A Mile in My Flip-Flops (17 page)

“Of course.” I feel slightly defensive now. “I mean, I’m a Christian too. And I try to trust God with things. But I guess this house flip—what with Dad being indisposed and the pressure of the loan—well, it’s been freaking me out. I suppose I seem kind of stressed to you.” I suddenly wonder if his whole talk wasn’t meant to be some sort of a lesson to me. Not that it was a sermon exactly, but he did seem to be making a point.

“But what if you chose to hand this house flip over to God?”

“I know,” I say quickly. “I’ve thought of that.”

“It’s natural to be worried about the details. But if you give your
worries to God … well, it’s just a lot better.” He looks slightly uncomfortable now. “Sorry, I seem to be preaching at you. I’ve been told that it’s a weakness of mine.”

“I know what you’re saying is true. And I’d like to be, you know, more like that…” I look down at the table, suddenly feeling self-conscious and ill at ease, like I just used the wrong fork or said something idiotic or made some serious fashion faux pas like walking out of the bathroom with the hem of my skirt caught in my panties. These are the sorts of things that usually cause me embarrassment. But this is different. I am feeling uncomfortable about not being a more faithful Christian. More like him. This is a surprising development.

I try to absorb all of what he’s said, so I sit there quietly for a moment, and he lets me. “So are you saying that if my house flip totally flops or my dad loses his condo, after losing his health, that I should be happy?”

“I’m just saying that we need to trust God with all parts of our lives. Otherwise, we’ll never be really happy. I know this personally.”

Now Henry is approaching our table, looking at me with a concerned expression. “Was everything okay, Gretchen?”

I realize my face must look like I just ate a dill pickle, so I force a big smile. “Hey, it was better than okay, Henry. It was fantastic.”

He points to my unfinished food. “But you didn’t clean your plate.”

“Trust me, I’m stuffed.” Then I introduce Henry to Noah.

“And I’m going to be a regular here too,” Noah promises. “It’s great having a place in town that caters to something besides all that health-crazed California cuisine.”

Henry laughs. “My thoughts exactly. Although, just so you know, I do have some heart-healthy choices on the menu as well. Including a buffalo burger with really low cholesterol.”

“Seriously?” I say. “My dad just had bypass heart surgery, and he loves an occasional burger. He’ll be stoked.”

“Why don’t you take him a menu?” suggests Henry. “I have some to-go ones by the door.”

“I’ll do that. Dad was envious that I was coming here tonight,” I admit. “He wondered if you do takeout or delivery.”

“We do takeout, and I’m considering delivery.”

“Great. And I’ll take the check whenever it’s ready,” I tell him. He looks mildly surprised, but I tell him it was a prearranged agreement.

“Yeah, we had a deal,” says Noah, winking at me.

“Unless you want dessert,” I offer. “I’m not trying to rush you.”

“Yes, we do have a tempting dessert menu,” says Henry.

Noah leans back and pats his stomach. “Not this time.”

After I pay the bill, Noah walks me across the street to Dad’s pickup and thanks me for dinner.

“And thank you for sharing your story,” I say. “I’m sorry if I acted like I didn’t appreciate it at the end.”

“And my apologies if I came on too strong. Some of my friends have accused me of wanting to become a preacher, which I honestly have no interest in.”

I teasingly shake my finger at him. “Never say no to God.”

“You too.”

“Right … and I’ll admit that the idea of trusting God with all this house business sounds good. I’m just not quite there yet.”

He grins. “Well, God has amazing ways of getting us places.”

I roll my eyes as I imagine God taking me through a variety of trials similar to what Noah experienced. “Okay, that’s a scary concept.”

Noah laughs, then looks at me more seriously. “By the way, I was going to say something earlier. But before I forget, you look really pretty tonight, Gretchen.”

I give him what probably looks like an embarrassed smile, and my cheeks grow warmer. “Oh, that was Holly’s doing. She came by my apartment to pick something up, and, well, she’s kind of a fashion freak. Anyway, before I knew what hit me, Holly gave me a mini-makeover.”

He just nods. “Well, you look great, but don’t get me wrong. I happen to think you look great in your working overalls too.”

