A Mile in My Flip-Flops (21 page)

Then I was so pleased with my progress and since it was only ten o’clock, I attacked the ceiling in the second bedroom. Probably a mistake. Anyway, it’s two in the morning, so I decide to stop, and I quickly realize I’ll be forced to shower in the nasty bathtub with no shower curtain. So I tape up one of the plastic drop cloths, and as I clean myself up for the second time today, I consider writing a handyman’s guide titled
150 Ways to Use Drop Cloths
.

I feel slightly guilty for missing church the next morning, but besides not having any clean or proper clothes at this house, I didn’t wake up in time. I make a pot of coffee in the bathroom, which is admittedly a gross place to make coffee, then walk around my sorry-looking house sipping coffee as I
assess
what seems like an impossible mountain to climb. To make myself feel better, I go out in the backyard with Riley, but unfortunately it’s not terribly encouraging either. Not that he minds as I toss his ball for him. I’m sure he’d be happy to spend the rest of his days here. Not only does he have a big backyard to romp in, he gets to sleep with me every night. What dog can beat this setup?

I move the rug and furnishings from my makeshift boudoir to the most finished room, complete with a clean ceiling and painted walls. I consider attacking the ceiling in the last bedroom and actually get the room all draped and ready to go, but for some reason I cannot force myself to take it on. Maybe it’s because my coveralls are still outside drying from last night, and anyway it’ll soon be time to go check on Dad and make his lunch.

So, feeling somewhat useless, I pick up a sledgehammer and start whacking on the living room wall that I want removed. Admittedly, I’m not sure this is the wisest thing to do, but it does relieve some stress, and I’ve seen people do this countless times on TV. The main thing is to avoid hitting the studs since this is a load-bearing wall, and I don’t want the whole house falling down on my head. Or do I?

I’m swinging hard and wishing I was more comfortable using swearwords since the idea of being stuck in this flip house for three more weeks, if not the entire summer, is making me seriously angry. Suddenly I hit something that makes a loud pop, and the electricity cuts out. I know this because my CD player stops playing Corrine Bailey Rae, and the work light that’s been illuminating this wall goes dark. I peek into the hole that I just smacked open to see that I’ve managed to hit some wiring. Great. Call in the electricians. While we’re at it, why not call in the wrecking ball or the guys with dynamite? I am hopeless. I drop the sledgehammer with a thud, whistle for Riley, get my purse, and leave. What in the world made me think I could take on something like this? Am I losing it?

Dad and I are both quiet as we sit down to eat the lunch I fixed. He doesn’t inquire how the work is going, and I don’t bring it up.
Maybe this is our new don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy. Whatever. It works for me.

Then, as Im cleaning up, I realize how selfish I’m being. I haven’t even asked how he’s feeling. For all I know he could be having heart pains and doesn’t want me to know. What kind of nurse am I?

“So, Dad,” I say as I set a fresh glass of lemonade on the end table next to his recliner, “how are you feeling?”

“Useless.”

I sit down across from him on the sofa now. “Dad, you are not useless.”

He shakes his head. “I was thinking about the Eskimos.”

“Eskimos?”

“The way they put their elders out on an iceberg when they’re too old to work. I was thinking you ought to do that with me.”

I actually laugh at this. “Well, admittedly, it is pretty hot out there, and an iceberg sounds kind of refreshing. But they’re a little hard to come by around here, Dad.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Dad,” I give him a stern look. “You are useful. Good grief, it’s just one week since you had heart surgery, and you’re home and—”

“And being nursed by you.” He sighs. “And I know you need to be at that house. Confounded house. I wish we’d never done this.”

“Me too.”

Now Dad looks up at me with surprise. “You too?”

I nod sadly. “I think it’s hopeless.”

“Oh, now, well, okay, I’m sorry… It’s not hopeless, Gretchen.”

Tears are starting to come now. “Yes, it is, Dad.” Then I confess how I just knocked out the electricity.

“Oh, that’s nothing.” Then he gets a concerned look. “But you did turn off the circuit breakers, didn’t you?”

“Circuit breakers?”

“Well, shoot.”

“What?”

“If you’ve got broken wiring in the wall, you better get back over there and turn the power off.”

“Turn the power off?” I frown. “How?”

“Switch … off … the … breakers.” His expression and slowly enunciated words might make one think he was addressing the village idiot. Maybe he is.

“I don’t even know where the breakers are. Or what they are.” I’m imagining waves breaking on the ocean now. The ocean… Wouldn’t that be nice?

“In the laundry room, Gretchen. By the back door. There’s a metal panel with switches inside. You might as well turn them all off until an electrician can come take a look.”

“Okay.”

“Better hurry.”

“Why?”

“We don’t want the place burning down, now do we?”

