If You Were Here

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First published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

First Printing, May

REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:

Lancaster, Jen, 1967–

If you were here/Jen Lancaster. p. cm.

eISBN : 978-1-101-51447-4

1. Suburbs—Illinois—Chicago—Fiction. 2. Dwellings—Remodeling—Fiction. 3. Women authors—Fiction. 4. Marriage—Fiction. 5. Chicago (Ill.)—Fiction. I.Title.

PS3612.A’.6—dc22 2011003171

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For the man who defined a generation.
Godspeed, Mr. Hughes.

Author’s Note

Dear Reader,

This is not a true story, but was inspired by our adventures in suburban real estate. However, we quickly came to our senses and realized that buying a crumbling home by the lake was an incredibly stupid, potentially hazardous, ridiculously expensive, and almost-certain-to-end-our-marriage idea.

We did not purchase the house in this book.

We moved elsewhere.

This didn’t occur.

(Yet.)

XO,

Jen

P.S. I feel it’s important to note here that I love Stephenie Meyer. This might not make sense now, but it will later, I promise.

Prologue

I blame HGTV for what happens next.

Chapter One

THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT ORNESTEGA

“No.
No.
Oh,
hell
, no.”

I’m standing upstairs in my office when I spot someone in an oversize hoodie and low-slung pants paint ORNESTEGA in puffy silver letters on the flat red bricks of the building across the street.

Which is a
church
.

I imagine the Lord probably has His own way of dealing with little thugs who deface houses of worship, but I can’t just stand here waiting for Him to scramble a swarm of locusts or turn rivers to blood. I imagine He’s got a lot on his plate right now, what with war, poverty, the Sudanese situation, and all those reality-show contestants asking for His divine guidance as they navigate their way through the obstacle course and into the Jell-O pit.

The other thing is, if He does take notice and sends down hail mixed with fire, it’s going to ruin my lawn. I think sometimes God expects us to act as His emissaries; ergo,
I
will fix this.

I press the “indoor talk” button on the intercom system. “Mac! Maaaaac! There’s a tagger outside and ...” Before I can even finish my sentence, my husband, Mac,
¹has exited his basement office/lair and flown across the street.

When it comes to wrongs that need righting, Mac fancies himself a modern-day Batman. I mean, if Batman were pushing forty, with a hint of spare tire around his waist, seven gray hairs, and a job in middle management for the phone company. The truth is he’s more like Dilbert, only with a fully stocked arsenal.

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