Page 135 of Perfect Mess

When Gary wasn’t making me amazing Mexican brunches or giving me I told you so looks about the wallpaper, he busied himself touching up a few scuff marks on the walls, lubricating the windows, or vacuuming the exhaust lines for the air conditioner. He even baked a batch of cookies for the guests. Without burning them. I’m pretty sure he ate most of them himself, but nothing says welcome to your new house like the aroma of fresh-baked cookies.

Overall, it was a good day. No, a great day. In fact, it was almost perfect. The only thing missing was some billionaire investor falling in love with the house, then making a full price, all-cash offer. But by that point in my life, I had learned not to expect any of my hopes or dreams or wishes to come true. But maybe this time …

The open house officially ended at five thirty. I was just about to turn out the lights and lock the door when I heard a knock. When I opened the door, Bonnie was standing on the front porch.

“Bonnie?”

“You’ll never guess,” she said, a huge smile spreading across her face.

“What?”Was the pastor pressing charges for indecent exposure?

“He wants to make an offer. Full price. Thirty day close.”

“Thirty days?” There was a time in my life when thirty days seemed like forever. But suddenly, at that moment, it seemed like no time at all. Once again, my mouth spoke before my brain could interrupt. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? He’s offering full price. You’d be crazy not to take it.” Crazy, right? Maybe that’s what I was. “He didn’t even ask for closing costs.” Bonnie started digging through her briefcase. “Now he’ll probably want to douse the entire place in holy water, you know, after your little show and tell, but …”

“There was no show,” I protested.

“There was from where I was standing. And you’re definitely telling me everything.” Bonnie winked. “I expect details. Vivid details. The more graphic, the better.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Gary came down the stairs from the second floor, from where he had been busy caulking the bedroom window frames.Caulking?My dirty slut brain was going haywire again. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, you’re still here.” A devious grin swept over Bonnie’s lips. “My client wants to make an offer. He said he would sign the paperwork first thing in the morning. Isn’t that great?”

“Is it?” Gary looked at me.

“Yeah,” I said, though I could barely muster the energy to pretend to be excited. “Great.”

My phone rang. I silently thanked whatever higher power was listening for the distraction and begged them to absolve me of my impure thoughts while I had their attention.

“Hello?” It was Joyce. Her clients wanted to put in an offer too. Even better, the young couple was willing to go as high as ten thousand dollars over the asking price, as long as I could vacate the house in the next two weeks.

“Two weeks?”

“Two weeks. And that’s firm. They’re in a rush.”Two weeks??

I told both Bonnie and Joyce that I needed a night to sleep on it and I would let them know first thing in the morning.

Once Gary and I were alone, he must have seen the panic building. “I thought you would be happy.” He handed me the last remaining cookie. “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“I thought so.” I took a bite of cookie, the crumbs cascading to Aunt Catherine’s freshly swept floor. Except it wasn’t Aunt Catherine’s floor. It wasn’t Aunt Catherine’s house. Not any more.

I looked through the hallway at the kitchen, the kitchen where Gary had convinced me to keep the wallpaper. The wallpaper my father had stood against growing up through the years. His markings on the wall. A tangible, physical reminder of him.

I looked over at Purrfect, licking herself obscenely. In the cat bed by the stairs. Her cat bed.

I looked in the dining room at the red wall. The wall I had painted. The wall I had worked on until my wrists hurt and my back was sore. The wall that had made Gary want to come and rescue me. The wall that had given us a second chance.

Then I looked at the painting Gary had given me as a housewarming present. The little blue bird. The gathering storm. The painting Jack had taken and Gary got back. For me. Because he knew how much it meant to me.

Last flight. It was like the little blue bird was staring right at me. Through me. Right into my very soul.

I was tired of flying.

I was tired of running.

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