“And Noah has agreed—actually it was his recommendation—that I will act as the general contractor, and he will be the sub.” I study Dads reaction, which is minimal, but then again, he looks tired. “Does that work for you, Dad?”

“Not much I can do about it one way or the other.”

I pat his hand. “I know you’re worn out.”

He lets out a big yawn. “I have to agree with you there.”

“So I’ll let you get your beauty rest…unless there’s anything I can do for you before I go.”

“Just hearing your willingness to work with Noah is more than enough, sweetie. It puts my tired old heart at ease.”

I go to the window and adjust the blinds so the setting sun won’t be too bright in here. “Glad to be of help.”

“How’s Demo Dog?”

“He’s fine. I wish I could sneak him up here to visit you.”

Dad smiles faintly. “I don’t think you could sneak that dog in anywhere.”

“I know it. By the way, I sorted the mail. There’s nothing that can’t wait.”

“No postcards … from Betty?”

“No. But you know how slow overseas mail can be.”

“And she’s probably got better things to do than write to an old coot like me.”

“You’re not an old coot,” I tell him. “Oh, also, I have your keys. But I might as well hang on to them until you go home.”

“Safer with you than here, I expect.”

“That gives me an idea, Dad. Do you think I could use your pickup while you’re recuperating, to pick up building supplies and things?”

“That’s a smart idea.”

“Great. I started making a list at the house. First thing tomorrow I’ll fix the fence and clean the yard for Riley, and then I’ll measure everything. And, of course, I’ll measure it again, and then I’ll order windows, and…” But I notice his eyelids drooping, and I realize that he’s too tired to hear any more. Poor guy. He was so eager to get out of this place this morning, and now he’s beat. I quietly remove his food tray from the bed. Then I partially fill his water cup,
and after carefully pulling the blanket up over his chest, I lean over and kiss his wrinkled forehead. Without opening his eyes, he smiles.

“Night, Daddy,” I whisper, then tiptoe out.

I feel strangely energized as I drive back to my apartment, so I pick up Riley and head back to Dads, where I exchange my car for his pickup. Riley is thrilled to jump into the back of my dad’s truck, and I start to feel like a real carpenter as I drive through town. I consider stopping at Home Depot to pick up a few things but realize that Riley can’t be trusted to stay in the back of the pickup. And I don’t trust him not to chew up something in the cab if left unattended. But then I think,
It’s time this dog got some discipline
. So I take my chances and head to Home Depot. I get out of the truck, tell Riley in no uncertain terms to “stay,” and then pretend to go into the store. I actually hide behind a nearby minivan, keeping an eye on my dog as he trots back and forth in the pickup bed, sort of whining and acting nervous. Then he settles down, and I think maybe he’s getting this. But the next thing I know he leaps over the tailgate.

“Riley!” I shout, popping out from behind the minivan and startling a customer who’s wheeling out a cart loaded with lumber. “Bad boy!” I shout, deciding I don’t care who hears me. My dog needs to learn. Then I make a big deal of scolding him, force him back into the pickup bed, and once again tell him to “stay!” We go through this entire procedure about seven more times, and I am getting seriously exhausted, not to mention fairly certain that my dog is academically challenged in the area of obedience.

Then suddenly he seems to get it. I’m crouched behind another pickup now, no longer caring what curious bystanders think of me, and it hits me that Riley is staying in the truck. I sit down on the
curb of the parking divider now, deciding to wait a good long time to make sure that he’s really with the program, but after twenty minutes, I think he gets it. I also think Riley deserves a little praise.

I pretend like I’m just casually walking from the store now, like I’ve actually been shopping instead of sitting on a curb. I approach Dad’s truck and calmly encourage Riley, “Good boy. You stayed.” His tail wags happily, and I continue to praise him, stroking his head and promising him a special treat when we get home. And to my utter surprise, he seems to understand this. I think we have turned a corner. Maybe I won’t be enrolling Riley in doggy reform school after all.

The next day I awake to my cell phone ringing. I scramble to find my purse, then dig out my phone and groggily say hello, hoping that nothings wrong with Dad. Fortunately, it’s not the hospital. It’s Noah.

“Sorry to call so early,” he says, “but I forgot to mention that your dad wanted me to go over things with him regarding the house.”

“So are you going to the hospital?”

“Yeah, but I wanted to check with you first. After all, you’re the contractor.”

I consider this and smile, curious. Has he forgotten his promise to wait until I’m present too? “I think it would be great for you to go talk to Dad this morning. And why don’t you tell him that I’ll pop over there around noon. I want to get some fence stuff and see what I can do to clean up the backyard and make it safe for Riley.”

“Sounds like a plan. And if it’s any help, I noticed a pile of free fencing in front of a remodel over on Parker Avenue … about Ninth Street, I think it was.”

“Really? When was that?”

“Just yesterday evening.”

“Cool. I’ll drive by and take a look. Even if I only use it temporarily to keep Riley in, it might be worthwhile.”

As it turns out, Noah is right. There is a pile of used fencing at the end of a driveway with a piece of cardboard with “Free” spray-painted on it. I park the pickup, then get out and cautiously open the tailgate. I brace myself to be tackled as I command Riley to stay. And to my amazement, he stays. Today, I remembered to bring a box of Milk Bones to use as rewards. And after I load all the lumber, which actually looks to be in fairly good shape and similar to the fencing that’s already at the house, I give Riley a treat and tell him he’s a good boy. He happily wags his tail, and I’m thinking perhaps dog training isn’t as tough as I’d imagined.

