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John spotted me with his phone. “You need to calm down. It’s two nights, albeit two nights at the Regency. I’ll be spoiled. I’ll bring you some of their famous body lotion, OK?”
As the memory dances through my head, so does the realization I’m wasting time standing here. I need to take charge of the present.
Back to my face. I look in the bathroom mirror and pinch my cheeks. It doesn’t help. The word to describe my appearance isdrab. That’s something I’ve never been called, ever. That’s it. The last straw. Period.
I’ve got to get out of this house. Maybe with a new bedroom, a new bed, and some cool air, I’ll erase the vision of John.
It’s time to call the real estate agent. I’m reluctant to move too quickly, what with the suburban gossip mill, and Ashlyn and Kate talking about murder, but I have to get out of here. I wonder if I can sue them for slander or libel or whatever it’s called.
Ashlyn is going back to college, so she’ll be gone; Kate better watch her step.
Focus, Tish.I dial the number.
“Chris Cort here. Grandville’s number one agent. May I help?” His deep voice matches the handsome looks of the guy who has sent postcards and calendars to me since we moved into our love nest. We used one of John’s real estate friends to buy the house—I’m using the postcard-sending hunk to find my next home. I need a new place, a city place perhaps, closer to the office.
“Hi, yes, this is Tish Nelson. 902 Coventry.” I try to add a lilt to my tired voice.
“Gorgeous home. Stately. I love it.” He pauses. “Mrs.Nelson, I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. It’s tragic. And now, I’m afraid, I’ll need to sell the house.”
I don’t need to see him to know he’s grinning. “I’d be pleased to represent you. Could I come by and take a look at the property? What is your timing?”
“As soon as possible, really. There are just too many memories here,” I say, not adding that the stupid place is torturing me. I don’t think he needs to know about that. John’s ghost will disappear once I’m gone. It just better not follow me.
“I can be there in twenty minutes. Does that work for you?” He’s certainly an eager beaver.
“Yes. That works. Chris, does the fact that John died suddenly taint the price of the home?” I ask in the sweetest, almost southern, voice.
“He didn’t expire in the home, did he? I mean that creates a stigmatized property situation, but it’s not insurmountable.”
Expire? Really? Jeez. “No, not in this one. He died in the mountains. At our condo in Telluride. I need to sell that, too.”
“I’m happy to help you with both properties. I have a strong referral network in Colorado. Will we be buying a new residence here and there?” I imagine Chris’s green eyes glowing with the promise of multiple commissions. I then wonder if they really are green or just photoshopped. I’ll find out in twenty minutes.
“Yes, I will be purchasing a new home. I’m staying in the area. I work downtown, so perhaps a condo? I’m not sure.” I’m bored with this conversation. “Let’s talk in twenty minutes, shall we?”
“Yes, Mrs.Nelson. I’ll be there.”
Oh, I know you will, Chris. I just hope you are as cute as your advertising. And as young. Young. I’m young. It’s time I find a man my own age. No more old guys. I hang up the phone and turn back to the task at hand. I have a lot of makeup work to do.
By the time the doorbell rings, I’m ready. Hair blown out. Makeup heavily applied. The house is in fairly good shape since Sonja handled the red wine mess. And the thermostat is behaving. I’ll make a note to call a tech guy next. Maybe Chris knows someone.
When I open the door, I discover Realtor Chris is even more handsome than his advertising. And fit.
As we shake hands, I feel the tingle. The surge of electricity. I give him a big smile, and he returns the favor. This is going to work out just great, for his business and my pleasure.
“Please, come in,” I say.
“Gorgeous,” he says as he walks through the door, following behind me. I know he’s referring to me and not my living room.
It’s been a while since someone has offered me an overt compliment, I mean, besides my husband. But he hadn’t even noticed me lately. No, he was back in love with his stupid ex-wife. An unfortunate choice for him. I control everything now—the company, the money, everything but this stupid smart home.
I turn and toss my hair over my shoulder and wink. “Thank you.” I could lean in and kiss him right now. But business before pleasure today, I remind myself. I have work to do in the office.
“Do you want to give me a tour of the place? I’ll have my team come back this afternoon or whenever you’d like to take the official listing photos, but I’d love to get a feel for the property myself.” Chris’s light-blue tie brings out the green in his eyes.
“Yes, let’s get you a good feel.” I smile, and he follows me like a puppy into the kitchen. This is going to be fun. I need a release. It’s been tough being a grieving widow. It’s tough being one step ahead of everyone else.
