LIZ HADN’T YET left the parking lot of Skyline when her phone buzzed with an incoming call from Shane Williams. “A colleague of mine has clients who are very interested in your parents’ house,” he said. “What’s the soonest you’ll be ready to show it?”
“How spruced up does it have to be?” Liz asked. “I’ve been working on the basement, but it’s, you know, a large project.”
“What if you take the weekend to address the most pressing stuff and they come over Monday?”
Which meant five days, two of which were while Jasper was in town, to not only make the house look its finest but also to break the news of the impending sale to her sisters and mother. Liz winced, then said, “That seems doable.”
“Sometimes it’s simplest just to rent a storage unit, load it up, and sort things later,” Shane said. “I’d also make fixing the water stain in the living room a priority.”
“I’m following up,” Liz said. “How does pricing work if the house isn’t officially on the market yet?”
“This is what’s known as a pocket listing, which in some cases can drive up offers. You’re still asking the same amount, but it never enters the MLS. My gut tells me 1.1 million if you and your parents are cool with that.”
“That sounds good.” Where in Cincinnati, Liz wondered, were storage units located, and how much did they cost to rent? She had a vague memory of driving past some en route to her father’s physical therapy appointments, but maybe she was imagining it. To Shane, she said, “The people who are interested in the house—do they have kids?”
“I’ll ask.” Shane’s voice was cheerful. “But I assume so because it’s a perfect house for a family.”
CHARLOTTE LUCAS TEXTED in the afternoon, asking Liz if she’d be free for a drink that evening. Because Liz already had plans to meet Jasper in the bar of the 21c hotel at nine o’clock, when he finished his reporting for the day, she suggested to Charlotte convening in the same place at seven. Prior to this outing, Liz went online to rent a ten-by-fifteen-foot storage locker on East Kemper Road, and also arranged to rent a truck over the weekend.
It was only when Liz and Charlotte were seated at a table, wineglasses in front of them, and Charlotte stated the opposite of what Liz had anticipated that Liz realized how confident she’d been that the trip to California would be a failure.
“Willie and I are moving in together,” Charlotte said. “I wanted you to hear it from me.”
“You’re moving in with Cousin Willie?” Liz could not conceal her astonishment.
“He isn’t my cousin.” Charlotte seemed businesslike—if her demeanor wasn’t ecstatic, neither was it at all dejected.
“But you hardly know each other.”
Charlotte shrugged. “Living together should fix that pretty quickly.”
“Have I ever told you how cool I think it is that you’ve stayed in Cincinnati on your own terms? You’re this smart, attractive person with a high-power job, and you didn’t even have to leave town to make a life for yourself.”
“I’m not sure what you’re trying to convince me of.”
Liz dropped her voice. “Did you sleep with him?”
“If you really want the answer, try not to look so grossed out. And yes, I know all about the prostitute who gave him a blow job, if that’s what you were planning to tell me next.”
It hadn’t occurred to Liz to divulge this bit of information; she forced her lips to relax from their curl of distaste. “So you’ll go out to California? I don’t see how he could live in Cincinnati, with his—”
“I’m moving there,” Charlotte interrupted. “Silicon Valley has great opportunities for someone with my résumé. And in spite of my supposedly awesome life here, I’m ready for a new adventure. Listen, Liz—I’m not asking for your permission. I’m just doing you the courtesy of telling you.” Charlotte flagged a waiter who was passing by. Though he wasn’t the same person who’d brought their drinks, she said, “We’re ready for the check.”
IT WASN’T YET seven-thirty when Charlotte left the bar—the two women had spent less than fifteen minutes together—so Liz texted Jasper to see if he’d be returning any earlier than nine o’clock from his interviews. When Jasper didn’t respond, she texted again saying she was already at the hotel and needed him to call the front desk and authorize them to give her a key to his room. Another twenty minutes passed without a reply, at which point Liz finished off the last of the second glass of wine she’d ordered and irritably walked to Seventh Street, where she’d parked her father’s car.
Back on Grandin Road, as she pulled into the driveway of the Tudor, she could see through the large kitchen windows that her sisters and parents were eating dinner, a shrimp salad Liz herself had prepared. Rather than join them, and without deference to the two drinks she’d recently imbibed, Liz entered the house through the front door, dashed up to the third floor, changed into her running clothes, and hurried back out the front.