Chapter 23
I called Live Here Now Realty and spoke to Horace Harding. He said his firm specialized in Great Barrington, but I was certain he’d say that about any and every town in the county. He claimed he was a top agent. He could show the house that afternoon if the agent who had the listing was available. I scheduled our meetup for 1:00 p.m. so I’d be back in time to meet Callie at the school bus.
It was a beautiful drive to Great Barrington, and I stopped at a toy store in town. I enjoyed puzzles, thought it would be fun to do one with Callie. I settled on a colorful three-hundred-piece unicorn and asked the saleswoman to gift wrap it.
When I arrived at the house, Horace, a tall, thin man in his late twenties, was already there. He peeked into my car window and waved. Horace was dressed in slip-on sneakers, a pink sports coat, a navy sweater vest, a white T-shirt, and a lavender bow tie.
“Awesome to meet you,” he said. “I haven’t been inside this place yet, but I’m sure you will love it. The owners built it in the 1970s. Unfortunately, the wife had Alzheimer’s, passed away last month, and the husband is in hospice care. Their only son lives in Honolulu—as far as he could get from his parents while staying in this country. He has terrible childhood memories, a lot of bad things happened to him here, so basically, he doesn’t want to deal with selling the house. He’s willing to give it away as is ... but wants to close after his father passes—thinks he’ll save on the taxes somehow. So, you have time to think about this one.”
After those remarks, I had to ask, “How long have you been in real estate?”
He stalled. “Oh, it’s been a while.”
An hour, I thought.
Outside, the house looked charming and, considering the status of its current owners, in great condition. Weathered gray cedar, black door, the typical sloping roof of a Cape Cod. I spotted a chimney, which meant a fireplace. I had never had a fireplace, and it warmed my soul to think of Jake and me sitting in front of blazing logs on a snowy afternoon.
I contemplated the couple who had lived there. I imagined how difficult it must have been for them to leave. It made me feel so sad that I started thinking twice about even looking at the house, giveaway or no giveaway. But who knows what really happens inside any house? Besides, even if their son in Honolulu disliked them, he might have been a rotten kid blaming his parents, so it was irrelevant.
“The home is shown by appointment only, which means we have to wait for the listing agent,” Horace said.
“All right,” I said. “Then let’s walk around to the back and check out the yard.”
The backyard had a weathered deck in good condition, a beguiling three-season porch, an expansive lawn with a huge shade tree in the middle. I imagined having the whole family over for a barbecue to celebrate July 4. Pipe dream that my two sons—and the Pilgrim and DeLorenzo—would fly in; however, Lisa, Brian, and Callie would certainly be in attendance. I knew Jake would want to add a wooden swing set for his granddaughter. Maybe even build a tree house.
Horace excused himself to make a call. I watched him wander to the far side of the yard.
I called Jake. “I’m at the house in Great Barrington. You were right. It’s outstanding,” I whispered.
“Are you inside?”
“No. In the yard. It’s perfect for us.”
“Call me when you see the interior.”
“I don’t want to talk in front of the agent. Although the owner’s son is ready to sell it for bubkes , it won’t help if they know I like the house.”
“Who told you about the bubkes ?”
“The real estate agent. He’s in middle school.”
“Call me in front of him, and tell me what’s wrong with it. Tell me you don’t understand the layout. The rooms are too small. There’s a strange odor.”
“Should I plant bugs?” I said sarcastically.
Horace approached, and I got off the phone. We turned toward the front of the house, and there stood Di. I was stunned. Di was the listing agent. Stop. What? Couldn’t be. Her name hadn’t been on any of the advertisements.
My luck, I thought. I wouldn’t buy a spool of thread from Di, and I didn’t want her to see me because I hadn’t asked her to show me the house. I didn’t want a confrontation. Maybe there was a way to escape. She hadn’t seen me yet. I turned myself around, heading back to the yard.
“Where are you going?” Horace asked.
“Um. I want to check that tree. To see if it’s healthy.”
