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“Whatever you like.” Elyse looked from me to my father. “Sorry again for the interruption. I’ll let you get on with it.”
“Hang on a sec,” my father said before she could leave the room. “Jodi, I believe you owe Elyse an apology.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, Vic,” Elyse protested. “That’s really not necessary.”
“It most certainly is.”
“Your daughter was absolutely right. Whatever she’s here to discuss with you is none of my concern. I had no right to ask.”
“There will be no discussion about anything until Jodi apologizes,” my father insisted.
Wow,I thought, torn between indignation at my father’s pigheadedness and admiration for Elyse’s skill at manipulation. Part of me wanted to get up and leave; the other part of me wanted to stick around and see what would happen next.
“I’m sorry if you thought I was being rude,” I began, removing my coat and placing it on the seat beside me.
“What the hell kind of apology is that?” my father groused. “Don’t be sorry about whatshethought. Be sorry for whatyoudid.”
“I’m sorry if I was rude,” I said immediately, managing to sound reasonably sincere. I was getting pretty good at recognizing lost causes.
“Apology accepted,” Elyse said. “Now, let me get you that hot chocolate.”
“No hot chocolate,” my father said. “She doesn’t need the calories. Let’s just proceed, shall we?”
I took a deep breath, trying not to cry as I waited for Elyse to leave the room. Only when she was gone and I was sure I could speak without bursting into tears did I continue. “Anyway,” I began, as if there’d been no interruption, “Stephanie came into my office earlier today and asked if you might be interested in selling the house. Apparently, she has a potential buyer…”
My father’s sneer was almost audible. “And you fell for that?”
“What do you mean?”
“There is no client! You should know that. Don’t tell me you’ve never tried that shit yourself. No wonder she’s always beating you in commissions earned.”
“I don’t think she was fishing. I honestly think she has somebody interested in buying the house.”
“Please. It’s the oldest trick in the book. You plant a seed in a person’s mind, get them to consider selling when the idea never occurred to them. But now that the seed’s been planted, the homeowner is seeing dollar signs and is suddenlyveryinterested in selling.”
“So, are you?”
“Interested in selling? Don’t be ridiculous.”
I quoted him the price the clients were willing to pay. “It’s a damn good offer,” I told him.
“Rule number one: there is no offer until it’s on paper. Something else you should have learned by now.”
“So, if they submit an offer in writing,” I said, ignoring the insult, “you’d be willing to look at it.”
“Not a chance.”
“Why not, for God’s sake?”
“I’ve lived here for almost fifty years. This is my home, and I have no intention of leaving. End of story.”
“You bought this house when you were a young man with a growing family. Things have changed. You’re almost eighty. Mom is dead. And this is way too much house for one person to look after. Youknowthat.”
“I have Elyse,” he said stubbornly.
“Who isn’t exactly a spring chicken. How much longer do you think she’ll be able to look after everything? What happens if she quits?”
