Page 95 of Hearts on the Mend

“Not right now.”

“But you never pick up. Why not?”

I don’t have a good answer. Well not one that I should be sharing with her. “Later. We need to get ready.”

She’s quiet for a second, her focus on making Noodles dance across the top of the blankets. “He made your heart happy, though. I could tell.” She says it so simply, like Bruce singing every damn morning outside my window. “I’m sad too, but I still want him to be our friend, Mom.”

The ache in my chest makes it feel nearly impossible to breathe, but I force a wobbly smile, then press a kiss to her forehead. “Me too, monkey.”

She snuggles in closer, and for a minute, neither of us moves. But we can’t stay cozy in bed forever, no matter how much I wish that were true.

We eat breakfast and get dressed, just in time for the doorbell.

The loud, scary one is gone. Just a normal ding-dong now. I hate that I sort of miss the old one.

I’m interviewing real estate agents today to list the house. First up is an agent Jack recommended. She’s an older woman with short black hair cropped close to her chin. She’s wearing a barn jacket thrown over a suit, which already looks ridiculous enough before I spot the shiny black Mercedes in my driveway.

My stomach sinks.

“Hi, Linda Huffington,” she says, holding out a hand. “So nice to meet you, Cassie.”

“Come on in,” I say.

I bribed Ruby with TV so I could speak with Linda in private. Ruby flashes a quick wave from the couch, snuggled up with Noodles.

“That’s my daughter,” I say quickly. “Let’s have some tea in the kitchen. Unless you prefer coffee?”

“No, tea is fine. Thank you so much.”

I lead her forward, making small talk, watching as her eyes catch on the new banister, the wide trim that sits flush against the doorframe now and is painted in the perfect creamy white to complement the stain on the old hardwood floors. I drove Nolan nuts trying to pick it out. Hard to believe a few months ago, I walked into this house agreeing with Ruby that it was probably haunted and there was shag green carpet on the stairs.

It’s not until she settles down at the table and I pour us two cups of tea that she starts.

“This property has never been on the market before.”

“No, it’s only ever been in my family. But it’s big and expensive to heat. It was too much for my aunt.”

“I went to school with Ruth,” Linda says. “Well, she was a few years older than me, but everyone knows her in town.”

That earns a real laugh. “She’s certainly unforgettable.”

“So, tell me what you had in mind,” Linda starts. “What are we thinking? How much do you want to list it for?”

I lean on the table, blowing out a deep breath. “I was hoping you might help me with that.” Putting a price on this house seems impossible. Never mind the fact that the local market is insane.

“Well, we can take a look around. It looks like you’ve done some updating, nothing major. This kitchen, I’m sure, looks better than when you moved in.”

“My aunt hadn’t touched the place since the ’70s,” I say.

“But it’s not a new kitchen,” she continues. “Painting old cabinets doesn’t fix what the market wants right now. These extra back rooms could be demolished for more space, a giant waterfall island would be beautiful here, and then the tiny window above the sink could be replaced with a bank of windows. Bring in more light. Everyone loves open concept. Besides, commuters to Boston don’t want to be taking care of an old house. They want convenience, updated amenities and electrical.”

Sure, but that wasn’t in the budget. “The knob-and-tube wiring has all been updated, if that’s a concern.” I can dream too, but it doesn’t change the fact that I think this kitchen is perfect as it is right now. Painting the cabinets made it so much brighter. “I’m sure there’s a market for older homes.”

“Oh, there is. But that’s another kind of buyer. Tell me, what other work have you done?”

I list off the projects that have been checked off over the last few months. Finally, she sets her tea down, then stands and walks to the kitchen window.

“It’s a big property. That’s a plus. How many acres? Twelve, right?”