War Room (5 page)

Elizabeth put in a load of laundry and organized her closet
 
—anything to stay busy and out of Tony’s path. When she got like this, she didn’t even want to look at him. She was upset at the way he had treated Danielle and the stare he’d given the girl in church, like she was a piece of meat, and all the other things that had happened in the past few months piled up like wet towels and flopped around in the drum of her heart.

She sat on the bed facing her bookshelf and spotted a book on marriage. She had bought so many of these, thinking they were a good investment. She’d learned new communication techniques and ways to show respect. She’d even read books on intimacy by pastors and counselors who promised the best sex ever, but no matter how they couched the subject, the pages always made her feel inadequate, like she was the problem. She’d set out to discover Tony’s love language but found that his was an unknown tongue and there was no translator available.

Elizabeth stood and retreated to her office, the spare bedroom upstairs. Pulling up the information about the Williams house she would see the next day, she looked through the homes in the area that had recently sold. This was part of the advance work she did to make sure they could come up with a good asking price that wouldn’t be
too high or too low. The home was in a nice neighborhood and the comps came out favorably, given what the housing market had been like in the past few months.

This was part of what she loved about her job
 
—she was not in the business of selling houses, but was matching people with homes. You could run numbers all day, calculate square feet and bedrooms and fluctuating mortgage rates, but these were not the equations of life. What she loved was matching up a person, a family, with a dwelling where life would work, where they would fit and thrive and settle in and believe that they were finally
home
. Conversely, she loved being able to give a seller freedom, an ability to fly, whether they were moving because of a job change or downsizing or because of a death or divorce.

She put together the listing documents in a package to give Clara Williams. She didn’t intend to get the listing contract signed at their first meeting. She’d do a good walk-through of the property and go over the contract details. If Ms. Williams was as old as she sounded on the phone, she probably would have a lot of questions about what to expect. And from the information she pulled up online, Ms. Williams had been in the same house for decades. Why did she want to move? A fall? The death of her husband? Maybe pressure from family members?

Every house was a story, a mystery to be solved. Every house had quirks and idiosyncrasies, and if you looked closely enough, you could figure out things about the
people who’d lived there. She’d learned a lot selling houses. Sometimes she learned a little too much.

Elizabeth spotted a home online that a client had bid on a year earlier
 
—a small three-bedroom bungalow that was still on the market at a reduced price. The deal had fallen through at the last minute because the buyer got cold feet. How many times had that happened in the past year? All that work, the multiple showings, the time, the mileage, getting the contract signed
 
—all wasted because the buyer decided it wasn’t the right time. Or that the backyard didn’t have enough room. Or that the sun would be in their eyes while they drank coffee in the morning
 
—seriously, one buyer backed away from a deal because the kitchen was too sunny three months of the year. But the frustration was part of the attraction. She never knew where a client might lead her, what they might put her through, or if she would ever get paid for the work she was doing. It was a matter of faith, a relinquishing of rights. Elizabeth resisted the urge to be upset with some client who backed away. How many times had she felt the same way? Yes, it was hard not to get paid for the searches and the time and energy expended, but she told herself that she would never regret treating people kindly and respectfully as they tried to make the biggest financial decision of their lives.

She didn’t believe in overloading sellers with fancy flyers and printouts that would just be thrown away. Other Realtors believed that inundating sellers with information was the best way to go
 
—more was better. But Elizabeth
believed in simplicity. Someone selling a house wanted to know two things: how much their house was worth and how much it would cost to sell it. In other words, when everything was over, how much money could they keep? Those seemed like fair questions that deserved straight answers, so she always shot straight with her clients.

She looked at her watch, transferred the laundry to the dryer, and walked through the kitchen, spotting Tony simultaneously on his phone and watching a game. He glanced up at her and she tried hard not to frown or react negatively.

“Hey,” she said.

He grabbed the remote and muted the announcers. “Hey.”

“I didn’t mean to snap about your traveling. It just kind of surprised me.”

“I should have said something earlier,” he muttered. “I can see your side. But I don’t want to feel guilty for working. I don’t want to have you come down on me because I’m trying to provide.”

“I’m not against you providing, Tony.” She wanted to push back, but something told her to let it go. Move on. Let the questions flop like the wet clothes and focus on something else.

“So where you headed?” she said.

“Asheville. There’s a doctor at a medical center who’s interested in one of our products. It’s not as exciting as selling houses, of course, but it pays the bills.”

What did he mean by that, “not as exciting as selling houses”? Was he dissing her chosen profession? She couldn’t look at him without becoming suspicious or hurt, and there was a growing knot in her stomach that Tony had been right earlier. If she wanted to stay here, in the house she loved, she had to acquiesce, just go along with him.

The longer she stood there, with him glancing at the screen to check the next play, the bigger the knot grew.

Elizabeth watched Tony jump
into his clothes and head to the garage Monday morning. This was his pattern of late
 
—no breakfast, not even coffee to start the day. He would never let Danielle run on empty like that, but he did it all the time. At least when he was at home.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Elizabeth said.

