Mine (2 page)

But Theresa…

Courtney knew the problem. She knew it exactly. After more than a year and a half of therapy after Theresa’s death, she knew exactly how to analyze her own feelings and reactions. Of course, knowing the source didn’t make such things any easier to deal with, but awareness was good, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it good for her to understand that she was worried about selling the house because deep in her heart, she felt like she’d be leaving Theresa behind?

She dragged her attention back to the picture of Rachel Hart, Million Dollar Producer. She didn’t exactly look warm and fuzzy, but she advertised in the gay paper, so she got points for that in Courtney’s book. “Million Dollar Producer” was impressive, she had to admit. If Courtney got technical with the details, she’d also have to admit that she’d stand to make a healthy profit from selling. Theresa’s life insurance policy had paid off the entire mortgage, which had been a huge relief since there was no way Courtney could have afforded it alone. Not that she was all about the money, but making some to put away for retirement definitely held an appeal.

She picked up the cordless phone from where it sat on the table, dialed the first three numbers listed on the newspaper ad, then clicked off with a sudden surge of panic. She pressed the phone to her forehead and closed her eyes, willing her breathing to steady. Her coffee now cold, she took a large gulp anyway, wet her lips, and dialed again. This time, she didn’t hang up.

*

Rachel Hart held the MapQuest directions in her right hand and read as she maneuvered her BMW into a left-hand turn. Satisfied she was on the right street, she set the sheet down and took in the neighborhood as she drove.
Nice
, she thought.
Good-sized houses, roomy yards, lots of trees, cul-de-sac.
She nodded, knowing she could sell any one of these houses in a matter of days. It was an up-and-coming area of suburbia, new developments going up all over the place. Everybody wanted to be out here, to send their children to this particular school. She could already think of six different clients who’d be interested in one of these houses. She was sure Danny probably had a few, too, though she wasn’t sure she even needed to mention it to him. Why share the profit if she didn’t have to?

She swung the car into the driveway of number thirty-seven, pleased to note it was at the end of the cul-de-sac…prime location. It was probably very quiet. The only traffic this house saw was either destined for its driveway or lost. It was perfect for a family with children.

Rachel picked up her leather portfolio off the passenger seat and got out of the car. She smoothed the jacket of her black pantsuit and mentally went over the details she had researched earlier that day. The house was purchased nearly four years ago by two women: Courtney McAllister and Theresa Benetti. A little over a year later, the ownership had been transferred to Ms. McAllister alone. She had been the one to call and set up the appointment, and since there had been no “we” in any of their conversation, Rachel assumed this was yet another lesbian couple who’d purchased up and then broken up. She saw it happen all the time; it was frighteningly common. The good news was that Rachel was sure—assuming the interior of the house had been maintained—that she could sell this place for a good twenty-five to thirty thousand dollars above the original purchase price. The area was flourishing. Maybe the extra profit would ease the pain of the breakup.

She shrugged and headed across the walk to the front door. None of it was any of her concern. Her job was to sell this house, and that’s what she was going to do. Quickly and for the most money.

She gave her hair a fast finger-comb and then rapped on the big oak front door, noting with pleasure the leaded glass embedded into it. A nice front door made a great first impression. She was still thinking about that as it was pulled open and an attractive brunette with a warm smile said hello.

Courtney McAllister was not what Rachel had expected, though she wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the lack of bitterness, that hardening around the eyes that women get when they’ve been left or they’re being forced out against their will. This woman seemed…resigned, but pleasant. She was dressed casually in a pair of well-worn, soft-looking cargo shorts and a navy blue T-shirt and had an athletic air about her. Her chestnut brown hair was pulled back off her face, which was devoid of any makeup, and she was barefoot. Her handshake was firm and she invited Rachel inside with a friendly wave of her arm.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, her green eyes looking directly into Rachel’s. “Coffee? Beer? Wine? A Coke?”

Rachel shook her head. “Thank you. No. I’m fine.”

“Well…here it is.” Courtney tried for a smile, but it came across as more of a grimace and Rachel nodded, noting that her prospective client had drifted from seeming comfort to slight unease.