I consider this. My Karastan carpet is still in there. And Dad’s tools. Okay, maybe I don’t want it to burn to the ground. Not yet anyway. Of course, I do feel a little nervous when I hear the sound of sirens as I drive through town. It doesn’t help when I begin to imagine several fire engines parked along Lilac Lane, hoses spraying as they put out the inferno. Consequently I do drive a little faster. But when I get to the house, I’m relieved to see that it’s still standing.
At least I think I’m relieved. Then I wonder if we have any sort of insurance on it. Of course, I’m not actually considering torching the place; that would be illegal. But accidents do happen. My decision to become a house flipper is proof enough of that.

I
turn off the breakers like Dad has suggested, then attack that third bedroom ceiling. No electricity needed to scrape popcorn. After it’s done and the debris tossed out the window, I go ahead and paint the walls. And although I realize there’s still a lot of work left to complete these bedrooms, I think this is at least a start. I’m feeling a tiny bit more hopeful. Then, after a trip to the “usable” bathroom, I notice that the partially torn-out wall—the one that’s been damaged due to dry rot—actually abuts the largest bedroom. Suddenly I wonder if there’s any way to open that bathroom to the bedroom and create a master suite. I know from watching
House Flippers
that a master suite always increases the value of a home.

I walk back and forth from the bedroom to the bath, trying to figure this out, and finally I think it makes perfect sense. Instead of being a shared bath, like it’s been for decades, it could be closed off where the current door is, perhaps with room for a storage closet there, and then it could be opened up to the bedroom. Why not?

Since the electricity is already off, I wonder, what could it hurt to open that wall up a little? So I go for the sledgehammer. True, there’s a little voice in my head warning me to be careful … perhaps even call Dad. But he might be resting. And he could get all worried if he thinks I’m tearing the place down. Really, what could it hurt?
This isn’t even a load-bearing wall. The electricity is out. I look at where the sink used to be, the exposed pipes, and where the replacement sink will go. This bathroom did have double sinks with a long vanity. My plan is to replace this with a space-saving pedestal sink. That, combined with the extra storage where the door used to be, should provide plenty of space. Besides, I saw a gorgeous pedestal sink at Home Depot last week. And with the travertine tile that I plan to lay in here, it will be sleek and beautiful.

With this in mind, I take a swing up high, around where I think the top of the doorway should go. The Sheetrock breaks apart fairly easily, and to my relief nothing goes wrong. I swing again, making the hole go all the way through this time. Feeling more confident, I take a few more swings, and my excitement builds as I begin to see the bedroom through the opening. This is going to be great. I take another big swing and realize that something stopped the sledgehammer from going all the way through the wall. Then, as I pull it back, I see a squirt of water. I reach down to pull off the Sheetrock that’s hanging there, and suddenly that squirt of water becomes a spray.

I grab the dirty towel and shove it against a pipe I hadn’t noticed before, a now broken pipe, but the towel doesn’t help. Water is coming out fast. There must be a way to shut this off, but I don’t know how. I see some knobs and attempt to turn one of them, but this results in water coming out from a different pipe, so I quickly turn it the other way. Then I run outside, thinking there must be some place to shut all the water off. I’m sure I’ve seen this on HGTV. But I’m running around the yard, literally looking like a chicken with her head chopped off, when a guy from the yellow house across the street walks toward me.

“Anything wrong?”

“Yes!” I yell at him. “I broke a pipe inside, and I need to shut off the water.”

“If it’s like our house, it’ll be over here.” And he jogs over to the side of the house and hunts about in the shrubbery. “Here it is,” he calls. “I’ll shut it off.”

I look over his shoulder as he strains to turn a handle that’s in a box underground. “Does that shut off all the water?” I ask as he stands and wipes his hands on his denim shorts.

“Yep.” Then he sticks out a hand. “I’m Jeremy Stein.”

I wipe my brow, then shake his hand. “I’m Gretchen Hanover.”

“I know. My wife, Jenna, said she met you this week.”

“Oh yes. In fact, I should give you her plate. I’ve been meaning to return it, but it’s been kind of crazy with this remodel.”

“No problem,” he says. “We’re just so thankful that something’s actually being done about this place. The people who lived here before turned the house into a dump, which of course affected the value and even the morale of our neighborhood.” He stops there, maybe realizing the pressure he’s inadvertently adding to my shoulders. “Anyway, what color are you going to paint the house?”

“A sage green,” I say as we go inside. “Hopefully soon.”

“Jenna wants to paint ours blue, but I’m trying to talk her out of it. I think an earth tone would be better.”

“Earth tones are preferable for resale,” I point out, knowing that I sound like the narrator for
House Flippers
.

“Wow,” he says, looking around. “You’ve made some progress in here,” he says. Then he points at the wall that I beat up this morning. “Are you taking this out?”

“Yes. I want to open it up into the kitchen … like a great room.”

“That’s a good idea. I’d like to do that too. But aren’t you worried about this being a—what do you call it—a supporting wall?”

“You mean a load-bearing wall? Actually, it is. We’re going to support the house with beams.” I hand him the cookie plate. “Sorry. I would’ve washed the plate…” I wave to the barren kitchen. “But no dishwasher.”

