Newbie (27 page)

The listing trip has been worth it. Out of eight appointments, we have listed three homes and a fourth potential client is thinking it over.

We’re back in the outskirts of Colorado Springs just after seven. As we approach my neighborhood, I pull out my phone and text Mina to help me get my stuff in the house so I can avoid the doorstep with Kevin. She texts back saying she isn’t there, but suggests Liam can help me since she let him in before she left. There’s no way I’m texting Liam for help. In fact, if I’m fast, maybe I can be out of the car and into the house before he notices our arrival.

As we turn to drive up my street, I begin pulling together my computer case, purse, pillow, blanket and coat so I can make a quick escape. Kevin parks in the driveway and I reach for the door handle. With one foot out, I realize that my blanket or coat—or both—are twisted in the seatbelt and I tip, dropping my pillow on the snow. In the time it takes me to untwist, Kevin has retrieved my suitcase.

“Thanks. See you later.” I reach for the pull bar, but drop my purse and coat. We both bend to pick them up, but he’s quicker. Then my computer case begins to slip, and I drop the suitcase handle to secure the computer.

“Here, Soph.” He hands me my coat and purse. “I’ll take this.”

“I can get it,” I begin to say, but he’s already moving up the sidewalk with the wheels of the suitcase clicking over the cracks and chunks of ice. He abandons my suitcase at the threshold and steps to my side to pick up the part of my blanket dragging on the ground behind me, then tucks it in at my elbow. Just as the door opens, Kevin brushes his lips to my cheek. “Do you want help in?” he asks.

M
y eyes open wide; my neck and cheeks flush hot.

“No, thanks. I’ll take it from here,” Liam answers, but instead of reaching for my suitcase, he leans in my face and kisses my lips.

My blush deepens. Do I just walk in? I want to. Are they waiting for me to introduce them? ’Cause that’s not going to happen. Or explain something? Nope, again.

I stop wondering as Liam extends his hand. “Hello, Kevin. I’m Liam. Thanks for helping Sophie to the door.” Then he reaches for my suitcase.

“No problem,” Kevin says without taking his eyes off mine. His smile slowly broadens. “See you next weekend, Soph.”

My stuff sits in a heap in the foyer as I close the door behind me and look into Liam’s face. My stomach tightens as I vacillate between misery and relief.

“Have you eaten?” he asks.

“No.” I slide my arms under his and rest my hands on his shoulder blades. “Because I have a hot date for dinner tonight.” His familiar hug warms me and I lean in, breathing deeply Liam’s scent, though my heart is still racing from anxiety. “I missed you, and I’m sorry. I really don’t ever want you to wonder how I feel about you or about someone else. I know you saw Kevin kiss me on the cheek, but he just does it. It surprised me last night and I accidentally kissed him back, but not because I wanted to kiss him. It was more of a good-night thing. You know, cheek kiss—ciao. I really just want to kiss you.”

“On which cheek?”

“What?”

“He kissed you on which cheek?”

I lay my finger on my right cheek and Liam runs the back of his hand gently across the surface. Then he bends to kiss it again and again, saying, “But maybe he kissed it here … or here … or here. And now it’s gone.” He tilts back and looks at my smile. I’m sure he sees relief. “Shall we have dinner?”

January 12, 2008

Newbie Blog:

Monday’s High Will Be Twenty-Three

Hmmm. Recess duty for the coldest month of the year? Give it to the newbie. Maybe it wasn’t a deliberate decision, but who would actually feel good about signing someone else up for this month?

But what’s not to love—biting wind, overcast skies, frost on the trees, new snow every few days, melting snow on all the others, mud traps followed by plates of ice, numb fingers and red faces. I even wake in my sleep, barking, “Don’t throw that.” “Don’t slide there.” “Keep your shoes dry.” “Go back inside and get your coat.” “No, you can’t take ice inside with you.”

I check weather.com religiously to see what the temperature will be. I’m hoping it gets colder. If it’s cold enough, morning recess will be called as an inside day. Wish me luck.

On Sunday night as we watch TV, Mina phone rings. “Hi, Scarlet. How’s your visit?” She pauses, and her mouth drops open silently as her hand covers her lips. Her eyes move back and forth, searching for understanding. I set down my ice cream, scoot to the edge of the couch, and look into Mina’s face. I’m close enough to hear Scarlet’s voice.

“The doctor said the recovery from a heart attack like Dad’s could take a couple of months. I can’t leave Mom to do this alone. I need to move back home for a while. I’m sorry, Mina. I’ll come next week to get my stuff, but I wanted to give you as much time as possible to find a new roommate. If you don’t find one, keep my deposit for the next month’s rent.”

“That’s fine. Don’t worry about us at all. How’s your dad?”

“The doctor said he’s going to be all right, but it will take a long time. He’s coming home in a few days.”

“And your mom?”

I stand with tears in my eyes, and Mina pats my leg as I leave. The memories are still present and vivid, though nearly three years have passed. In my memory, the smell of antiseptic burns the back of my nose and throat. The lights in the waiting room are unnaturally bright, even for the clearest summer day.

