34

I took the long route to the pharmacy, swinging by the Tarrytown house while I was out. It was only forty minutes the other direction, so it was basically on the way.

I checked to make sure both of the kids were still asleep in the back seat of the car before I stopped in front of the vacant home. When I rolled down my window the pungent scent of lake water blew into the car, carried on a chilly breeze. Wiry weeds had sprouted up in the winter-brown grass, creeping over the edge of the sidewalk.

So there it was. I could still hear the murmuring punctuated with bursts of laughter that would float over the back fence when we held our parties. I could still see the windows illuminated with warm light, Joe and our two—or, now three—kids inside. I never had decided which particular kind of luxury vehicle would be parked in the driveway, but it would have the same taut leather interior as our old Jaguar.

A rush of desire surged through me, my body reacting physically like a starving man beholding a thick cut of freshly grilled steak. I admitted it. I admitted to myself, to God, that I wanted this, and I wanted it more than I wanted anything else. It was stupid and I knew it. If I thought God existed, I should be ambivalent about the house, and desire nothing more than for my soul to be in tune with the source of all goodness, now and forever. But if God came down and gave me the choice right now, the house and the parties, or divine unity and deep inner peace . . . I’d take the house.

I knew it was the wrong answer. In a way, I did want to want God more than all of this. And as I looked at the house and considered what our lives could be like if Joe moved forward with this big client, I was aware that I didn’t have the strength to let it go.

You’re going to have to help me here, I said silently. I put the car in gear, and before I drove away, I made the sign of the cross.

* * *

My plan at the pharmacy was to talk them out of some of their samples. The kids assisted me by crying and squirming in the cart, which helped me look extra pathetic. I told the pharmacy clerk which prescription I was here to pick up, and before I could begin my soliloquy of woe she disappeared behind a row of shelves. She returned to the checkout counter with the same white bag full of shots that I’d had them put back the other day. Before I could object, she said, “That’s a thirty dollar co-pay.”

I snorted. “I wish. Unfortunately we’ve already been through this. My insurance only partially covers it.”

She squinted at the screen, her fingers intermittently tapping at her keyboard. “I just double checked. It’s thirty.”

“Are you positive about that?”

She nodded. I fumbled with my purse, which I’d only brought in as an afterthought since I didn’t think I’d be buying anything. I pulled out my wallet and handed my debit card to her, steeling myself for the inevitable moment when she realized it was all a mistake. She gave me the bag and probably told me to have a nice day, but I didn’t hear a word she said.

* * *

On the way home from Mass on Sunday, we rounded a corner on the road to my mom’s house to see a long stretch of red tail lights up ahead. Yellow construction vehicles kicked up dust on the horizon. Just ahead of us, policemen motioned rhythmically with glowing orange batons. All the cars were being directed to turn into the neighborhood next to my mom’s, and we were left to figure out how to navigate the maze of subdivision streets to get through.

Traffic was stopped on the main entrance road into the neighborhood. We’d never driven through this subdivision, so we had no idea which way to go. Apparently, no one else did either. After a painful five minutes in which we only covered an eighth of a mile, Joe pulled out of traffic and took a left on a side street.

We were not the only ones who had that idea, and we ended up stuck behind a line of cars waiting to get past the stop sign at an intersection. I leaned my head against the window and looked around at the houses while we waited. This neighborhood was connected to my mom’s, though it was distinctly different. My mom’s subdivision was one of custom-built homes with spacious interiors, marble countertops and rounded edges on all the corners. This neighborhood’s houses were about half the size, with no impressive architecture or visible decorator touches.

“Look at that,” Joe said, pointing out the window. Just beyond him was a red For SALE BY OWNER sign with a handwritten number in the white space below the notice.

I hoped this wouldn’t turn into an argument, but I had to point out: “If you shut down the firm, we won’t be able to afford any house.” Words of woe about how we would be living with my mom forever, doomed to sad lives of penny-pinching misery would have rolled off my tongue effortlessly, but I held them back.

“Probably. But it couldn’t hurt to call.” He already had his mobile phone out and looked back and forth between the sign and the keypad as he dialed. I could hear the ringing, then a garbled greeting. “Hi, my name is Joe, and my wife and I would like to come look at your house . . . Okay, great . . . Would now work?”

I tugged his sleeve. “I thought you were just going to get the price!”

He held up his hand and pressed the phone closer to his ear. “Yeah . . . okay . . . we’re actually sitting right in front of your house right now.” He jerked the car out of the line of traffic and pulled it into the driveway.

As we walked to the front door, I noticed the stone steps that formed stairs down the sloped yard. The lawn was well manicured, and the porch had been swept recently. The friendly face of a middle-aged man appeared at the front door. “Howdy! Glad you could come by!”

He ushered us in, and I was caught off guard by the simple beauty of the interior. A brand new cream-colored carpet glowed on the floor. Freshly-painted white walls lent a new feel to the seven-year-old house, and an entryway ceiling that stretched all the way up to the second-story roof added space and airiness to the modest home. The picture window in the living room revealed a thriving, unseasonably green back yard. The house wasn’t large, but its space was used well. The kitchen was small, but the walk-in pantry was bigger than our current closet. The three bedrooms had barely enough room for beds and dressers, but that allowed for a second family room upstairs.

