The Big Bang (44 page)

“So sweet.”

“I won’t be here when you get back from London.” Maryellen opened the door to the boxes lining the back hall. “We’re moving.”

“Moving?” Surprise and, strangely, a tinge of panic tempered what should have felt like relief. “I had no idea.”

“Neither did I until, well, until I just did.” Her face hinted at a smile. “Truck’s coming in the morning.”

“I didn’t even know you’d put the house on the market.”

“I didn’t,” she said. “Laney and Steve are going to live here while their house is being rebuilt.”

“Oh,” she managed. “Where are you going?”

“I have a job prospect downtown,” Maryellen said. “Whether I get it or not, I fell in love with this little bungalow in Congress Park.”

How much less anxiety might she have suffered knowing Maryellen was leaving too? “I guess I’m just surprised by the suddenness.”

“The hush money made the decision that much easier.”

“I hate to think of it that way.”

“I hate to think of the other people in the other communities whose homes won’t be fixed,” she said. “But I had my daughter and our future to think about.”

How many of her own thoughts had centered around Maryellen, her daughter, and their future? She willed away the sting of impending tears. “I really am so sorry for everything you’ve gone through.”

Maryellen nodded. “Everything happens for a reason.”

“But sometimes so differently than you might ever expect.”

“Have to agree with you there.” Maryellen motioned her toward the kitchen. “Come. I have something for you.”

“For me?”

The note lay on her kitchen table beside the teacups.

Hope stopped breathing.

“He had it with him when he died,” Maryellen said. “In his briefcase.”

Her heart couldn’t have stopped, not with the way her brain was racing or the way words began to spill from her mouth. “Frank must have taken that note thinking it was a… If only he had known I wasn’t trying to… I was having some marital problems he knew about, so he must have taken the note thinking he was sparing me from the aftereffects of doing something rash. Wasn’t doing what it may have looked like.” She took a breath. “I’d cleaned the house and was trying to clean the chandelier because I was thinking about, planning to leave Jim.”

“I see,” Maryellen said in response.

She patted her belly. “We worked it out, though.”

“Obviously.”

“I’m sure Frank didn’t admit he had the note to—”

“To protect you,” Maryellen said.

Hope nodded.

Maryellen smiled. “All that matters now is you’re going to have the beautiful, healthy baby you’ve wanted more than anything.”

With the hug that followed, Hope prayed she wasn’t as clammy as she felt.

“You know,” Maryellen said releasing her. “It’s so hot today, I don’t think I’m in the mood for tea.” She opened the freezer. “How about an ice cream sandwich instead?”

As Maryellen led Hope to the back porch to eat their ice cream, Frank’s last psalm began looping, probably infinitely, in her head.

Hope deferred maketh the heart sick: but when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life.

L
aney backed her new Lexus out of the Griffins’ garage and reparked at a strategic angle to highlight both the for-sale sign featuring her professional glamour shot and the view of her nearly finished, already fabulous, house next door.

The Universe had come through in spades. She still had a standing appointment at Bastian’s for mold-related chiropractic adjustment, but the bill for homeopathic supplements was nothing relative to the mortgage she’d never have again.

What she did have was everything she ever wanted.

Steve was healthy again and working for Scott Connors at his booming insurance agency. The girls not only had passing, if not stellar, grades, but also had enthusiastically stepped into the shoes of Eva Griffin as copresidents of the Melody Mountain Ranch Youth Group. Mother’s Helpers was doing brisk business. Better yet, as soon as she sold Maryellen’s house, she’d have the commission proceeds from both the Griffin and Fowler properties to help furnish her completely rebuilt, loaded with granite, hardwood, and crown molding, dream home.

She tucked a stray strand of freshly low-lighted hair behind her ear and straightened her cream-colored jacket. She’d managed to sell Sarah’s house using the new ten-year warranty upgrade as a selling point and without arousing any suspicion as to why a pre-owned house would come, free of charge, with such a bonus.

A car neared the entrance to the cul-de-sac.

No reason she couldn’t do the same for Maryellen’s.

She hurried up the front steps, clicked open the lock box, and opened the door as though she hadn’t been living there for nearly a year, waiting for her house to be done.

