A Mile in My Flip-Flops (18 page)

“I hope you don’t mind,” Noah calls from the opened laundry-room window. “I had no idea Kirsten was coming to visit today. Camille called on her way to, well, somewhere and then just, uh… dropped her off here.”

I can tell he was about to say “dumped” too but stopped himself. “No, that’s fine,” I assure him. “She’s more than welcome.”

He grins at his daughter now. “Not that I mind having you around, princess. I’m always happy to see my best girl.”

“I’m going to start power washing the house,” I tell him as I flick a dry piece of paint off the siding with my fingernail. “I guess I’ll start in front so Kirsten and Riley can keep playing back here.”

“Or they can come inside and hang with me,” offers Noah. I’m thankful the stink that permeated this house has now completely lifted.

“No, that’s okay.” I gather up the hose, attempting to gracefully coil it, but it’s like wrestling with a stubborn snake. “I think I’d rather start in the front anyway.”

“Camille promised it would only be a couple of hours.”

“No problem.” I wink at Kirsten, who seems to be enjoying my little hose-wrestling act. “You’re making that dog one happy camper.”

She nods as if she knows this, then turns and throws the ball again.

By the time I’m out front, Noah is already unloading the power washer. “Hey, let me help you,” I call as I run over to assist. Then together we hoist the heavy machine down onto the driveway.

“Have you ever done this before?” he asks.

“No, but it looks simple enough.”

He nods, but I can tell by his eyes that he thinks otherwise. “What?” I demand.

“Nothing.” He turns and walks toward the house, and I’m feeling almost proud of him for holding back what I’m sure is a lecture. “I’ll be inside if you need anything.”

“Thanks.” I turn my full attention to this somewhat formidable machine. The rental-store guys warned me that, although it’s only water, the force is powerful, so I should take it seriously. I carefully attach the hose to the machine and turn on the water. Then I put on my safety goggles, and with the wand safely in hand, I cautiously turn on the machine. It’s fairly loud, a reminder of it’s power, but after a couple of practice tries where I spray the foundation and am surprised to see how the darkened cement instantly lightens, I feel I am ready to start.

My plan is to begin at the top and work my way down, but as I
aim the wand at the overhead soffits, I realize this is one messy job. Wet paint chips and dirt and debris fly everywhere, and within minutes I am soaked and covered with chunks of gunky paint and dead bugs. Nasty stuff. But as I move down to the top plank of lap siding, I know it’ll be well worth the mess. I will be saving myself lots of time in prep work, and as I move slowly across the front of the house, my confidence grows. Although the house looks uglier than ever with various coats of old paint exposed and even some bare wood in places, I imagine that final coat of sage green paint and neat taupe trim. And I know that it’s going to be gorgeous.

The only problem is some of the overgrown shrubbery around the house. I wish I’d thought to remove some of it before I started this. It’s not easy working around it, and as I fight with it, trying to pull it back as I wash the siding, I feel like the bushes might be winning the battle. I’m in a particularly precarious position, standing with one foot on the stepladder and the other balancing myself against the house as I pull back a boxwood and attempt to spray behind it, when I hear Kirsten yelling.

“Help, Gretchen!” she screams.

Alarmed, I turn just in time to see Riley darting across the front yard, headed for the street, with Kirsten trailing behind him.

S
top!” I yell at both of them. But as I say this, the stepladder tips away from the house, and to avoid doing the splits over shrubbery and having a painful landing, I toss the wand aside and make a giant leap backward, which lands me on my rump on the ground. That’s when I realize that the wand has a branch of shrubbery wedged in the trigger. And it starts flipping around like a wounded snake as it sprays it’s powerful jet of water in all directions.

Miraculously, both Riley and Kirsten obeyed my command to stop and are standing frozen in the front yard, just a few feet away, watching this strange spectacle. Before I can warn them to run for Safety, the wand flips over and shoots into the dirt, deflecting grimy water like a mud shower all over the two of them. Riley takes off toward the house, and Kirsten, holding her hands over her face, lets out a loud shriek as I jump between the wand and her, using my body to shield her from the onslaught of more dirty water. “Run!” I yell at Kirsten as I leap for the wildly flipping wand. I finally manage to snag it and aim it back at the siding of the house as I pry out the branch that’s stuck in the trigger. But before I get it free, the noisy engine stops, and I turn to see that Noah has flipped the switch.

I drop the wand and go over to Kirsten, who is standing with Riley near the front door, to assess the damage. Riley, who is naturally
brown, doesn’t look too bad, although he needs a good bath. But Kirsten is a mess.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell her as I kneel down and use the moderately clean underside hem of my soggy T-shirt to wipe her face and around her eyes. To my relief, she’s not crying, but she’s looking at her ruined outfit with dismay.