They stood in the middle of the high-ceilinged living room, Rachel scanning her papers and Courtney nervously shifting from foot to foot and rubbing her hands together. Rachel looked up and squinted at the skylights, then jotted a few notes on her paper. “Do you know how old these are?” She pointed up.

“They were here when we bought the place.” Courtney shrugged. “They don’t leak, though,” she added as an afterthought.

Rachel nodded again and wandered to the front windows, peering behind the sheer curtains. The only sound in the room was the scratching of her pen on paper as she made some more notes.

“So…” Courtney said in an obvious attempt to fill the silence. “How do we do this? Do you want to wander? Do you want me to show you around? Tell me what the process is. I’m kind of new to all of this.”

Rachel had found in more than ten years as a realtor that there were two main kinds of sellers. There were the people who couldn’t wait to sell. They were the ones who were having a new house built or were moving up in the world or were moving out of town. They were generally happy and gave Rachel free rein, listening to her suggestions raptly and carrying them out without question. Then there were the people who didn’t want to sell. They were being forced to because of finances or they’d been through a breakup or divorce and didn’t want the memories. Courtney was hard to pinpoint and Rachel found that intriguing, deciding she must fall somewhere in between. She rarely asked for details, though they were often offered up anyway. She preferred to use the clues given to her to figure out the situation on her own. Sort of a solo brain teaser, a challenge she issued herself.

Twenty minutes later, she’d wandered the house unescorted—she always chose to make her first trip alone, without the narration of her client to cloud her judgment—and returned to the living room with her notes. Courtney sat at one end of the leather couch looking decidedly more nervous than she had earlier, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. Rachel took the other end of the couch and sat at an angle so her knees pointed toward her. She placed her business card on the table and then consulted the scribbles she’d made during her perusal.

“Okay, here’s what I’ve got.” She looked up from her notes to be sure Courtney was paying attention. The expression on her face was hard to read, but Rachel pushed forward, launching into her usual introductory spiel. “You’ve got a beautiful place here. I don’t think we’ll have any trouble at all selling it. A couple suggestions: Do whatever you can to get rid of the clutter. Clutter makes things look smaller, and you want everything to appear as large and roomy as possible. The closets are a little crowded. See if you can thin stuff out a bit. The guest bedroom has a bunch of boxes labeled ‘Clothes to Salvation Army.’ Get those out of here. They look messy. The upstairs office? You need to thin some of that out, too. That shelf of trophies needs to go, the certificates on the wall. Maybe replace them with one simple painting. And here.” She gestured to the entertainment center with her chin. “You need to get rid of some of the pictures. I always suggest that my clients depersonalize as much as possible. People want to walk through the place and be able to picture themselves in here. With all your stuff lying around, they’ll end up picturing themselves in
your
house instead of
theirs,
and I’ve found that doesn’t guarantee a sale as well.”

Courtney blinked at her, the look on her face clouding over with…something Rachel couldn’t put her finger on. Anger? Pain? Rachel studied her. “Ms. McAllister? Are you okay?”

Courtney stood abruptly and Rachel followed suit. “You know what? I think I’ve changed my mind.”

Rachel felt her head spin from the unexpected change in direction. “I beg your pardon?” She barely registered Courtney’s hand on her elbow, almost pulling her through the living room and steering her toward the door.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Courtney said again, almost breathless as she opened the front door. “I don’t think I’m ready to sell. I’m really sorry to have wasted your time, Ms. Hart. Please forgive me.”

Before Rachel knew what was happening, the front door closed and she was left standing on the front stoop of number thirty-seven, blinking in confusion. She stood there for several long minutes, trying in vain to figure out exactly where things had gone so terribly wrong and wondering how on earth she’d misread Courtney McAllister so badly.

She took a deep breath and blew it out. In a gesture of frustration, she lifted her arms out and dropped them to her sides, the portfolio banging against her thigh. She finally conceded defeat and got back into her BMW, still feeling somewhat dizzy from the weird turn of events, though now annoyance had begun to creep in. She started the engine and stared at the dashboard, not really seeing anything but Courtney McAllister’s anxiety-ridden face.

