Chapter 12
“I don’t think your daughter feeds her child,” I said to Jake on speakerphone later that morning.
“She runs a restaurant.”
“Not in her own house. There’s hardly anything to eat here.”
“By whose standards, yours or the federal government’s?” He would defend Lisa if she blew up a crowded factory on a lark and he owned it. “Jodi, not everyone packs their fridge until the cheese screams for more room.”
“My cheese has never screamed.” I paused, then changed the subject. “I ran today, but I accepted a ride home with Lisa’s neighbor.”
“Alison? Lisa rescued her business.”
“You knew that?” I said.
“We raised good people.”
“We did.”
“Jodi, Lisa called earlier this morning. You know that crumbling colonial that’s on her land near the restaurant?”
Was he about to suggest we renovate the colonial? Did he no longer understand whom he was married to, or had he lost his mind when he received the dismissal email? No way. Even if we relocated, I was not going to modernize a beat-up home—or live adjacent to Lisa’s business. He could take that plan and scrap it.
“Lisa wants to open an inn. Top notch. In association with the restaurant.”
“Hurray for Lisa!” I said, admiring her ambition.
“She asked if I’d be her partner.”
Yes. A great idea. Something for him to do. What was more, hotels were his area of expertise. It made a world of sense. Brilliant thinking, Lisa.
I loved my daughter for trying to help her father out of his funk. Yes, she could take on the project without his help, but she knew he’d want to invest. Jake and I were pleased to assist the kids financially, felt good that we had the ability to do it. Throughout our marriage, I tended to go along with whatever Jake suggested. We’d started our lives together that way. When we married, I was still in school, and like most men were back then, Jake was the top earner. He was a man, and he had a head start.
“It’s up to you, Jake,” I said.
“Yes. But listen to the rest of the idea. I’d be an active investor, overseeing the whole caboodle from design to marketing to opening day. Who knows more about lodging than me? Launching an inn would be interesting, validating—now that my pickleball career is over.”
Although Jake would be a stellar asset to any business, I’d bet my practice Lisa had broached the “let’s build an inn” idea for another reason: she cherished her father. I’m sure she had considered, even planned, an inn on the site before Jake’s forced retirement and demoralization. Then Lisa had slammed her foot on the gas because she knew it would mean so much to him.
“How perfect, Jake. You’d fly back and forth?”
“No, no. We would move to the Berkshires. Who knows where this will go? Another inn? A chain? Retirement is not for me. I need to be active. You’re there. Scope it out for us while Callie is at school.”
Had he even heard me when I said I didn’t want to move? Did he assume Lisa’s offer overruled my feelings? Lower the steam, Jodi. This isn’t a plot against you. This is Lisa trying to rescue her father.
I ruminated about the last time we had searched for a place to live. My biggest qualm about buying at the Flamingo in Boca Raton was the flamboyance of flamingos decorating the lobby of the building. In addition to flamingo wallpaper, there were statues of the birds next to all the fountains.
“What a turnoff. These flamingos bother me,” I had said.
“It’s Florida. What were you expecting—bald eagles?”
“I’m just not a flamingo person.”
We’d seen dozens of places with a stiff broker bathed in cologne, but Jake preferred the bird sanctuary. “How much time will we really spend in the lobby?”
And I had caved. Caving was my sideline.
This time around, he knew he hadn’t made the sale. “It would be a dream come true to work with Lisa.”
He had never mentioned that dream to me.
“To live where we have family,” he said.
“Jake, your sister lives in the next building.”
“She never invites us over.”
“She doesn’t invite us over because you’re not speaking to her,” I said.
“What kind of excuse is that? I saw a house online,” he said. “It’s in Great Barrington. We liked Great Barrington. Remember the weekends we spent there while visiting the kids at sleepaway camp? There’s a synagogue, a movie theater, ethnic restaurants. Bagel place as well. We’d be more suited to Great Barrington than Woodfield. Hold on for a moment, Jodi. I’m forwarding the picture and some information about the house.”