I remember that the tightness in her words was apparent even in the phone call. “Your dad’s had a heart attack. The ambulance is taking him now.”

“Mom, where are you? Where should I come?”

“He looks bad, Soph. So gray.”

“Mom, which hospital?”

“University. It was the closest one.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Mom’s phone call replayed over and over in my mind as I followed the signs to the cardiac intensive care unit. Mom saw me coming and rushed forward to hug me.

“The nurse says we can see him in a couple of minutes, but only one at a time and for a very short visit. Sophie, you have to come with me. I can’t do this alone.”

A nurse approached us. “Dr. Anders would like to talk with you.” Then she led us to a private waiting room where we met the doctor. We sat together, leaning to look at the diagram of a heart he held in front of him. He explained the location of the blockage and the affected areas of the muscle.

“May we see him now or are you going to operate?” Mom asked.

The doctor gazed silently toward his clipboard. I turned to Mom and hugged her close. “He’s going to die,” I stated breathlessly, “Isn’t he?” I directed my question toward the doctor. Mom pressed into my side, shoulders shaking without any sound of crying.

“Yes. I’m sorry. There’s significant damage—too much. His heart muscle is dying. His organs are showing stress as well from insufficient oxygen. I want you to have a chance to be with him, if you’d like.”

“Yes,” Mom whispered as she stood, pulling my arm with her.

The nurse’s lips pursed, but the doctor spoke first. “I think you may want to come together.” The significance of his words wasn’t lost on me—we can relax the rules when a man is dying.

Dad’s room was dim, with a single bed and walls of equipment surrounding him on two sides. The doctor pulled in another chair as we entered. Mom gasped and squeezed my hand, then released it to lay her hand on top of Dad’s as she stood near his head.

“He has been unconscious since he arrived in the ambulance. If you need anything you can call the nurse there.” He pointed to the phone on the table then left.

Tears ran down Mom’s cheeks, and her eyes were rimmed with red. Just tears, no sobbing—just heartbreaking distress and helplessness. We stood in a quiet room. Dad’s life was no longer measured in years or even days, but by the beeping tones of the machines at his side. I sat in a chair and Mom leaned over Dad’s face to kiss him. Then she laid her cheek beside his and began whispering, her tears wetting his face.

After a moment, she surveyed the bed. Most of the machines’ leads and wires were connected to Dad’s left side. Though the bed was small, she pushed herself beside him on the edge of the bed and rested her hand on his chest at the base of his neck. They fit together like puzzle pieces cut from the same picture, each open and incomplete without the other. My eyes could no longer contain the grief, and silent tears ran steadily again.

We stayed with dad while doctors and nurses updated the records and the machines’ lights flashed in warning though the alarm bells had been disabled. We stayed while some of the equipment was disconnected. We stay until Mom could leave Dad, and I kissed him good-bye.

I sleep in snatches tonight. My mother’s last hug with my father is fresh in my mind. Occasionally, I dream of Liam lying on a bed and me curled next to him, as my mother had with my father. My eyes snap open, my breath shallow and strained. Over and over, the feeling of possibly losing Liam racks my heart with wonder at the inherent loss inside of love. Just a dream. I lay on my bed, again passing through Dad’s final moments. “Please bless Scarlet’s family,” I think in echoes.

On Saturday, Kevin and I are on a listing trip again instead of having a partnership meeting. We drop down to Pueblo and take off for Kansas. We won’t go quite that far, but every mile we drive looks less like Colorado as the mountains sink into the horizon behind us. There’s just flat, deserted farmland on both sides of the road.

The listing trip this weekend is Saturday only. We’ll do the appointments and head back tonight, arriving home by ten or eleven.

The meetings today aren’t as productive as last week’s. In fact, we don’t get a single listing. Kevin is able to get two maybes, and I’m sure he will have them listed after a couple of callbacks.

Following the last sales pitch, we jump back in Kevin’s Explorer and start home. When we began our last appointment, there were a few flakes fluttering down, but when we leave, it’s snowing in earnest. Since we are heading into the storm, it should be worse ahead of us. But we expected this—well, not this. We expected a few flakes. Kevin says the storm should have passed far south of us. The weather forecaster said there was a severe storm warning for the mountains south of here, on the border of Colorado and for most of New Mexico tonight.

We’re still a few miles from La Junta and it has been almost a whiteout for the past half hour. This drive should take less than an hour, and we’ve been at it for two. Deep snow is piling up on the road and we’re moving slowly, sometimes only twenty miles per hour. The tires on the car in front of us flips clods of snow behind it as it crawls along. We decide not to stop for food, but to drive straight through. We’d like to get to Pueblo and turn north to leave this storm behind us.

The wind is creating a blizzard by blowing the snow from the ground back up with heavy snow still falling. We leave La Junta but only get five miles in fifteen minutes. The yellow lights of a snowplow are flashing behind a barricade also flashing yellow—Road Closed. The red-and-blue lights belong to the police officers directing all drivers to return to La Junta. Along with the rest of the cars, we turn around and crawl back to town to wait out the storm.