hard to say which direction the market is heading, Rachel. In the meantime, you’ll be making mortgage payments and the winter taxes are coming due. And Mal said the furnace is getting old.”
“I get it,” Rachel said, figuratively throwing up her hands in defeat. It was a game of roulette, one with a high cover. She couldn’t afford to take the risk.
“On the bright side, the buyer has agreed to forego a home inspection and take the house as is.”
“Thank God for small miracles. So, what do I need to do now?”
“I can swing by your shop in half an hour for you to sign the purchase agreement. Then I’ll get all of the other paperwork in order.”
“Terrific,” she muttered. “Assuming the sale goes through, how long before we close?”
Flora coughed again. Rachel was coming to dread the sound. “That’s another thing. The buyer is in a hurry to take possession.”
“Well, I’m not in a hurry to leave. My place here won’t be ready for months.” Rachel knew it was too optimistic to hope she had that long. “Any chance I can pay rent until I can move in here?”
“Sorry, but no.”
Rachel cursed silently. “Okay, what are we looking at?”
“Two weeks.”
“Two weeks!” This time she cursed out loud. “I can’t do two weeks, Flora. Two months would be pushing it.”
“That’s the buyer’s terms, I’m afraid. And it’s non-negotiable.”
Rachel kneaded her brow. It was quiet overhead at the moment, but the shop was set to close in half an hour and the work crew would arrive. They’d accomplished a lot in the week since she and Tony had walked through her future home, but it would be weeks, months before the apartment was habitable.
“I know it’s unusual for a sale to close so quickly, but the buyer is preapproved for the loan and everything else is in order,” Flora said. “Of course, any additional costs in expediting the matter—courier service and things of that nature—will be borne by the buyer.”
“It’s about time they offered to pay something,” Rachel muttered.
“I’ll be by shortly with the papers,” Flora said.
Rachel barely heard her. Her house was sold. Where was she supposed to live until the apartment was ready?
* * *
The days ticked by even as she sought an answer to that question. Finally, all that remained between her and a date with a moving van was the weekend. Late in the afternoon on Friday, she paced the house from the all-white kitchen to the quiet bedrooms and then back down the hall to the living room. Out front, the For Sale sign her Realtor had staked on the leaf-scattered lawn bore the addition of a bright red SOLD! sticker. Rachel studied the sign as she cupped a mug of green tea in her chilled hands. As eager as she was to leave, she wasn’t ready to go.
She sipped the tea, swallowing it around the lump of dread in her throat. She’d boxed up some of her things, items she wouldn’t need right away. They were at the shop now, wedged into every nook and cranny she could spare. But that was about all she had accomplished. She hated moving, even if she wasn’t going to miss the house itself. Turning away from the window, she glanced around. Everything here was so beige and benign. All of the rooms were a study in monochromic understatement. She preferred a more eclectic decor—bursts of color, texture and pattern. But none of that was reflected here. She wasn’t reflected here. And that was her fault. She’d demurred to Mal’s sedate preferences to avoid argument and to keep the peace that her parents’ marriage had lacked.
Indeed, the house as a whole was a compromise. If it had been up to her, she and Mal would have lived in a rambling, restored farmhouse just outside of town. He’d vetoed that idea as soon as she’d brought it up, just after their wedding. Too much upkeep and too far from the city, he’d said. No, the newly built story-and-a-half in the Sherwood Forrest subdivision was the way to go. It was in an excellent school district, close to parks and shopping, and, as such, a better investment overall. Knowing what it had just sold for, Rachel wasn’t so sure.
Regardless, Monday would be here before she was ready for it if she didn’t get busy.
“So, what is Plan B going to be?” she murmured.
Her sister had offered the use of her one-bedroom apartment’s futon, and Rachel knew she would be welcome at her mother’s condominium. Neither option held any appeal, even as a last resort.
Taking up residence in the small, pink-walled room that still sported the canopy bed of her girlhood felt too much like taking a step backward. As for her sister’s closet-size apartment, Rachel needed more privacy than a bed in the living room would afford. Heidi’s lifestyle reflected her age and single status. She had a crazy work schedule and an active social life, which meant she came and went at all hours of the day. Besides, Rachel didn’t think her back could stand more than a night on the lumpy futon.
Her cell phone trilled as she made herself a second cup of tea.
“Promise not to hate me,” Heidi beseeched as soon as Rachel answered.
It was never a good sign when her sister started off a conversation that way. Rachel promised anyway.
“I told Dad about your divorce and housing situation.”
“Dad?” Rachel was too busy being surprised to be angry. “When and where did you see him?”
The last time their paths had crossed was two Christmases prior, when he’d moved back to the area after a year of selling real estate in Florida. A perfect occupation for him, Rachel had thought. If anyone could sell undesirable swamp land for top dollar, it would be Griff Preston. He’d promised to stay in touch. He hadn’t. No surprise there.
“Today. I ran into him at work of all places. He came in for lunch and sat in my section.” Heidi waited tables and sometimes tended bar at a private golf club. Even when the course was closed for the season, the clubhouse remained a favorite hangout for the CEO set and other business people. “He didn’t even recognize me at first.”
Her sister laughed. That was Heidi’s way. Live and let live. Rachel, however, fumed on her behalf. What kind of father didn’t recognize his own daughter?
“Was he alone?” she asked before she could remind herself that she didn’t care.
“He was with a woman.”
Again, no surprise. Their father had left their mother for someone else, although he’d never remarried. That initial affair hadn’t lasted long, but over the years he’d never wanted for female companionship. The older he grew, the younger and tackier the women he dated became.
“Let’s see. Thirties and blonde?” Rachel inquired blithely as she dunked the tea bag in a mug of boiling water.
“Nope. A redhead this time, and I think she might be younger than you.”
Rachel shifted the phone to her other ear and began dunking the tea bag more vigorously. Mal, Tony and now her father. Was every man on the planet dating a woman who was younger than she
