This is the nicest house we’ve seen,” Mrs. Soroka said as they pulled into the driveway.
She was a classy lady. Elegant on the outside. But it was learned. Kate knew that. The way some people could throw on a bigger vocabulary than their father and pretend they came from somewhere else. Some people’s fake is more honest than other people’s real. She might have talked fast, but Mrs. Soroka meant every word.
“The driveway is a little ragged, but you’re a few years from repaving. And I know people who can cut you a deal. We girls have to stick together.”
She said that with a wink and opened the car door. It was their third house that day. The first house was too big. The second was too small. And like Goldilocks, they were hoping the third would be just right.
“The door sticks a little,” Mrs. Soroka said, jangling the keys and popping them into the lock. “But we can add that to the inspection list, and they’ll pay for it.”
Mrs. Soroka clicked the lock and opened the door with a shoulder bump. Kate stayed behind with Christopher for a moment, looking around the crisp fall neighborhood. All the houses on the cul-de-sac looked clean and rich. As pretty as the changing leaves. There was even a log cabin on top of the little hill across the street. It reminded her of Christopher’s old Lincoln Logs. There was an old lady sitting in the attic, staring out the window. Even at a distance, Kate could hear the creak of her rocking chair.
“Christopher? Earth to Christopher?” Kate said. “Let’s go.”
Christopher turned away from the log cabin and followed her inside.
The house was beautiful. What Mrs. Soroka called a real Craftsman. The living room had built-in bookshelves and a fireplace with enough space for a really nice TV. The whole place smelled like chocolate chip cookies from a dozen open houses. Mrs. Soroka told them that cookies were a trick that real estate agents used to sucker people into feeling at home.
“Well, it’s working,” Kate joked.
“Tell me about it. I was skinny before I got into this business.”
Mrs. Soroka moved through the house, turning on lights. Kate’s excitement grew with each room. The dining room was perfect for four, but could easily fit eight. She could even have company over for Christmas dinner.
And the kitchen.
Oh, God that kitchen.
This wasn’t a microwave and a hot plate in a motel room. This was heaven. Brand-new stainless-steel appliances. A dishwasher that didn’t leak. A fridge with an ice maker rather than a bucket and a trip down the hall of a motel. The place even a had kitchen island. A God damn kitchen island!
“What do you think, Mom?” Christopher asked.
“Not bad,” she said, trying to sound casual.
Mrs. Soroka kept talking about washer/dryer hookups and maintenance, but Kate had stopped listening. What had started as a crush in the living room had grown into a full-blown love affair by the time they mounted the stairs to the bedrooms. She had never had stairs. Only walk-ups. And fire escapes.
She could finally tell her son not to run on the stairs.
“Let’s see the master first,” she said.
“You’re the boss,” Mrs. Soroka said with a smile.
Kate loved the beautiful staged bed and large windows. But the walk-in closet finally did it. Her face broke into a Cheshire grin, and her palms started to sweat with the anxiety of having to fill so much closet space. Her guilt couldn’t take this many trips to the mall. Outlet or otherwise. But maybe she could go to Goodwill and get some things.
Stop it, Kate. You deserve this. Breathe.
“Now, the second bedroom is a little cozy. That’s code for small,” Mrs. Soroka joked. “So, maybe that could be a guest bedroom for relatives.”
There were no good relatives. There would never be guests. But Mrs. Soroka didn’t need to know that. The guest room would make a perfect office when Kate finally went back to school. It was right above the two-car garage. No more parking tickets during street cleaning days. No more brown paper bags on parking meters. Their brand-new (certified pre-owned) land shark would have its own dock.
“And this would be Christopher’s room,” Mrs. Soroka said as she opened the door.
It was perfect.
A little bed with a desk. A big bay window with room for a child to sit and stare and wonder. A large closet for clothes. A separate storage closet for toys. Nice clean carpet. The whole room smelled like spring. Like lemons without the sour.
“You like it, honey?” she asked.
“I love it, Mom.”
“I love it, too.”
“So, are we happy?” Mrs. Soroka asked.
“We’re very happy,” Kate said.
“Are you ready to make an offer?”
Kate got quiet. Her heart beat with thoughts of being given the pen to sign her name. But she had already collected her winnings, and when it was all added up and taxes were taken out, she was completely out of debt. She paid for Christopher’s stay at the hospital. She paid for her late husband’s funeral. Then, she paid off all of her credit cards like Suze Orman said to on TV. She started a college fund (for both of them). And when it was all said and done, she still had enough money left for a down payment on the one thing Christopher always promised to buy her.
Their very own house.
No more running. No more moving. Her boy was going to have a home.
Slow down, Kate. Ask the questions.
“Is it a good deal? Be straight with me. We girls have to stick together, right?”
“Right. And it’s a great deal. The only reason they’re selling is they bought a condo in Palm Springs to get away from the winter and the son-in-law. This location is about to explode. Even if you went above the asking price, it’s a steal.”
Kate knew she was telling the truth. She had done her homework.
“What do you think?” she asked Christopher.
“It’s the nicest place I’ve ever seen,” he said.
“Then, let’s make an offer,” she said.
Mrs. Soroka clapped her hands.
“You’re doing the right thing! And do you want to know something? I haven’t even shown you the best part!”
Mrs. Soroka walked across Christopher’s bedroom to the large bay window. She threw open the curtains and let in the view. Right under Christopher’s bedroom was a big backyard with a tree and a tire swing and a jungle gym and a sandbox. It was every boy’s dream. Flat and well manicured. Perfect for football. Perfect for anything.
“Just think,” Mrs. Soroka said. “You get that backyard, and then take a look right behind it.”
It was the Mission Street Woods.
Christopher may have forgotten the six days he was lost in them, but Kate never would.
“I don’t want to live near those woods,” she said.
Mrs. Soroka nodded, as if remembering Christopher’s picture in the newspaper when he went missing.
“Look, me you and the wall…Mr. Collins is planning a new housing development a stone’s throw from here.”
“I know,” Kate said.
Mrs. Soroka nodded, then dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Yes, but did you know that he hired my boss to sell those houses? And he’s going to build a road to connect both sides of town? In six months, you will have a house in the hottest neighborhood in Mill Grove that will be worth a hundred thousand dollars more than you paid for it. I like you, Kate. And I’m a mother, too. So, I don’t want you to miss this opportunity. Two words…Ker ching.”
“Are you sure?”
“Trust me. Those woods will be gone by Christmas.”