I feel my whole face getting hot now. This is more than I want to hear. And yet I’m loving it! Really, what is up with me? But I simply tell him that I better get home. “In fact, I’ll bet Holly left my closet door open. For all I know Riley might be polishing off one of my favorite shoes right this minute.”

As I drive home, I try not to think too hard about this evening. Certainly it was sweet of Noah to share his story with me. But hearing all about his personal life, his relationship with Camille—well, it was almost an informational, or maybe an emotional, overload. I don’t think I was ready for it.

I decide to just shove it all aside for the time being. Like Riley with a bone, I’ll just bury it somewhere. Then I turn on Dad’s radio and am not surprised to find that it’s tuned to his favorite country-western station, the kind that plays tunes going clear back to the fifties. Even so, I leave it on and listen as some old cowboy croons
out one of those you-done-me-wrong kind of songs. And even though I’m not normally a country music fan, this one has some rather interesting lyrics. I think it sums up Noah’s experiences with Camille just about perfectly. And then I feel irritated to realize that, despite my resolve, I am thinking about Noah again.

H
ello there,” calls a petite brunette who is, Im guessing, about my age. I’m beginning to unload the pickup when she and a little boy approach me from across the street with a plate of something. “I’m so glad you bought this house,” she says. “And I just want to welcome you to the neighborhood. I’m Jenna Stein, and this is Cory.”

“Thank you,” I say, staring at what appear to be homemade oatmeal cookies. It’s nearly two, and because I was crazily running errands the past couple of hours, I forgot to take a lunch break. And right now my mouth is watering so much that I’m afraid I’m about to imitate one of Riley’s long drools. “I’m Gretchen Hanover.”

“Nice to meet you.” She shakes her head with disgust. “I’m sure the house was as nasty inside as out. I mean, the other neighbors were total pigs.”

“Yeah, it was pretty bad,” I say as we continue up to the front door together. I’m hoping she doesn’t want to come inside for a tour—not that there’s much to see, but there is much to do. Already it’s Thursday of the third week, and I’m seriously behind schedule.

“Is that your husband’s construction company?” she asks, nodding to Dad’s pickup. “Hanover Construction? Because we’re looking for someone to do some remodeling in our—”

“No,” I say quickly. “That’s actually my dads truck. He’s a retired contractor. And he had a heart attack recently. I’m just borrowing the truck while he’s recuperating.”

“Oh yes, I heard that an ambulance was here. I was at Cory’s school that day. Im sorry about your father. Is he doing okay?”

I pause by the front door, quickly explaining his surgery and that he gets released from the hospital tomorrow. I’m trying not to show my impatience; she seems really nice, and I don’t want to be rude.

“Oh, that’s good. And I’m sure it must be handy having two pickups during your remodel.” She smiles and hands the plate of cookies to me. “I made these this morning while it was still cool. Anyway, we’re just so thrilled to finally have some good neighbors. Did you know that a lot of people on this street sold their homes just to get away from the family who lived here?”

“That’s too bad.” I open the door behind me, as in “Hint, hint, got work to do.”

“And their kids were really mean,” says Cory in a serious tone. “Jason pushed me off my bike one time.” I look at him sympathetically.

“Well, I’m hoping this will turn things around for our neighborhood now.” Jenna smiles happily. “Already I’m planning to do some landscaping in front, and maybe I’ll paint the exterior. Then, later on, if we can find a trustworthy contractor, I’d like to do some upgrades in the kitchen.” She peeks over my shoulder now. “Wow, you guys really are tearing into this place. I can’t wait to see how it looks when it’s done.”

“We’ll be having an open house,” I tell her. “You’re welcome to come.”

“Fantastic! Let me know what I can bring.”

Suddenly it occurs to me that she assumes I bought this house to live in. I’m about to set her straight, but she takes Cory by the hand and announces that she doesn’t want to be a pest and then waves and dashes back across the street to the yellow house that actually does need a paint job. Oh well. I’ll have to clarify later.

“Who was that?” asks Noah as he emerges from where he’s been putting down the subflooring in the bathroom.

“A neighbor named Jenna,” I tell him, holding out the plate of cookies. “Help yourself.”

“Nice neighbor.” He grins and takes a cookie.

“Yeah. But I think I gave her the wrong impression.”

“Huh?” He asks with a mouthful of cookie.