As she backed out of the driveway, she growled with irritation, “Well.
That
was a first.”

Chapter Two

“You did
what
?”

Amelia’s voice was so shrill, Courtney had to hold the phone away from her ear, certain her friend had reached frequencies only dogs could hear. “I couldn’t help it,” she said, sounding like a whining six-year-old. “I panicked.”

“Panicked? Girl, you freaked out. What the hell is the matter with you?”

Courtney sighed and rubbed her forehead. She could picture Amelia, her dearest friend since college, sitting at her own kitchen table, her dark brown eyes sizzling with fire, her black hair glossy and brushed back from her face, which was probably etched with disapproval. Courtney fought to explain what she’d felt the previous evening. “I don’t know, Meel. I don’t know. I just…she was so…detached, you know?”

“Detached? How do you mean?”

“She wanted me to get rid of stuff…pictures and things. You know?” Courtney didn’t like the memory or the idea of what Rachel Hart, Million Dollar Producer, suggested she do. “She told me to get rid of my pictures of Theresa and me, her trophies and certificates in the office…” She trailed off.

“She said that?” It was more of a statement than a question. “She said, ‘get rid of these pictures of your dead girlfriend, as well as her awards and stuff’?”

“She said I needed to depersonalize,” Courtney said, knowing she wasn’t really answering the question.

There was a pause and she knew Amelia was nodding, processing. “Let me ask you something. And tell me the truth.”

“Okay.”

“Did she know Theresa had passed away?”

Courtney scratched at an invisible spot on her chest and nibbled on the inside of her cheek. “Um…”

Amelia sighed. “Damn it, C. What the hell am I going to do with you, hmm?” Her tone was quiet, which in many ways was worse than when it was shrill. Courtney knew it meant Amelia was frustrated and disappointed with her, so she sighed, too.

“Love me forever?” Courtney said, feeling small.

“That’s already a given, you bonehead.” There was a beat of silence. “You’re going to call her back, right?”

Courtney grimaced. “Do I have to?”

“Yes, you absolutely have to. You need to get her back there—if she’s willing to even give you the time of day, which I have to admit, I wouldn’t be—and you need to apologize to her.”

Courtney groaned.

“And you need to tell her the truth. The poor girl deserves to have all the facts before she’s judged on her behavior, don’t you think?”

“I suppose. But she’s so…cool.”

“That’s bad how? I’ve seen her picture. Remember?”

“No, no. Cold. Cool as in cold. As in not friendly. She was beautiful, that’s for sure.” Courtney thought back to the strikingly tall figure that had stepped into her house like she owned the place. The perfect hair, the impeccable suit, not a wrinkle or a piece of lint to be found. “Beautiful and cold.”

“Are you trying to sleep with her or do you want her to sell your house?”

“Amelia!”

“I’m just trying to understand you, that’s all. She’s a
realtor
, Courtney. Have you met many of them in your life? Because I have and I’m sorry to say, the majority of them are cold, conceited, and bitchy. But I’m also thinking cold, conceited, and bitchy is probably going to get me more money for my house, am I right?”

Courtney grinned in spite of herself. “Are you ever not right?”

“It’s rare, sweetie. It’s rare.”

“Can’t I just call a different realtor?” Courtney winced at the fact that she was still droning on like a toddler.

“Sure you can. After you call and apologize to Ms. Icy Cool.”

They debated for several more minutes, but Courtney’s arguments became less and less vehement because she knew Amelia was right. She owed Rachel Hart an explanation and an apology at the very least. They hung up with Amelia claiming victory.

Courtney sat for long moments at the kitchen table, staring at the business card Rachel had left. She held it up and ran her thumb over the small photograph, a duplicate of the one in the paper, but this one in full color. The realtor stared confidently into the camera lens, as if she was certain the picture would be perfect. Only the barest hint of a smile touched her full, pink lips, and Courtney found herself wondering what Rachel Hart, Million Dollar Producer, would look like if she actually laughed outright. She imagined possible lines crinkling at the corners of her eyes; she imagined the almost-dimples that dented her cheeks deepening just a bit. Shaking her head, Courtney took in a big breath and blew it out.