I held on, but I didn’t care if he sent a photo of a Beverly Hills estate, an entertainment mogul’s home suddenly in my price range. I was fond of the Berkshires, but I did not want to move. It had taken plenty of effort to resituate myself in Florida. I’d sacrificed my New York friends, a prestigious practice in SoHo. Not to mention all the Big Apple had to offer. What was more, if we had stayed in New York, Lisa and Macallan would now be a drive away. I could’ve visited anytime on a whim. I’d moved for Jake, and this would mean moving for Jake again. Maybe one day. Not now. Not for this reason. It wasn’t the Stone Age. My husband could partner with Lisa from Florida, telecommuting, flying in when necessary. The whole world seemed to be working from home.
Something else occurred to me. What if it turned out that Lisa and Jake were oil and water? They got along now. They loved each other, which was likely why Lisa pitched the idea in the first place. But being in business together would be an entirely different thing. On top of Jake’s pressure to move, I’d have to worry about whether Lisa and Jake, Inc., might mean the end of my family. I recalled Passover long ago—when Ivan the Terrible took future control of his mattress empire from Jake and divvied it up among all his children. Jake and Ivan didn’t speak for years, and it caused a lifetime of problems between Jake and his siblings.
But Jake wasn’t done with the bulldozing. He texted a picture of a large gray Cape with black trim and shutters set on an acre about a quarter mile from Great Barrington’s main street. It was pretty but old—did I mention I liked new? I had always said my ultimate house would be a new one. I did not want to live in a massive interior dust storm while waiting for the contractor to show up and finish the monthslong renovation.
“Jake, that house screams call a contractor.”
“When I’m not working on the inn with Lisa, my other project will be home restoration. I’ll be so busy in the Berkshires I’ll ditch my recliner.”
I was too concerned about his state of mind to say no way, not happening, so I came up with something else. “Jake, I’ve never chosen a place to live without you by my side.”
“I didn’t say buy it. I said look at it.”
Okay, so I tried. I’d have to turn to my last option—the truth. “I’m sorry. I’m not interested in that house or any other north of the Mason-Dixon Line.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” he said.
I was being ridiculous. Really? He was the one who turned down a golden parachute only to be fired within a year. And not that I ever hold a grudge for longer than a lifetime—but he should have told me about it. For crying out loud, I confessed when I overpaid for a pair of designer shoes.
“Look, Jake, it’s awful you got the axe after all these years, but you dug your own grave.” Way too nasty. Okay, so I got carried away.
Enraged, he said, “You see, Jodi, that’s why I never told you about the offer to retire. I don’t want to argue. Go see the house. We don’t have to relocate in one swoop. We can use it as our vacation home until you’re ready to sell your practice.”
Yes, I relished time spent with Macallan, enjoyed being part of Lisa’s life, but Jake was rushing me, standing behind me on a ledge, about to push me over a cliff. No way I was house hunting.
“Jake, get a grip. You are not fast-talking me into any of this. If you want to be partners with your daughter, that’s a perfect idea, but commute. See how it goes without me forfeiting my practice, my friends, everything, all prematurely.”
“Jodi, you could work in the Berkshires.”
“Jake, forget it. When I retire, I’m retiring. I’m not working part time. I’m not traveling from nursing home to nursing home cutting toenails a few hours a week.”
“A toenail is a toenail.”
Maybe to him.
“You better adjust. I’ve stood behind you one hundred percent. When did I ever say no?”
Did he want a reference guide?
I was raised to think I wouldn’t survive unless I found a husband and that it was crucial to do it before I graduated from college because after that, who knew? Would there be any worthy men left? Maybe all the good ones would be taken. I met Jake, married him when I was twenty-two. Forty-five years later, I knew better. I was making my own decision.
“I will not be pushed into this, Jake.”
Then, if I heard the click correctly, he hung up.
To check my reality, I phoned Rizzo. “So, how’s your vacation?” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“How’s yours?” I asked, laughing.
“I went home at nine o’clock last night. If I wanted to work late, I would’ve found a job in a brothel. Everything here is fine, boss.”
“How fine?”
“Mighty fine. Like the pudding,” Rizzo said.
“I wanted to hear your voice.”
“What’s wrong there? Was the school bus late?”
I couldn’t tell her Jake was pushing me to move (read: sell my practice) because that would undeniably impact her. It was something to be discussed, if ever required, in person.
“I’ve got to go,” Rizzo said. “Why don’t you bake some chocolate chip whatever?”
Why would I ever give up working with a woman like Rizzo?