A Mile in My Flip-Flops (20 page)

“Of course.” I take a sip of the coffee, which is a latte and perfect, and open the bag to see two blueberry muffins. “And thanks for breakfast.”

“Oh, man,” she says as she looks into the bathroom that’s completely gutted. “Where do you bathe and—”

“There’s a second bath,” I tell her, pointing to the end of the hallway. She takes a peek at that one and shakes her head. “You really
use
that bathroom?”

“The toilet works. The tub’s kind of gross, but you know—”

“Gross? This place is like a third-world country, Gretch. How can you stand it?”

“Hey, did you come here to help or criticize?”

“Sorry.” She turns and looks at me with a seriously concerned expression, like she’s trying to determine the level of my insanity. “It’s just that I had no idea it was so … so
bad.”

“That’s because you only saw the house from the outside. And if you think this is bad, you should’ve seen it before the cleanup crew came.”

“This place has been cleaned?” She makes a face as she points to the grimy wall in the hallway where it looks like animals or children wiped … well, something … all along the walls.

“I took photos,” I tell her, “to document how bad it was.”

“Yes … but I thought… Well, never mind.”

“So, do you really want to help?” I ask.

She presses her lips tightly together as if she’s reconsidering, then finally nods. “Yes. A friend in need is a friend indeed, right?”

“I guess.”

She peeks in my makeshift bedroom now, then laughs. “This must be where you’re sleeping.”

“Where else?” I check out my “cozy” room in stark daylight and see how shabby it really looks with the beat-up wood floor, missing closet doors, and a drop cloth nailed over the window. Charming.

“Nice rug.”

“Thanks.”

We go into the kitchen area, where I have set up a couple of camp chairs. “Care to join me?” I ask as I set the coffees and muffins on the small outdoor table.

“Delighted,” she says in an affected tone as she sits down and picks up her coffee. “Lovely little place you have here, Gretchen. You’ve done so much with it.”

“Thank you,” I say with a mock snobbish tone. “I call it contemporary grunge with an artistic touch of minimalism.” I wave my hand to where the cabinets used to be. “Note the sparse lines of the kitchen.”

“Very cutting edge.” She plays along. “And I like this filthy patina you’ve achieved on the walls. Sort of an urban-grime look, but perhaps you could use a little graffiti to set it off better.”

“Yes, I think there’s a can of orange spray paint in the pickup.”

“That should do the trick.”

We continue this senseless banter while we dine on muffins and lattes, but finally I tell her it’s time to get to work.

“Where do I begin?” she asks.

“Do you like to paint?”

“Inside or outside?”

“Which would you prefer?”

“Outside.”

“Perfect.” Actually I’m relieved since I really wanted to do the interior painting myself. “The exterior is mostly ready to go, but you might need to do a little sanding in spots.”

So we gather up the supplies and a ladder, and I take her out to one side of the house and show her how and where to sand the lap siding, pointing out the spots where the old paint needs to be smoothed out some. Then I open up a five-gallon bucket of primer.

“White?” she says, peering down at the paint with dismay. “You’re painting it white? And it’s kind of a mucky-looking white at that.”

“No, this is the primer coat. After that we’ll paint it a nice sage green.”

She nods in relief. “Oh good. How about the trim?”

“That’ll be taupe, but I don’t want to do it until the new windows and doors are in.”

“New windows and doors?” She seems to consider this, then nods. “Maybe there’s hope for this place after all. How much time do you have left to fix it now?”

I let out a groan. “Three weeks.”

I see her eyes open wide. “Wow.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Well, I’ll help you when I can,” she says. “Maybe I can come by after work sometimes.”

“That would be fantastic.”

“And maybe Justin will want to help too.”

“Great.”

“But don’t forget that next Saturday is Tina’s wedding. I really hope you’ll be there. Tina can’t stand unfulfilled RSVPs. Plus I could really use the moral support of a woman, someone who can make fun of Bridezilla with me.”

“Of course I’ll be there,” I promise, although I wish I could get out of it. Then again, it might be nice to do something social for a change.

“So, anyway, I just start?” asks Holly. “Do I use a brush or this little roller?”

“Whichever you like best—probably both.”

“What if I make a mess?”

I laugh. “Look around,” I say as I point to big flakes of paint still littering the beat-up shrubbery and dead grass. “I don’t think you can make it look any worse than this.”

“Good point.”

“And don’t worry about the windows since they’re coming out.”

“This should be a breeze.”