The owner introduced himself as Allan, and he offered us beers to complement our tour, which Joe happily accepted. When we stepped out onto the back porch, overlooking a half-acre yard with decorative brickwork encircling well-tended trees, I could see us living here. For the first time in months, I could think of our future without thinking of the Tarrytown house. But then I remembered that this wouldn’t work either if we gave up the law firm. Between Joe’s student loan payments and our debt from starting the business, that new salary he’d been offered wouldn’t cover a house. When I combined that with the fact that we’d be out of room at my mom’s place once this baby was born, I almost had a panic attack.

“How much are you asking for it?” Joe asked. I braced myself for a rousing round of deep self-pity, to begin as soon as I heard the answer.

Allan finished a sip of his beer. “Look, I got a new job up in Dallas that starts right away, and I need to get out of here.” He named a figure, and I gasped.

“Are you kidding? You’d seriously let us have it for that?” I blurted. The look Joe gave me indicated that I was officially out of contention for the Negotiator of the Century award, but I couldn’t help it. I knew what houses went for in this area and had never seen one at that price.

“We’re interested,” Joe said coolly. “Could you give us until Tuesday morning to get back to you?”

“Sure thing.” After they finished their beers, Allan walked us to the door, and as we made our way through the living room he told us that he had only put out the For Sale sign that morning, and we were the first people to call.

Allan opened the front door for us. He seemed to be about to say goodbye, but then paused. “I hope y’all don’t think I’m crazy for saying this,” he said as he took his hands in and out of his jeans pockets self-consciously, “but I really feel like you coming here today was an answered prayer.”

* * *

When I faced a new problem with the possibility of getting this house, I decided to give prayer a shot. I did a mental comparison of what we had in our storage facility and what was lacking if we were seriously going to be homeowners, and I came up with a specific list: We’d need a refrigerator, a lawn mower, a washer / dryer, and a bed. A coffee table and a couch for the second family room upstairs would be helpful, too. And we could afford none of those things.

Okay, God, that’s what we need. I said after reciting the list. I assume that if we need them, you’ll show us how to get them. If you don’t, I’ll assume we don’t really need them.

That night at dinner, we told my mom about the house over bowls of spaghetti topped with a meaty sauce she’d simmered all afternoon.

She used her fork to point to the west. “Did you say it was in Oak Brook? The neighborhood right over there?”

“Yeah. It’s about twenty blocks from here,” I said.

She couldn’t conceal the delight on her face. “But I thought you were dead set on moving back to Austin.”

Joe and I exchanged glances. “We were,” I said, “but we’re exploring other options, too.”

“I didn’t want to say anything, but that would be so great if you stayed close to here.” She looked at Donald, who had spaghetti sauce smeared around his mouth. “I would love for you all to be close.”

“We haven’t made the decision for sure yet. We have some other things we need to work out,” Joe said, undoubtedly referring to the law firm decision.

My mom thought for a moment, then looked up from her plate. “You know, if you do get this house, could I give you my refrigerator?”

“What?” I said. I remembered the prayer I’d said just hours before. I’d told nobody about it, not even Joe.

“This house came with black appliances, and I’ve been wanting to get a matching refrigerator for a while. I just didn’t know what to do with this white one. Could you use it?”

It took me a moment to answer. “Yes. Yes, we could.”

* * *

The next morning, Joe sent me an email saying that Allan called. Allan said that his new place in Dallas was a master planned neighborhood where the lawn care was taken care of by the homeowners’ association. He planned to leave us his lawn mower, weed eater, and leaf blower as gifts if we bought the house.

* * *

A few hours later, the phone rang. Nothing showed up on caller ID, and as soon as I heard the low hissing in the background, I knew it was my dad calling from Abu Dhabi.

“Hey, kid, how’s it going?” he said, his voice sounding weak over the eight thousand miles that separated us.

“Pretty good,” I said.

“Well, I got some good news today,” he said. I pressed my ear closer to the phone. It sounded like he was calling from Neptune. “I got offered another job a little closer to home, and I’m going to take it.”

“That’s great!” I shouted, not sure how well he could hear me. I shut the door to my office so I wouldn’t disturb the kids’ naps.

“It’s an amazing thing: They’re sending me to Grand Cayman, in an apartment that’s right on the beach!”

“That’s great, Dad! When does it begin?”

“In a little over a month. I’ll be back home for two weeks to see Papaw and deal with my storage facility, and then I’ll head out.”

We chatted for a while longer, making jokes about the challenges that he would face while living on Cayman Island, like sunburns and melted piña coladas. And then, just as we were about to end the call, he added, “Oh, by the way, this apartment is furnished, and I have a bunch of stuff in storage that I don’t know what to do with.” He asked me if I had any use for a series of items, which included a washer / dryer, a couch, a bed, and a coffee table.