Of course, I’ve picked up some splinters along with the fencing. It occurs to me that my dad often wears heavy gloves when working with wood, so I decide I’ll have to get a couple of pairs. Next I go to Lowe’s, and once again I give Riley his command, but I stick around for a minute or two, hiding behind a car, as I make sure he’s still on board. Then, pulling my list from my bag, I go inside and allow myself twenty minutes to get what I need for this morning. I can’t find everything, but at least I’m off to a good start, and to my relief Riley is too.

“You’re a good boy,” I say as I pet his smooth head and hand him another half of a Milk Bone. “Next stop and you can stretch your legs.”

By the time I make it to the house, Noah is already there, and the front door is wide open. I’m curious how he got in, but then I realize that Dad probably gave him the key when he asked Noah to
pick up his truck. I try not to feel irked. After all, Noah is working for me. I should be pleased that he’s already at it.

“Hello,” I call as I set a bag of things by the door. “Anybody home?”

“Back here,” he calls, and Riley dashes off to find him in the bathroom. Actually he’s several feet down in the bathroom. “Did you fall through the floor?” I joke.

“Not yet. I’m removing some of these rotten joists and decided to have a good look around down here, make sure the moisture problem doesn’t go farther than we expected.”

I grimace. “Does it?”

“A little. But fortunately it doesn’t seem to be past the perimeter of the bathroom. I think we can leave this wall intact.” He taps the wall near the door.

“Oh.”

“Anyway, I’m trying to figure out what you’ll need in the way of lumber.”

“Don’t let me bother you,” I say quickly, feeling like I’m the one intruding here. “By the way, that fencing was still there, and it looked pretty good. Thanks for the tip.”

“No problem, boss.”

I roll my eyes as I walk away. Right, like I really know what I’m doing. Still, I don’t have to reveal just how much I don’t know. I leave Riley in the house while I take a shovel and a five-gallon bucket that I’ve lined with a trash bag, and I go thoroughly through the backyard, scooping up doggy doo-doo. It’s a stinky job, but somebody’s got to do it. And once this is cleaned up, I’ll only be picking up after my dog, and I’m used to that.

As I walk around the yard, I imagine how nice it could be back here with some rollout grass and landscaping and maybe some flowering shrubs against the fence. But with the mature trees and shady privacy, it’s really not half bad. It just needs some serious TLC. Finally I think I’ve pretty well sanitized the dried-up brown grass, and I want to tackle that fence. I decide to start by removing the broken pieces. After I get the hang of it, it’s actually sort of fun to muscle them out with Dad’s oversized hammer and a crowbar. And these gloves are great. No more splinters for this girl. When I’m done, the fence looks sort of ridiculous with all it’s gaping holes. Like an old prizefighter with a bunch of missing teeth. But before long, I’m replacing those missing teeth, and to my relief the salvaged wood actually blends in pretty well with the original fence.

“Hey, good job,” calls Noah from the back deck.

“Thanks,” I tell him.

“That old cedar is a good match.”

I nod, shielding my eyes from the sun. “And a lot cheaper than replacing the whole thing with new stuff.”

“And I think it actually looks better too,” he says.

I consider this and think maybe he’s right. A brand-new fence might look out of place in this yard.

“I’m heading to the lumber yard to pick up some wood. Anything you need?”

I glance at my watch to see that it’s getting close to eleven now. “No. I’ll probably be gone to see Dad by the time you get back. Do you mind if I leave Riley behind?”

“Not at all. He’s actually being a good dog in the house.”

“That’s probably because there are no designer shoes in there.” I
laugh and try not to remember the Stuart Weitzman shorty boot that I found chewed up in my apartment yesterday when I got home from the hospital. I really thought I’d put all the good shoes up high, but he must’ve found the box under my bed and then gone at it all afternoon, because that little brown boot looked like a twisted rawhide chew stick by the time I saw it. Maybe it tasted like one too. But to be fair, I wasn’t terribly sad since they were boots I’d splurged on for my honeymoon. The honeymoon that wasn’t. Perhaps Riley has been doing me a favor by destroying the evidence. The only thing that really makes me sad is how much money I wasted buying designer shoes in the first place. Sure I got deals on them, thanks to
Bluefly.com
. But just the same, I was living an illusion, both financially and romantically. Really, what was I thinking?

“It’s almost done,” I say to Riley as I snap out of my depressing brain fade, “but not quite ready for you yet. Maybe I’ll finish it up when I get back.” Then I tell him to be good until Noah returns. He’s not eager to be left alone and lets out a few barks of protest, but I leave anyway. The dog has got to learn that he’s not the one calling the shots.

Knowing that Dad loves ice cream even more than I do, I decide to stop by Ben & Jerry’s and buy him a treat. But as I study the menu, I realize that he may be seriously restricted from fats from now on, and I finally have the girl make him a nonfat, orange-cream sorbet shake. I’m tempted to get something less healthy for myself but then realize that Dad might get a bad case of ice-cream envy, so I have her make one for me as well.