After thirty minutes of clicking, I chose the three listings I wanted to see. Immediately! Each one had its individual charm. As I clicked through their pictures, I imagined the things I’d do, starting with the area surrounding the inn. I suppose I was showing signs of life. Maybe I would survive this nightmare. Would there be chickens? What do you think? I’d have more birds than anyone else in Vermont. Would I stop there? No, no, no. This would be my farm sanctuary. Margot’s Ark. Rory didn’t have a “no” left in this marriage.
I stared at one inn for sale called The Sage Wind. The photos showed a magical backyard with ancient oaks reaching up to the sky like wizard hands. The picture had been taken in the fall, and shades of yellow, red, and orange spread through the leaves. I could almost hear the first fires of the season crackling.
The chicken coop would go right there by the shed. I imagined an idyllic scene with my little hens running around, pecking the grass. I saw turkeys—happy turkeys we’d save from Thanksgiving dinners. I could see Philippe running around with a pack of friendly dogs. They were doing their best to herd my sheep. I even thought about horses. This property was big enough. A B&B and Margot’s Ark would be a lot of work, but I was ready to start.
I hated, as in, HATED, the kitchen. I’d rip out the heinous big-box store cabinets, and I’d have to replace all the fixtures. The inn wasn’t exactly move-in ready. I’d tear down a wall or two. Replace some windows. Rip out the track lighting and add a few sconces. Little things that could be done within a few months.
The owners were offering to sell the property with the furniture, but their taste was stuck in the seventies. I’d prefer to havethe total asking price reduced, not to include the furniture. But if that turned out not to be an option, I imagined a giant yard sale the moment I closed on this place. Then I’d visit every antique shop and yard sale within one hundred miles looking for replacement furniture; it would be so fun!
The bathrooms were cute, though. Most rooms had clawfoot tubs, which, as you know, I hold dear to my heart. A guest of a good inn should always be able to enjoy a warm soak after a long day that resulted in tight muscles, whether from the stress of a business meeting or from fun activities like biking and hiking.
My brain swelled with excitement. I thought about the soft towels I’d offer and the organic shampoos and conditioners. My beds would be the comfiest in the state. I had all sorts of ideas on what art I’d hang. We’d have to install a fountain in the backyard. News of my inn would spread, and the results of my eye for detail would draw tourists from all over New England who’d want to experience my vision. I needed to see those houses before I actually exploded.
I picked up my phone and stared at it, wondering if I should call Erica, because she was a realtor. I could have called the listing agent of each property, but Erica would absolutely kill me. Even if I ended up loving what I found and used Erica to close the deal, she would kill me for not having contacted her immediately, and she’d have every right to.
Telling her my decision regarding Rory, however, seemed like the worst idea on earth. She still didn’t know about my pressure-cooker releases.
What to do? What to do? I looked at the freshly baked coconut chocolate-chip cookies and wanted one so badly.
What to do?
I needed to call Erica. Might as well get it over with.
When she answered, I said, “You will not be happy with me, but I’ve made some decisions and want your help.”
“What are these decisions?”
I wasn’t ready for her to go off on me, so I offered her the minimum amount of information. “It’s a long story, but it involves buying my bed-and-breakfast.”
“What!” she screamed. “You’re going to do it! I’m so proud of you.”
She would be proud until I told her I wasn't leaving Rory. Leaving that matter out, I said, “I'll send you links to the three places I want to see, and if possible, I want to see them today. Can you make that happen?”
“Sure, send them. You’re not going to tell me more?”
I hesitated and then, “I’ll tell you in the car while we’re driving over.”
“Wow, you’re leaving the house today?” she asked. “Are you ready?”
I looked out the kitchen window toward the forest. Jasper was still playing his little heart out in the living room. I was becoming afraid of everything outside my house, which was a terrible feeling.
“Ready or not,” I finally said, “I can’t stay in here forever.”
“I’m coming to pick you up right now. Send me the listings. I’ll set up showings on the way.”
I returned my eyes to the laptop. “I’ll send them to you right now.”
While crossingtown in her new Mercedes, I told Erica my decision on the drive toward the first place on the list, and I even told her about my retaliation—all the releases I’d been enjoying. I told her about unplugging Rory’s phone, mismatching his socks, mixing up his shoes, hiding his slippers, deleting his games; and then I gathered up the nerve to tell her about scrubbingthe toilet bowl with Rory’s toothbrush. I expected some laughter, but she stayed completely silent as I gave her the details.
After a slight pause, she reluctantly replied, “You’re crazy. You know that, right? No one in her right mind does those things.”
Her sobering comment lowered my enthusiasm level to a crawl. “It worked.”
She started to say something and then held back.
“What?” I asked, eyeing Erica and then the mini hula girl dancing on the dashboard. I felt like both of them were judging me.
“It didn’t work, Margot. Your husband cheated on you. I don’t see how you think you’ve gotten him back.”