Seeing that Holly has things under control outside, I go inside to work. My plan is to paint both bedrooms and the hallway before this day is done. Of course, I know that I need to check on Dad at noon, as well as make a supply run, but I think this is a doable plan.

As I’m painting the largest bedroom, I become more and more aware that the ceiling treatment, a nasty substance known as “popcorn,” has to go. Not only is it gray and creepy looking with old cobwebs still adhered to it’s bumpy surface, but it’s not paintable either.

So I put down the roller and get out a broad knife. I attempt to scrape off some of the crud, which naturally creates an even bigger mess as the chalky, powdery junk coats both me and the floor. Even so, I can see there’s no going back now. Still, there must be a smarter way to do this. For starters I need to cover the wood floors so this white muck doesn’t get engrained in them.

As I’m spreading the drop cloths, I notice Dad’s big Shop-Vac and wonder if that might not come in handy. Finally I’ve got the Shop-Vac hose in hand and am ready to go. I’m sure I must look like something from a sci-fi or horror movie as I go to work, but it seems my popcorn removal plan is working … somewhat. I have wrapped myself, almost mummylike, in a drop cloth that’s secured with duct tape. And I’m wearing my faithful bandanna over my nose and mouth and safety goggles over my eyes. I securely duct-taped the broad knife to the end of the Shop-Vac hose so that as I scrape, much of the debris goes directly into the vacuum. Pretty smart, if you ask me.

Of course, I’m only about half finished when the air is so thick
with dust that I can barely see, and breathing is getting to be a challenge too. I have a sneaking suspicion that I never should’ve started this “little” project.

“What is going on in here?” yells Holly over the sound of the vacuum. I turn to barely see her at the door.

“Close the door!” I yell, not wanting this creepy crud to escape. Then I climb down, turn off the vacuum, peel off my strange getup, and finally emerge to see Holly standing in the hallway looking at me with a stunned expression.

“What are you doing in there?”

I brush dust from my hands as I patiently explain about the popcorn ceiling and how it needs to go, and she suddenly looks very concerned.

“Have you had that checked for asbestos?”

“Asbestos?”
I repeat weakly.

“Yes.” She grabs me by the arm now, holding her hand over her nose, and literally drags me out of the house and stands me in the center of the yard.

“Gretchen Hanover!” She shrieks at me in a slightly hysterical tone. “Are you insane?”

I stand in the center of the yard feeling like I’m about five years old and just shake my head. “I-I don’t think so.”

“Well, don’t move.”

I don’t.

Then Holly gets the hose, turns it on, and comes over and proceeds to aim the nozzle directly at me. Before I can ask what she’s doing, she pulls the trigger, and I am being doused with cold water.

“What are—”

“Do you remember that my parents had
popcorn ceilings
in their house?” she yells as she continues to soak me from head to toe. “And do you remember that it was full of asbestos!”

I sputter and shriek from the cold, but I stand there taking my punishment as she continues to scold me.

“And everyone in our family had to be evacuated from that house for a full week,” she yells, “while that toxic stuff was removed by experts who wore hazmat suits and respirators!”

I try to say something in response to this, but a blast of water literally goes into my mouth. I lean over to spit it out, and she continues to hose me down on the backside. Finally she seems satisfied and stops, and I just stand there, dripping wet and staring at her in shock.

“Do you know what asbestos can do to your lungs?” she demands.

I shrug as I blink back tears. What she’s saying is beginning to sink in. Have I endangered my life? “Do you think that ceiling has asbestos in it?” I ask weakly.

“When was this house built?”

I tell her the year, and she nods grimly. Then she picks up an unused drop cloth and tells me to go into the backyard and to remove my clothes, which I assume she will bury or burn. Riley looks on with interest as I peel off my soggy, contaminated clothes and Holly wraps me in the drop cloth.

“Now we’ll go to your apartment where you can change. And before anyone goes back into that house, you must have it tested for asbestos.”

“But I—”

“No buts!”

I wrap the multipurpose drop cloth more tightly around me as I slump down in the passenger seat of her Subaru. Part of me thinks that Holly has totally overreacted to this, and part of me is scared stiff that I will develop lung cancer before the sun sets.

I
n my apartment, which Holly thankfully still has a key for, I take a very long and thorough shower and get dressed. Then Holly offers to take me to Dad’s since it’s nearly noon by now. But she continues to scold me as she drives. “I called some experts while you were in the shower,” she informs me. “They say there’s a high chance that ceiling has asbestos. Anywhere from five to forty percent of the material may be asbestos. And removing it the way you did, without wetting it or using proper equipment, was the most dangerous way possible. And they said that according to the description I gave them, it’s quite likely no certified contractor will want to come in and work there now, and no inspector will set foot in there. You might even be sued.”