Closing her eyes, she took a Chi-balancing breath, willed these buyers not to ask too many questions about the house or neighborhood she was contractually unable to answer, and waved as a Toyota Sienna XLE approached the driveway.

The passenger window slid down and the wife, an attractive brunette, waved warmly.

Laney proffered a practiced, but authentic smile.

The husband parked and came out the driver’s side. Forty-ish, five-ten or so, graying and wearing nice sportswear, he fell firmly into the more handsome than Tim Trautman category.

Of course, he probably didn’t do that trick with his tongue Tim did.

Laney offered her hand. “Laney Estridge, Mountain Realty.”

“Rob Fineberg.”

And Tim’s handshake was anything but clammy.

The wife made her way over. Her leggings and tunic top both hid and highlighted the beginnings of a baby bump.

“I’m Tara.” Her sufficiently oversized diamond wedding set sparkled in the sunlight. “We were so excited to see your listing online.”

“Isn’t this a Henderson Home?” the husband asked.

“Better known these days as a Casa De Oro home,” Laney smiled. “They’ve gone big time in California.”

The wife looked past her at the roofers, laying sheets of shingles onto Laney’s roof.

Laney prayed she wouldn’t have to cough out a lie about the amazing warranty-covered job happening next door.

Instead, the wife pointed at the playground. “Look, honey.”

“Saw that,” the husband said.

“We love having a place for our little ones in this corner of the development.”

“You live nearby?”

Laney nodded without elaborating. “Meg Pierce-Cohn lives on this block, too.”

“The state rep?” Rob asked.

“And Tim Trautman, our HOB president, is over on the next cul-de-sac.”

A bi-weekly convenience, in and of itself.

The wife scampered toward the open front door. “This house does look a lot like my sister’s in California. Don’t you think so, Rob?”

“This one’s bigger,” he said.

“This particular floor plan is somewhat unique.” Laney’s voice echoed across the oversized foyer as she stepped inside and pointed to the full-size living room. “There’s also an enhanced great room.”

“I love the space.” The wife spread her arms out.

“Price seems a little on the high side,” Rob said.

“The owner’s willing to entertain a reasonable offer,” Laney lowered her voice slightly. Her desire to play the heartstring card and tell the story of Frank’s tragic accident and its emotional aftermath for both Maryellen and Eva was overridden by her business sense. Even though Frank hadn’t died in the house, he’d succumbed too close for selling comfort. “She’s a widow and doesn’t want to hold on to the property indefinitely.”

“I love the décor,” the wife said.

Laney’s heart skipped a delighted beat. “It is darling, isn’t it?”

“We’ll still need to factor some redecorating if we write a bid.” She patted her tummy. “If only for the nursery.”

“The neighbor across the street designs the most darling nurseries I’ve ever seen,” Laney said. “And there’s a waiting list to have her do Christmas decorating.”

“We’re Jewish,” the husband said.

“Perfect,” Laney said, relishing the quick save. “Congregation Beth El just broke ground at the corner of Wonderland Valley Way and Wonderland Valley Parkway.”

“What about the schools?” the wife said, heading for the kitchen. “And the rec center?”

“First rate,” she called after her, confident she didn’t need to follow behind to point out the commercial style refrigerator and range or the granite Maryellen had the resale wherewithal to have installed from the beginning.

The husband ducked into the office.

“Everything’s built in,” Laney said following behind.

“Hmm.” He didn’t stop to examine the cherry desk or pull on a drawer. His attention was instantly focused on the window, or rather through the window and across the street.

More accurately, at the neighbor standing on her driveway.

Wearing a tank top and jean shorts, Hope Jordan was bent over her stroller tending to her infant daughter Lilly, providing an inadvertent peek at her voluptuous nursing chest.

“Who’s that?” the husband asked.

“Hope,” Laney said. “The interior decorator I was telling you about.”

“Honey,” the wife called. “You have to see the kitchen.”

The husband’s eyes lingered as Hope took her gorgeous, if unexpectedly dark-haired, daughter out of the stroller. She turned, and gave them a full frontal view of her slightly more curvaceous but equally as fetching post-pregnancy figure.

“Coming,” the husband said.