“Well, it seems she thinks I bought this house to live here. She’s really excited to have good’ neighbors.”

“Oh well,” he says, reaching for a second cookie. “Eventually they will have good neighbors, don’t you think?” He smacks his lips now. “Sure could use a cold glass of milk with these.”

“I don’t think milk would be too cold in that cooler,” I point out. “In fact, I was wondering about ordering the refrigerator so we could use it while we’re working here.”

“It might get pretty dusty with all the construction still to come.”

“I’m sure it would clean up just fine.”

He nods. “Yeah, that’s a good point. Does that mean you haven’t ordered the appliances yet?”

“No, should I have?”

His brow creases. “Depending on what you want, yeah. It’d be a
drag to get everything done and not have appliances in time for the open house.”

“That reminds me,” I say. “Dad got hold of the cabinet guy. He’s coming to measure tomorrow. Is there anything I should know?”

“It wouldn’t hurt for you to draw up a rough draft of what you’d like as far as the layout goes. Also, have the style of cabinet picked out. And the wood, of course. That’ll save time.”

So we go to the kitchen, and I describe what I have in mind as far as the L-shape and then an island. “And I want it to look contemporary but not cheap or flimsy,” I finally say. “And light. I don’t want any dark stain.”

He nods. “I suggest you keep it simple and maybe consider a pretty wood like maple. It’ll cost a little more, but since your design is simple, the total for the cabinets should even out.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “That sounds nice.”

“And how about the floors in the kitchen?”

“I’m not sure. On one hand, I just checked out some ceramic tile that might look nice here. And it was on sale too, but I also like the idea of hardwood throughout. Do you think that would be too much wood?” I’m surprised I’m asking for this much advice, especially after insisting this was my flip house. But it seems like after working with Noah these past several days, I’ve started to trust his judgment more. Probably even more than my own.

He studies the floors. “And you still want to take out these walls and open it up through here, right?”

“Definitely. Dad’s already secured a building permit so we can change the footprint. Don’t you think that would make it nicer?”

“Absolutely. But it will also take more time and cost more.”

“You have to spend money to make money,” I remind him.

“The problem will be matching the new wood to the original.”

I consider this. “Oh yeah, I hadn’t thought about that. Is it even possible?”

“All things are possible.”

“Oh, and I was thinking maybe I’d do carpets in the bedrooms,” I add. “At least the one with the really bad wood floors.”

He nods but looks unconvinced.

“You think I should leave the wood floors?”

“It’s your call, Gretchen. But it might save you a few bucks. And the floors in the other two bedrooms are in great shape.”

“And saving money is a good thing. I’ll only carpet the room with the questionable wood.” I don’t admit to him that the budget is already feeling strained or that I plan to put the appliances on my Home Depot project card because the Lowe’s card is already maxed out. And that will allow me to cover the added cost of the cabinets and roof.

“Did you get that wood I needed?” he asks now.

“It’s in the truck.”

“And your paint?”

“All ready to go.” I don’t tell him that I didn’t only get exterior paint but also a couple of gallons of interior paint, which I will use in the bedroom with the messed-up floors. The first part of my plan was to test if I like the looks of the exterior color, a nice sage. But the second part was to get the bedroom fixed up enough so I can have a place to camp while working on the house. I figure that once Dad goes home tomorrow afternoon, I will be torn between two houses, and since this place is closer to Dad’s than my apartment, I might as
well spend nights here. That way I can work whenever I want to … or whenever I have the energy. And I’m sure Riley will like it too. He thinks it’s great having a big backyard all to himself.

Together, Noah and I unload the wood and paint and supplies from the back of the pickup. Then he asks me about the power washer, and I explain that I reserved it but needed to unload the wood and stuff to have room for it. “I’m heading back to the rental place to pick it up right now.”

“Maybe you should wait until tomorrow,” he suggests, “since today is mostly used up anyway.”

“Nope,” I tell him as I pull out my keys. “I’m going to wash the house until it’s too dark to see, and then I’ll start again first thing in the morning. I’ll return the power washer around noon and then pick up Dad. My goal is to have the house all ready to paint, or almost, before I bring Dad home from the hospital.”

Noah just shakes his head. “You’re one hard-working woman, Gretchen Hanover.”

“Or maybe I’m just desperate.”