“No time. I’ll grab something on the road to Asheville. See you later.”

Elizabeth woke Danielle and drove her and her friend Jennifer to the community center later in the morning. She reminded Danielle about her meeting and said she and Jennifer should wait at the center until Elizabeth returned
at noon. The girls seemed excited to wait there after practice together.

Elizabeth pulled up to Ms. Williams’s house and saw a teenage boy with lawn clippers and a wheelbarrow standing in the lawn at the front. He was as tall as she was, thin, sweaty from his work, and carried garden gloves in his back pocket. An old woman counted out some money to pay him and he was off.

The first thing Elizabeth thought when she saw the house was that it would sell quickly. It was in a great part of town. It had mature trees and a manicured and well-maintained lawn. The American flag hanging at the front stairs was a gorgeous touch. There were mostly older homes in the neighborhood. Elizabeth picked out the spot on the lawn that would be best for the Twelve Stone Realty sign.

As Elizabeth got out of the car, she heard Ms. Williams say, “Tell your mama I said hello, and I’ll see you next week.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

The boy was off with a grin as broad as the street, clutching the money and the wheelbarrow handles.

“Ms. Williams?”

“That’s me,” the woman said. “You must be Elizabeth.”

She had an accent that was Southern, through and through. And a way of holding her mouth when she talked that looked like she was trying to keep marbles from escaping. Elizabeth shook hands and tried to be gentle, in case the woman suffered from arthritis, but Ms. Williams
squeezed her hand like she was juicing a lemon. She asked Elizabeth to call her Clara, then invited her inside to show her the house.

She walked with a hopping gait, throwing out her elbows as she stepped lively up the concrete stairs. She wore a teal sweater over a pink shirt and black pants. Her hair had gone gray long ago, but there were glimpses of the original color there.

As soon as they walked inside, Elizabeth felt a warmth. She stopped in the foyer, looking at the sitting room on her left and the study on her right. She could see her reflection in the hardwood floor. Everything was neat and tidy, though the furniture was a bit aged and the carpet, where there was carpet, looked a little worn. It had been lived in
 
—that was to be sure
 
—but there was no sign of neglect and her first impression was that the home reflected a sense of class
 
—it had a regal feeling.

“I’ve got to put the coffeepot on. Can I get you something?”

“Oh no, thank you. I had mine at home. This is a beautiful house.”

“I think so too,” Clara said from the kitchen. “Built in 1905. And I’ve lived here almost fifty years. Leo added that sunporch in the back all by himself.”

Elizabeth surveyed the front rooms, then found a picture on the wall of a much-younger Clara standing beside a man in a military uniform. She guessed from the age of the photo that it was sometime in the late 1960s or early
1970s. There were other photos of him alone and two eagles of different sizes mounted on the wall.

“Oh, this must be Leo,” Elizabeth said.

Clara walked around the corner and beamed at the photo. “That’s Leo. We were married for fourteen years before he died. He had just been promoted to captain before that picture was taken. He was so handsome in that uniform. He’s fine, ain’t he?”

Clara chuckled and Elizabeth felt warmed by the old woman’s voice. Words like
before
came out
befoe
.

“Yes, we wanted five or six children, but the Lord only gave us Clyde.” Clara gave her a wide-eyed look. “’Cause he was all I could handle.”

Elizabeth smiled. She liked the old woman already. And that was half the battle of a real estate transaction. Liking the people you worked with was a huge plus. She was going to have such satisfaction in getting the asking price for this place.

Clara turned to the sitting room and pointed at the ceiling. “You see that big crack over there on the wall? That was Clyde.”

She led Elizabeth into the room, which was flooded with light. A sofa and chairs were flanked by old lamps that gave an antique feel.

“This is my third-favorite place. It’s my sitting room.”

“What do you do in here?” Elizabeth said.

“Mainly sit,” Clara said a little sadly, tossing her head to the side.

Elizabeth stifled a smile. If she was trying to be funny, the woman’s timing was impeccable, but Elizabeth wasn’t sure. She didn’t want to offend her by laughing.

“Well, come on in here,” Clara said, leaving like an early train. “Let me show you the dining room.”

Elizabeth followed into an even-brighter room with pale-green walls and a large wooden table and chairs. There were candlesticks on the fireplace mantel and a delicate centerpiece on the table.

“Now this is my second-favorite place,” Clara said, looking around. “I love this room.”

“This is beautiful. And I love this fireplace.”

Clara ran her hands across the tops of the wooden chairs as if she were replaying the past like she would a piano. “I’ve got a lot of good memories in here. Yes, I do. Lot of good talks happened in here.” She said
here
like
heeyuh
. “Lot of laughter. And a few tears, too.” She looked at Elizabeth as though she was trying to say more.

Elizabeth wondered what the memories were, if they were of her husband, her son
 
—or more. It was hard to tell. She watched the old woman with a sense of awe at her easygoing way. There were some people in the world who, when you first met them, made you feel welcome, made you feel like you’d known them all your life. Clara seemed like one of those people.