“Mom told me not to get dirty.”

Noah is actually chuckling now, which I find slightly insensitive, and I give him a look to suggest as much. Then I turn back to Kirsten. “I know it won’t help much, but let’s get you inside and see if we can clean you up some.”

She just nods and allows me to lead her into the bathroom that still has a functioning bathtub. There I do what I can, which isn’t much, to clean her up. We wash her face and hands and hair as best we can. But when we come out, she is still a mess … and wet.

“Maybe if you sit in the sun,” I suggest as we go outside to find Noah digging through his truck.

“I thought I might have a clean shirt in here that Kirsten could wear,” he says as he comes back empty handed, “but no such luck. Sorry, princess.”

“I could run to town and buy her something,” I offer, but then I see him looking past me with a deep frown.

“Too late,” he says, nodding to a white convertible sports car coming down the street toward us.

“Here comes Mom,” says Kirsten with worried eyes.

And before we can say or do anything, the sleek white car pulls in front of the house, and a tall, gorgeous blonde gets out and then stares at the three of us as if she’s witnessing the remains of a train wreck.

“What happened?” she demands as she hurries to Kirsten. Camille has on a short white skirt that makes her legs seem to go forever and a pale pink polo shirt that’s rather formfitting. Her hair, tied with a pink and white scarf, is in a long, perfect ponytail that slides over her shoulder as she leans forward to examine her daughter more closely, although it’s obvious she’s being careful not to get too close.

“There was a little accident with the spray gun,” explains Noah.

Now Camille stands up straight, looking directly at Noah, and I notice they’re about the same height. And, with perfectly made-up eyes, she glares at him without saying a word. But I know she is seething.

“There’s no reason to get upset, Camille.” He calmly folds his arms across his chest.

“I should’ve known you’d ruin my day,” she says evenly. “I cannot even leave Kirsten with you for a few minutes without having all—”

“This is a construction site,” he points out. “And that was more than a few minutes. Plus, if you want me to have Kirsten here with me, you need to send her in the appropriate clothes.”

“Appropriate clothes for what?” she demands haughtily. “What did you do to her? Roll her in the mud? Or perhaps you sent her out to play with the pigs? Or to clean out the—”

“It’s really my fault,” I interrupt. “I was power washing the house, and I—”

“This is not your problem.” She turns as if just noticing I’m here and peers at me with a narrow-eyed look that’s either pity or disgust—I’m not sure I even want to know. “But thank you anyway.”

“This is Gretchen,” says Noah, ignoring his ex’s bad manners. “She’s the homeowner, and her dad is a friend, and we—”

“Whatever.” Camille turns back to Kirsten now. “Let’s go!” She starts to take her daughter by the hand, then pulls her own hand back as if she’s afraid to even touch her. Halfway to the car, Camille abruptly stops. “Wait, Kirsten. Don’t get in yet.” Now Camille turns and looks at Noah with what seems like disgust. “Good grief, Noah, you could at least give us something for her to sit on so she doesn’t ruin the leather upholstery of my Mercedes.”

“I was just looking for a T-shirt,” he says, “but I don’t seem to have any—”

“There’s a towel in the bathroom,” I suggest, then remember that I used it on Kirsten, so it’s pretty muddy now too. “Or how about a nice clean drop cloth?” I suggest, trying to be cheerful for Kirstens sake. Right now her big blue eyes remind me of a scolded puppy that got caught rolling in the dirt. “I just got some at the paint store, and I could—”

“Just get it,
please,”
she commands. I sense Noah’s eyes on me as I hurry to the pickup, and I suspect he feels somewhat responsible for his ex’s deplorable lack of manners. I dig around the backseat where the drop cloths are stowed along with paintbrushes, masking tape, and various other supplies. I finally find a package, which I open and shake out as I walk back to where Camille is standing by the car with a very impatient expression. “Here you—”

“Thank you very much!” She snatches the white cloth and wraps it like a robe around Kirsten. Then she helps her into the passenger seat, carefully buckling the seat belt around the folds of the drop cloth, I’m sure more to protect the seat belt than to protect her daughter. I make a little wave to Kirsten, smiling apologetically. I won’t blame the poor thing if she never speaks to me again. And,
okay, I know I’m staring as Camille struts around to the other side, gets in her fancy car, slams the door, and without even glancing back at us, noisily guns her engine, then shoots off down the street. I watch in stunned silence as she drives much too fast in the twenty-five-mile-per-hour zone, past sidewalks where children often skateboard or ride bikes. A word, beginning with the letter
b
, pops into my head as I watch that white convertible zip away. “I’m sorry,” says Noah.

I turn and see his disappointed expression. “I’m sorry too.” To be honest, I’m not sure what I’m most sorry about. But I am definitely sorry.