He looked at me as though he thought I needed psychiatric help. “Okay then, I’ll go say hello. She’s at the door. And it’s Diandra Summer Lake. She sells the most homes in the Berkshires. She’s an icon. I’ve always wanted to meet her.”
“Be there in a minute.” I looked around from one end of the yard to the other. No fence. No bushes. Should I disappear? Leave Horace to meet his hero? Sneak to my car once they’re in the house—and drive away? The coast was clear. I knew what I had to do. I’d make a dash for my car. Minor problem, though. As I bolted across the grass, Di caught sight of me. Her face turned so red it looked purple. “Jodi, what the ... tell me you’re not here to see this house.”
“I’m not here to see this house.”
“You are here for that,” she said.
“What house?” I said as though bewildered.
“This house. The Cape we’re standing in front of. I can’t believe you’re looking at homes in my territory with another agent. If you wanted to see real estate, why would you call anyone but me? I’m not only family. I’m the best in the business.”
I wanted to say because I didn’t want to interface with you. We’re not friends. We just have the same granddaughter. Instead, I blamed it on Jake. “I’m sorry, Di. It’s not my fault at all. I told Jake I was dying to work with you, but he refuses to do business with family.” She didn’t look as though she believed me. I rambled on. “A long time ago, Jake was taken by his dad, who was in the mattress business. It was a bad scene and ...”
“But Jake’s considering a partnership with Lisa.”
“That’s different,” I said.
“How so?” she asked and seemed delighted to hear what sort of pathetic explanation I’d come up with.
“Lisa is our daughter.”
“I’m her mother-in-law.”
Horace joined us outside. He glanced from one of us to the other. He could have been a Ping-Pong ball. “Is this your listing?” he asked Di. “I didn’t see your name.”
“No. It was listed by another agent in my office, but she wasn’t available today. She had an emergency appendectomy. I offered to step in.”
“Look, we’re probably not even buying a house,” I said to Di.
“But you’re here with what’s his name?”
“Horace. My name is Horace. Harding. An honor to meet you, Diandra.”
“Horace ... who received his real estate license an hour ago,” Di said, with outrage.
“It was more than an hour,” Horace claimed.
“Check your clock,” Di retorted.
“We could simply tour the house,” Horace said, clearly fearful Di would bite. But she ignored him. He jammed his hands in his pants pockets, studied the ground, and crushed acorns under his foot. The poor guy. Eaten alive at his first showing.
I met Di head on. “I’m sorry. But the truth is this has nothing to do with Jake. Not one thing. You and I had a blowout yesterday. We don’t get along at all, and I didn’t feel it would be pleasant seeing houses with you.”
“Well, there’s nothing more important to me than my real estate business—and you hurt my feelings, bludgeoned me. If I needed a foot doctor, I wouldn’t ask a neighbor for a reference or search online. I’d go to you with my blisters. My corns are all yours.”
“I’m sorry, Di, but that’s how I feel. Truth told, I’d be happier if you went to another podiatrist.”
“I think you will love this home,” she said, disregarding what I said, acting as though I was her customer. “A darling young couple—I think their names were Big Mike and Kathy, lovely couple—lived here. They’re moving to Texas due to a job transfer, and this house was their whole world. It’s well loved, preloved. There’s a lot of interest. You may have to offer all cash. Forego the inspection.”
Young couple? I thought Horace had mentioned hospice.
I turned to Horace. He was adjusting his bow tie.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I prefer not to see this house.” And I left.
I climbed into my car and sat stone still for a few moments, calming down. Then I caught sight of the wrapped present—the jigsaw puzzle—on the passenger seat, thought about Callie. She was the reason I was in Massachusetts—and now in competition with two other grandmas, both of whom were entirely different than me. Proof that there were all kinds of grandmas, bubbes , me-maws, and nanas.
Maybe now that Di understood I disliked her enough to call another agent, she’d back off. Who was I kidding? Di was relentless, a shark sensing human blood in dark water.