“No kitchen,” he points out.

“Yes. New cabinets and appliances are coming soon.”

“Well, anyway, I hope that broken pipe isn’t too serious.”

“It’ll be okay,” I say, mostly to assure myself.

“I’m interested to see how the house looks when it’s done.”

“Come to our open house,” I offer. “Hopefully in about three weeks…”

“That soon?”

I sort of laugh as I walk him to the door. “That’s the plan, but it seems more like the impossible dream right now.”

“Well, good luck.”

“Thanks for helping me locate that shutoff.”

“No problem. I’m sure we’ll be running to you for some remodeling advice before long.”

I decide not to tell him that I won’t be around here by then. At least I hope not. But on the other hand, it’s kind of fun imagining what it would be like to live in a neighborhood like this, getting to know your neighbors, sharing cups of coffee, helping them fix up their houses. Maybe someday.

It’s time to go back to Dad’s now. And I’ll admit I’m feeling like a yo-yo. The possibility that I’d be caring for Dad
and
working on
the house never crossed my mind when I decided to do this flip. Of course, I should simply be thankful that Dad’s okay. Still, taking care of him requires time…and time seems to be getting scarcer and scarcer.

Since I won’t be returning to the house because of the pipe incident, I bring Riley with me. After fixing Dad dinner and cleaning up, I take Riley back to the apartment. I can tell he’s not too pleased with this arrangement. But I promise him that it’ll only be for a few days. “Just until we have water and electricity again.” I try not to beat myself up too much. I did what I thought was smart, and everyone makes mistakes, right? I decide the least I can do is make use of the evening by heading to Lowe’s to pick up a few things for tomorrow.

On my way to Lowe’s, I’m thinking about Noah. I don’t want to be thinking about him, but the fact is I have been missing him a lot this weekend. And I’ve been thinking about him more than I want to admit. Then I remember that horrible scene where I blasted his daughter with mud. That’s when I decide I must attempt to make it up to her. So I stop by Old Navy, where I pick up an adorable pair of overalls, a couple of T-shirts, and some flip-flops for her. Now if she ever comes to my house again, which I suppose is unlikely, she will at least have some “work” clothes to wear so we can protect her expensive designer clothes from further destruction. I also pick up a few things for myself. Work-type clothes, but with a little bit of style. And a new pair of lime green flip-flops that are on sale. Okay, it’s not exactly haute couture, but for work clothes…I think even Holly might approve.

Then I go to Lowe’s and do some serious shopping, picking out plumbing fixtures and faucets and even some carpeting for the one
bedroom with the bad wood floor, and I arrange to have it all delivered and installed by the end of the week. Then I go home to my stuffy little apartment and am relieved to sleep in my own bed.

The next morning Riley wakes me up bright and early. It’s as if he knows that we need to get out of here and over to the house. Or maybe his canine sense informed him that I want to beat Noah there this morning. I know I have some explaining to do about the lack of electricity and water, and I’m not looking forward to it.

Unfortunately, I discover that I’ll need to get up a lot earlier to beat Noah to work in the morning. His truck is already there. Feeling sheepish and in need of caffeine, I attempt to sneak into the house, but Riley races straight to where Noah is surveying the damage in the bathroom and gives me away.

“Looks like someone had fun this weekend,” Noah says as he emerges with a curious look.

“Yes. I sort of broke a pipe.”

“And the electricity?”

I jerk my thumb over my shoulder toward the living room. “I hit some wiring on that wall. Dad told me to shut the electricity off.”

“How is Hank?”

“Better every day.” Then I frown. “Well, except that he feels useless.”

“Useless?”

“He said I should put him on an iceberg.”

Noah laughs. “I’m sure it’s normal to feel like that after such a serious surgery. Maybe we can do something to make him feel useful.”

“What?”

“Oh, you know, just involve him more. Let him keep track of the subcontractors. Like when are the roofers—”

“Tomorrow.”

“Then you can ask him to track down a plumber and electrician.”

“Because of me?”

“Because you’ll
need
them soon. You need an electrician to install lights and move some of the wiring and a plumber to move some pipes and put in the plumbing fixtures.”

“What about the things I messed up? Do we need them to come out today?”

“I can temporarily fix that pipe. And show me the wiring. Maybe I can do something about that too.”

“Good,” I say, “because I’d really like to make some coffee.”

Noah takes a look at the damaged wiring and decides it can be temporarily fixed as well. “But call Hank and ask him to get the pros lined up to come in here and do these things right.”

Before long, Noah, true to his word, has both the water and electricity running, and feeling like I just won the lottery, I am making a pot of fresh, hot coffee. I take my coffee and a camp chair out to the back deck to sit in the dappled sun and watch Riley happily romping in the backyard like he just won the doggy lottery.

Then when Noah comes out, toting a camp chair and a cup of coffee, and asks if he can join me, I find myself thinking,
This is good. This is really, really good
.