“She’s not always that bad,” he says sadly.

“Well, I pretty much trashed her daughter,” I admit. “I’m really sorry about that, Noah.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says. “I told Kirsten to stay out of the front yard.”

“She said Riley got out the front door, and she was trying to stop him,” I say, replaying the explanation that Kirsten gave me as I attempted to clean her off in the bathtub. “She was sorry too.”

“Even so…” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, then just shakes his head hopelessly.

Now, despite everything, I begin to see the humor in this, and although I try not to, I start to giggle.

“What?” He looks curiously at me.

“Oh, I’m sorry… I just keep seeing the shock on Camille’s face, like she was about to faint when she saw Kirsten. I thought she was literally going to blow up, you know, like a cartoon character that splatters all over the TV screen…or maybe we were going to see
steam shooting out of her nostrils and ears.” I burst out laughing now. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so angry and yet attempting to remain somewhat cool and controlled at the same time.”

Noah starts to chuckle now. “And when she looked at you, Gretchen—” A loud snort of laughter explodes from him. “She just had this totally appalled expression, like some prissy old lady who stepped in a pile of—”

“You can’t really blame her,” I gasp, laughing even harder as I look down at my soggy, sodden overalls and realize how truly disgusting I must look. I point my finger at Noah. “Your ex probably thinks you’ve really gone to the dogs, Noah.”

He reaches over and gently pulls a twig from my hair, his blue eyes twinkling. “Well, that figures. Camille never was a very good judge of character.”

Feeling flushed, I don’t know how to respond … so I don’t. “Well, umm, I better go finish up my mess,” I say, turning away and returning to the wand with the stuck trigger. I finally manage to dislodge the branch, and before long I’m back at it again. I still plan to work until dark. As long as I’m already a mess, I might as well get as much done as possible.

After a while Noah comes out and waves good-bye. It’s hard to hear his voice over the noise of the power washer, but I think he’s saying that he’ll see me tomorrow. I just nod, then turn my attention back to the siding. I actually think I’m getting pretty good at this. But by seven, I’m tired. I’m also concerned that the noisy engine might be disturbing the neighbors, so I decide to call it a day.

Riley is in the backyard, and to my surprise he’s clean. I run my hand over his damp coat and realize that he, unlike me, has been
recently bathed. I figure this must be Noah’s doing, and I am very appreciative. So I give Riley fresh water and a bowl of food and promise to be back in an hour or so. I hurry home, where I take a long, warm shower, put on a clean set of work clothes, and then lug several loads of things, including an air bed that’s still in it’s box, down to the pickup. My plan is to get that one bedroom set up so I can spend the night. It’ll be very campy, but at least I’ll be at the house and ready to get back to power washing in the morning.

Although I’ve been trying to eat more healthfully, I’m starving, so I pick up fast food along the way and eat most of it before I even get there. And maybe it was a smart choice, because by the time I’ve unloaded the pickup, I feel like I’ve gotten a second wind. So I decide to try out the new paint color in the bedroom. I put a Norah Jones CD into the player and begin to paint. I have always liked to paint. Dad taught me the right way to do it when I was fourteen and tired of living in a bedroom with ballerina pink walls. I changed those walls from pink to bright orange, which was awful, and finally to a soft periwinkle blue, which remained there until Dad sold the house while I was in college. But whenever anyone needs help with painting, I’m always quick to volunteer. I love cutting in around baseboards and then filling the roller with paint and evenly rolling it on. I find the whole process soothing. It’s like I’m in control.

But by 1:30 a.m., when I finally finish the room, I am beat, and although I had originally planned to set up my bed in there, I decide that sleeping in those paint fumes might not be the best idea. In fact, I begin to wonder if it was a very good idea to spend the night here in the first place. For one thing there are no window coverings, so it’s like I’m walking around in a fishbowl. Also, there is no shower. Only
a very dirty tub. But I’m too tired to pack it up and go home. So I set up the air bed in a different bedroom and nail a drop cloth over the window for a curtain. Then I bring in Riley and his bed, and before long we are tucked in. And thanks to complete and utter exhaustion, I quickly fall asleep.

I awake to the sound of my dog barking. It takes me a couple of minutes to get my bearings, and when I check my watch, I see it’s not even six, and yet Riley seems ready to go. Still wearing my sleeping shorts and a flimsy camisole, I slip on my flip-flops and go to the bathroom, where to my surprise I find Noah just strapping on his tool belt, like he’s all ready to go to work.

“Whoa!” I literally jump, then turn around and dash back to the bedroom, where I quickly dress in my work clothes.

“Sorry to startle you,” Noah calls from the hallway. “But I told you I was coming early today, and I’ll be leaving early this afternoon too.”