Elizabeth followed the woman as she slowly navigated the stairs to the second floor. The staircase felt narrow, like in many of the older homes she had sold in the past few years.

“The kitchen needs some fresh paint, but it’s still in pretty good shape.” She slowed at the landing and grabbed one of the huge finials on the railing. Her breath became a little shorter the more she climbed. “Now this is why I’m moving in with Clyde a few blocks away. Whoo. It’s getting harder to negotiate these stairs.”

Elizabeth made notes about the house on her phone as they moved from one bedroom to the next. She noticed two wigs on Clara’s dresser but didn’t ask about them. There were also an ample amount of crosses and other Christian symbols throughout the home, not tacky but tastefully used.

“Okay, so three bedrooms and two full baths. Do you mind if I take some pictures?”

“Go ahead, that’s fine.” Clara stood with her hands behind her like a sentinel. Then she leaned forward. “Oh, you’ve got one of those smartphones. I’ve been meaning to get me one of those. Can’t do nothing with mine but call folks. Must be a dumb phone.” She leaned on the railing and waited for Elizabeth to finish.

Clara offered to pull the stairs down from the hall ceiling to get access to the attic, but Elizabeth said that wouldn’t be necessary. When they were finished upstairs, the two made their way back down to the kitchen.

Elizabeth turned and offered a hand to the woman as she came to the last few steps. “You got it?”

“I do,” Clara said. “They say if you live in a house with stairs, you’ll live longer. So I should make it to 180.”

Elizabeth stopped at a large frame in the hallway. At the top of the frame were the words
Answered Prayers
. Inside were several small pictures of people with dates and captions scrawled to commemorate events through the years. She studied the photos and faces. Martin Luther King Jr. was there. Faded photographs of families.

“This is fascinating, Miss Clara.”

The old woman stood shoulder to shoulder with her. “That’s my Wall of Remembrance. And when things aren’t going so well, I look back on it and I’m reminded that God is still in control.”

She said
God
like it was a two-syllable word, elongating the
o
as if out of reverence.

Clara crossed her arms. “It encourages me.”

Elizabeth scanned more of the pictures. “I sure could use some of that,” she whispered. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. She tried hard not to let her personal life into the business relationships she had with clients. This was about them, not her. But something in the house and the photos and the demeanor of the old woman made her want to open up.

Miss Clara turned to her and stared.

“Oh, I’m sorry. So, I’ve got a few questions about utilities and then we should probably talk about the asking price.”

“All right,” Clara said.

It took a while for Clara to find her utility bills and some other information. Elizabeth plugged in the numbers and thought about showing her the comparisons in the
area, then glanced at her phone. She needed to get back to the office before she picked up Danielle and Jennifer. It felt like she’d been with Miss Clara for only an hour but it had been longer.

“Do you have a number in mind that you’d like to get for your house?”

“Isn’t that your job?”

“Yes, it is, but sometimes a homeowner has a good handle on what to ask. I don’t want to throw out a number that’s way below what you think the property is worth.”

The woman chewed at her lip for a moment. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something fair.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Let me look over the comps again before we decide. Would that be okay?”

Clara dipped her head. “That would be fine. I’ve been in this place a long time and I paid the mortgage off on it years ago.”

They walked to the front door. “Okay, so I think I got everything that I need for now. So nice to meet you, Miss Clara. Listen, if you’re available tomorrow, I’d like to come by and show you some comparisons in the area.”

“Well, why don’t you come by for coffee tomorrow morning and we’ll talk about it then? Say, ten o’clock.”

Elizabeth checked her phone and thought through her schedule. Tony popped into her mind. He would be out of town. What about Danielle? “Okay, yeah, I can do that. I’ll see you at ten.”

She started to walk to her car, but something bothered
her. In all the conversation she’d missed an important bit of information. From the top step she turned back. “By the way, what’s your most favorite room?”

Clara smiled and Elizabeth could swear the woman’s eyes twinkled. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

Elizabeth smiled back at her. “And I’ll look forward to tomorrow.”

Tony made it to Asheville in time to stop for some coffee and a breakfast bagel. He ate in his car in the parking lot, listening to a morning zoo show on the radio to fill the silence. Something the pastor had said the day before in his message made him uneasy.
“God looks for those that seek Him with their whole heart.”
That stuck in his craw. Plus the part about people deceiving themselves. There were lots of people who were probably doing that, but he wasn’t one of them.

He turned up the radio a little louder and finished his breakfast, then drove to the Asheville Medical Center about the time it opened for business hours. He lifted the hatch of his black Tahoe and pulled out the box of medical samples tucked away. He opened the case of Predizim, took two boxes from the package of eight, and set them aside, then rearranged the remaining boxes. He glanced around to make sure no one had seen him, then put the two boxes in his leather bag. He grabbed the case of Predizim, closed the hatch, and walked toward the building, taking out his phone.

“Starts with an
L
,” he said to himself. “Lorna . . . no. Leslie . . . ?” He went to the Asheville listing and found the list of contacts and smiled when he saw he had remembered the letter correctly.