Chapter Eight
Ben
Things were turning around. In a stroke of unbelievable luck, I’d had so many people call me asking about the house, that I decided to host the open house sooner rather than later. The woman who’d just called seemed like she had real buyer potential, and I wanted to get this house sold as quickly as possible. The faster I moved it, the faster Ava would leave me in peace.
I had been planning to spend the afternoon in the office, but with the possibility of a tour tonight, my priorities shifted to getting the place cleaned up. Trying not to panic at the monumental task ahead, I dialed Charlie.
“Hey, what’s up?” Her voice sounded distant, like she had me on speakerphone.
“How busy are you?”
A rhythmic squeaking noise reminded me of a countertop being scrubbed. “I’m just finishing up a job. Why?”
“I’m in urgent need of a deep clean before a showing tonight. I will personally help you, and I’ll pay you a bonus.”
The squeaking stopped. “I already have a full day, Ben.”
“When will you be finished?” I could get started packing boxes. That was going to take hours anyway.
“I’ll be done around four, but that’s a full day for me. I’m not even taking lunch.”
“If you come here at four, I will pay you double for the hours and I’ll have dinner waiting. You like spaghetti, right?”
She sighed loudly. “What’s the address?” she asked in a voice that told me I’d gotten her.
“It’s the Van Kamp house on Main. Thank you, Charlie, you’re the best.”
“There’d better be breadsticks,” she threatened.
“I will provide all the carbs I can find,” I promised.
She hung up, and I headed straight to the store to pick up a stack of packing boxes and a bottle of merlot. If I was going to spend the day cleaning out Grandma’s house, I was sure as hell going to spend the evening having some wine. It seemed the appropriate drink for processing the day and working through all the memories that would no doubt get dredged up.
The wine would have to wait until after the tour, though. Not only did I want to be sharp for it, I also knew that Charlie couldn’t stand alcohol and the last thing I wanted to do was upset the woman doing me a favor.
After placing an order at Rossi’s for a spaghetti feast to be delivered at four, I took a deep breath and an armload of collapsed boxes and walked into Grandma’s house, prepared to spend the day fighting the ghosts of the past.
I’d been packing boxes full of dusty memories for over three hours when first the spaghetti, then Charlie, arrived at the house. Liam was supposed to come by after work to pick up a load of boxes and take them to my place until I figured out what Mom wanted me to do with them. We wanted to keep Mom out of the process for at least a few days, so I’d give her a beat before I asked her.
I managed to wipe down Grandma’s massive dining table—the one that used to seat three generations at every holiday party—and set up our carbalicious feast before Charlie dropped by just after four.
“How long do we have?” she asked, dishing a generous helping of pasta onto one of the paper plates and grabbing three breadsticks.
I shot her a skeptical look, because there was no way someone as tiny as she was could put away a meal that size.
“I’ve burned like five hundred calories today hauling ass so I can get here to help you and do more manual labor. Trust me, I’ll be fine.”
“No judgment here,” I assured her, dishing a similarly outrageous amount just to prove my point. “I just don’t understand how that’s even going to fit in your stomach.”
“Prepare to be amazed.” She grinned maniacally before slurping up the world’s messiest bite of spaghetti.
Shaking my head with a smile, I loaded up my own bite, twirling the saucy noodles around a plastic fork. “We only have until seven,” I admitted. “I was going to work until it was done or I was out of time, though I don’t expect you to stay all night.”
She set down her fork, taking a good, long look around the room. “This place is massive. If I had a whole day, maybe. We can deep clean a few rooms or we can speed clean all of them. I may be amazing, but I’m not magical.”
“Speed clean it is, then.”
Charlie wasn’t exaggerating when she said she was amazing, though I’d known it for years now. The way she managed to devour her dinner and then clean for three hours definitely bordered on magical. After eating all that pasta, I would have preferred a nap to more cleaning.
We didn’t talk much while we worked, focusing hard and moving fast. Thankfully, that meant the memories that came up didn’t get the opportunity to linger as I hustled around. Maybe that meant I was past the worst of them.
At quarter to seven, I glanced at my watch and realized I’d lost track of time.
“Charlie!” I called, wandering out of the bedroom I’d been dusting to find her polishing the handrail on the main staircase.
“Yep?” She didn’t look up as she continued working.
Everyone could take a page from Charlie’s work ethics book.
“Time’s up. How long will it take to shut this down quickly?”
She did stop then. “I can be outta here in ten minutes.”
I sent her a payment through PayPal while she gathered her supplies and headed out, saluting me as she pulled the door shut behind her. I didn’t know what I’d do without Charlie.
A year younger than me, we were in high school together, but we ran in different circles. As a teen, Charlie had always seemed something of a beautiful disaster to me—disorganized, always late, always forgetting something, kind of moody, that sort of thing. Once I started using her cleaning service, I managed to collect a smattering of off-handed comments that finally put some context in place.
She didn’t get along with her mom. She never mentioned her dad. She applied to be emancipated at sixteen but was denied. In high school the gossip was that she left her house for days at a time with alarming frequency, but after getting to know her a bit better through several years of business dealings, I’d lay down money that she had a damn good reason for getting away.
An upstanding business woman and a phenomenal cleaner who really took pride in her work, I had nothing but respect for Charlie and gratitude for her continued tolerance of my last-minute pleas for help.
As I stood at the foot of the two-story winding staircase waiting for my client to arrive, I checked my phone. Then I sighed in relief.
No messages, calls, or even emails from Ava. Maybe she’d finally gotten the message.
The door knocker clanged loudly right at seven o’clock. Opening the door, I couldn’t hide my surprise. It was my old buddy Travis’s mom.
“Mrs. Beatty?”
“Ben,” she greeted me, inclining her head and shifting her walker. “Were you going to invite me in or leave me on the front step?”
Hurrying to rectify my blunder, I stepped aside and opened the door further. “Of course, come in. Please.” I offered her my arm as she navigated the step up into the foyer.
She inhaled sharply, taking in the newly-spotless entry. “I used to come here.” Her voice held a reverence that only accompanied deep memories. “Years ago now.”
Then it hit me. She didn’t really want to buy the place. She needed to see it again. It hurt a bit that she didn’t think she could simply ask me, but we hadn’t spoken in a long time. Even though I was disappointed that this wasn’t going to be a sale, I was human. I understood the value some people found in traversing their pasts. It wasn’t something I enjoyed, but I could see the emotion bubbling beneath the surface of Mrs. Beatty’s discerning gaze.
Offering her my arm again, I stood beside her. “Let’s have a look around.”