The Family Solution. Bobby Hutchinson
supposed to be managing the money. Instead, he’d let the house mortgage lapse, the lease on the store is three months in arrears and our overdraft is maxed out. The business is in the toilet, and there’s nothing to do but shut it down. I have to somehow sell off what stock I can and get this place in good enough shape to sell. And I have to do it all fast, because I have no money.”
“You didn’t tell Charlie boy that, I hope? Because guys tend to get a wee bit nervous if you mention money right off the bat.”
“Of course I didn’t.” Actually, Bella wasn’t too sure what she’d said to him. She was pretty much nuts these days, and not responsible for what came out of her mouth. “Anyhow, there is no way I want anything to do with another man unless he’s a filthy rich plumber slash handyman slash landscape gardener, who loves to paint and has his own home.” She ran out of breath and gulped. “So no more men. Not now, and probably not ever.”
Niki wasn’t impressed. “You’ll change your mind. Your libido will kick in, and when it does you’ll remember this hunky real-estate cop and regret the way you acted.”
“Not in this lifetime. Now, are you going to help me paint and let me whine some more about my problems, or are you just going to keep lecturing me about hormones?”
“Whine away. And do you have something truly awful—like what you’re wearing—that I can change into? Because I don’t want to get paint on this dress. It’s pretty hot, and it’s going to drive Tom crazy. I just bought it at the New to You on Dunbar. This end of town is a gold mine for expensive secondhand clothes.”
“I’ll get you that purple track suit of mine.”
Niki groaned. “If I should fall off the ladder wearing it, do not let the paramedics in the door until you get me back into my dress.”
“You are so vain.”
“I know. It’s one of my strengths.”
Bella surprised herself and laughed.
Niki looked pleased. “There now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Not around you, you whacko.” Bella put an arm around Niki’s shoulders and hugged her tight. “I’m so glad you’re here. The thought of painting the downstairs in eight hours or less makes me dizzy and sick.”
“It’s not the painting that’s doing that, it’s hunger. When did you last eat a whole mess of greasy, fried junk food?”
“That would have been the day before Gordon left, when we ordered pizza and chicken wings. Can’t afford order-in anymore.”
“Yeah, well, I’m ordering in right now. You want anchovies? Pineapple? Zucchini? My treat, Mrs. Angelino tipped me forty bucks for making her hair look thick. And I refuse to paint on an empty stomach.”
“No anchovies. Pineapple’s fine. How’d you manage that? The thick hair thing, I mean.”
“There’s this polymer stuff, that coats each strand and puffs it up, at least until you wash it again, but Mrs. Angelino’s from the old school. She only washes her hair once every two weeks or so, when it starts to smell, so she’s good to go for a while.”
Niki dialed and ordered two extra-large, loaded. She donned Bella’s purple track suit and set to work on the dining-room wall, first painting a four-letter word across it, so she’d have to finish it before the kids got back.
When the pizza arrived, Bella found she was actually hungry.
Chomping down on her second slice, she told Niki about the harmonica.
“I bought it for myself, for my birthday. The day before, actually. I was reading the astrology column and found out I was born on the same day as John Lennon and Jackson Browne. I probably should have returned it—it was expensive—but I’ve been blowing in it every night, so it’s too late now. I can play ‘Three Blind Mice.’ Want to hear?”
Niki shuddered. “Not if I can avoid it. What made you go for a mouth organ? My uncle Popeye used to play one, remember?”
Bella nodded. “So did my dad. He played and I’d dance.”
“You were so close to him. Weird you never heard from him after he left.”
“Out of sight, out of mind, I guess.” When Bella was fifteen, Oscar Howard had left Mae and waltzed off into the Florida sunshine with Dinah Flynn, the neighborhood widow slash home wrecker, never to be heard from again.
Long time ago, Bella, she reminded herself now. Don’t go there. Sufficient unto the moment is the pain thereof.
She and Niki ate and talked and painted for the rest of the afternoon, and when first Kelsey and then Josh arrived home, the teens were so happy to see Niki and the leftover pizza they even forgot to be rude.
If only she could bottle essence of Niki, Bella thought later that evening. She knew her friend had challenges of her own—Niki and Tom wanted a big family, but after twelve years of marriage and many consultations with experts, they still hadn’t managed to get pregnant. Niki was now thirty-nine, and time was running out. She joked about each procedure she went through, making it sound ludicrous and funny, and she never complained.
The problems she’d started out with that morning were still the same, Bella thought, sinking into a tub of scented hot water. They just seemed a lot less important after a healthy dose of her friend’s slightly outrageous humor.
Bella even chuckled, remembering the fiasco with the coffee cup and the real-estate cop. Charlie boy, Niki had called him.
At least she didn’t have to worry about Charlie boy ever coming back.
CHAPTER TWO
HE WAS GOING TO HAVE TO find a way to soften her up, Charlie decided as he’d climbed into his battered Ford truck and backed out of Bella’s driveway. He was going to get the listing for her house, even if it damn near killed him.
“It’s an FSBO, a tough one,” Rick had warned, using the acronym that meant for sale by owner. “The location’s prime, and there’s a thousand dollar bonus in it for anybody who changes her mind. Why not give it a shot, bro?”
Charlie knew that everyone else in the office had already tried to get the listing. Being low man on the totem pole, he also knew they were likely laying bets with Rick that he, the new boy, couldn’t change the lady’s mind, either.
Charlie longed to prove them wrong. It wasn’t that he had a knack for selling real estate. So far, he pretty much hated it. He was a lousy salesman and he knew it. He was far too inclined to point out water stains on the ceiling and signs of dry rot in the attic. But he had to earn a living, and the career options for an ex-cop who was also a recovering alcoholic, had alimony payments to meet and a daughter in university, weren’t good.
He needed a sale, and he needed it soon. Vancouver real estate was hot; everybody knew that. As Rick had told him far too many times, here was his chance to get out of the financial hole he’d dug for himself since he left the police force. His brother had never said it, but Charlie was all too aware that he also needed to pay back the sizable amount he’d borrowed from Rick. Becoming a licensed real-estate agent didn’t come cheap, and Rick had been generous.
So Charlie had screwed up his courage and knocked on the lady’s door.
He fingered the gash on his forehead and grinned. Spunky, he’d give her that. And sexy—there was something about the way she moved. Skinny. Stubborn. Intense. Challenging. He needed to figure out some angle that would break through her defenses.
That house of hers needed work. She was okay with a paintbrush, but he hadn’t noticed any carpentry tools around. She wouldn’t be painting it herself if she could afford to hire someone. And her husband had done a runner. Surely there were all sorts of possibilities. He just had to use his imagination, which was about all he had for collateral.
THE FOLLOWING THURSDAY