“Hey, you could start a new TV series called
Desperate House Flippers.”

I laugh and wave at him as I hop in the cab of the pickup and start it up. I can guess what he’s thinking. He’s said it already a couple of times when I’ve rejected offers to get a bite to eat or take any other kind of a break. “All work and no play makes Gretchen a dull girl.” What Noah doesn’t realize is that I’m keeping this distance between us on purpose. We have a good working relationship, and I don’t want to mess with it. And if I was being honest, I’d have to admit that he makes me uncomfortable too. Not that he does anything
wrong exactly. Maybe that’s the problem; he does too many things right. He’s the kind of guy that a girl like me could fall for. Well, other than the divorced thing … and having a ready-made family. That’s a scenario I have always wanted to avoid.

But despite what I try to convince myself are his “handicaps,” I have a feeling I could fall for a guy like Noah. And the problem is that I feel ninety-nine point nine percent certain that he is the kind of guy who could never fall for a girl like me. Sure, he can pal around with me, joke with me, work with me, and share a soda and a few laughs. I’m sure I could be just like a kid sister to him. But that’s where it stops. Because I suddenly feel that Noah is way out of my league, and if it weren’t for Dad, he wouldn’t be involved in this remodel at all. If anything, it’s simply an act of mercy and goodwill. And for those reasons—call it preservation of the heart or just plain cowardice—I am keeping a safe distance.

You cannot afford a broken heart right now
, I tell myself as I drive back to the rental store. And this is true on so many levels. For starters, I need to stay focused on the house renovation. No distractions. But besides that, I know how derailed I could get with a broken heart. Good grief, it took me more than a year to recover from Collin, and some people think it took longer than that. And he wasn’t even the first to break my heart. Normally I don’t allow myself to dwell on these previous and completely depressing episodes of my life. But if it helps me avoid another mistake, it might be worth the agony.

So as I drive down Main Street, my mind meanders back to my college days. That might be more than ten years ago, but the pain is still fairly vivid. I’d been dating Brian since the beginning of my
sophomore year, and I honestly thought he was the one—the God-chosen one—and I was fairly certain he felt the same way about me. In fact, he even said as much. But then, midway through our senior year, he met a girl named Amy. Shortly after that, Brian and I became history. Just like that. To distract myself from my aching heart, I put what energy I had left into my classes, which resulted in nearly straight As. But my social life, from the breakup until graduation, was pretty much nonexistent. I would attend class, then return to my dorm room. Study, sleep, and eat—that was my bleak little life. I attended church randomly, but I totally gave up the college group since I felt pretty sure that Brian and Amy would be there.

“Is that enough self-torture?” I ask myself as I pull into the rental place. “Just get over it, Gretchen. Move on. Focus on your house. And quit talking to yourself!” As I get out of the pickup, I notice a woman sitting in the passenger side of the car next to me, and she’s staring. I think she even locked her doors, but as I get out, I simply smile at her and act like it’s perfectly normal to converse with myself like this. Too bad I’m not wearing a headset.

I sign the paperwork for the power washer, get talked into purchasing some protective eyewear, then listen to some safety tips and general instructions as the guys load the machine into the back of the pickup. This time, as I drive through town, I crank up the radio. It’s still tuned to Dad’s favorite country-western station, and I’m wondering if I might not become a serious fan by the time the remodel is complete. Already I’m starting to recognize the artists and their songs. But it’s preferable to babbling at myself or dwelling on my less-than-illustrious romantic history.

When I get to the house, I go directly to the backyard for the
hose but am surprised to see that little Kirsten is back there, casually tossing a tennis ball for Riley, who totally ignores me as he takes off to chase it.

“Hey,” I say to her. “What are you doing here?”

“My mom dumped me,” she says as she pries the soggy brown tennis ball from Riley’s mouth and throws it again. As always, she’s dressed impeccably, looking like Little Miss Fashion in a pale blue denim vest and matching ruffled skirt. And I can see by the emblem on the sleeve of the white T-shirt underneath that it’s actually a Ralph Lauren outfit and, I’m guessing, fairly expensive. And it figures that she has on what were probably once white canvas shoes but which now look more like the color of this backyard: dirt brown. But I don’t mention this fact, because I can tell she’s having fun with Riley. And he’s certainly enjoying her company.