“Really?” Okay, now I really do feel like crying. How could I mess up this badly? All in one short morning. I wonder what Noah will say. Or my dad.

“Not only that, the guy told me that if you can get someone in there, it will cost up to thirty dollars a square foot to have it removed. Do you have any idea how much money we’re talking about here, Gretchen?”

“Ummm…” I do the math in my head. “Like forty thousand dollars.”

“What are you going to do?” demands Holly when she turns in at Dad’s condo.

“For starters…” I sit up straighter. “We are not going to tell Dad what I did today. He doesn’t need something like this to worry him right now.”

I paste a smile on my face as I knock on his door, then use my key to let myself in. “Hey, Dad,” I say as we find him sitting in his recliner, a newspaper spread over his lap, and a basketball game blaring on the TV. He turns down the sound, then smiles up at us. “Two gorgeous women coming to visit.”

Holly bends down and gives him a peck on the cheek. “I’m glad to see you’re looking much better, Hank.”

I kiss his other cheek and, hoping to avoid any discussion of my morning’s work, head straight for the kitchen where I start making a salad. I can hear Holly making small talk with him, and I feel relatively certain she will not let the cat out of the bag. But all I can think of is that dollar figure. $40,000. $40,000. $40,000. It’s like that number has been indelibly printed into my brain so it’s all I can think about. For all I know I might actually say the figure out loud.

Finally I’ve done all I can to delay sitting down at the table with my dad. Lunch is ready, and I will myself to be calm as Dad bows his head and says the blessing. Holly says, “amen,” and it’s all I can do not to blurt out, “Forty thousand dollars!” Fortunately I don’t.

“I talked to the roofers today,” says Dad. “They expect to be at the house by Tuesday.”

“Really?” I consider this. If we have to pay for asbestos, how can we possibly pay for a new roof or the cabinets or anything else for
that matter? I take a small bite of salad and chew for a long time but feel unable to swallow. Actually, I feel as if I might need to throw up. Could it be the asbestos? Am I already getting sick from it? I wonder if Holly asked the expert about that. I glance at her, and she’s looking at me with a worried expression, and I wonder if my skin has turned some horrible shade of gray or green. Maybe I’m about to expire right here at the kitchen table.

Then, cool and calm as can be, Holly turns to Dad and says, “Say, Hank, I noticed that Gretchen’s flip house has popcorn ceilings.”

He nods as he takes a whole-wheat roll and slathers some no-cholesterol spread on it, not even complaining that it’s not real butter, which I consider real progress.

“My parents had ceilings like that,” she continues, and I just stare at her, wondering if I can possibly kick her under the table from here. But this is a wide table, and I’d probably end up whacking Dad’s shin first.

“Yes, your parents’ house is about the same age as this one, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Gretchen and I were discussing this.”

Okay, I am feeling seriously ill now. I’m about to excuse myself to run to the bathroom to either throw up or die from having inhaled about a gallon of asbestos—or maybe both.

“Anyway,” continues Holly, “my parents found out their ceiling had asbestos in it, and they—”

“Excuse me!” Then I jump up from the table and dash to the powder room. I stand over the toilet for a full minute but finally realize I’m not going to throw up. The door is open behind me, and I can hear Holly and Dad laughing now. Laughing! I’m in here, possibly
dying from asbestos poisoning, and they are in there telling jokes? Finally I can’t take it. I go back to where they’re still laughing and demand to know what’s so funny.

“Holly was just telling me about … about … about h-hosing you down,” says Dad. He’s laughing so hard he has tears in the corners of his eyes, and I’m actually worried about his heart.

“So she told you about the asbestos?”

He nods, using his paper napkin to wipe his eyes and then blow his nose.

“And then, Hank,” gasps Holly, who is hysterical too, “I made her go into the backyard and strip … buck naked.”

“She wrapped me in a drop cloth,” I add. But they’re both laughing so hard I don’t think they even heard me. So I just sit here thinking that if my own dad and my very best friend don’t care about the possibility that I might be dying, well, maybe I should find myself some new people to hang with. Maybe muggers or thugs or ax murderers.

Finally they quiet down, and Dad looks at me. “I guess I forgot to tell you that I had the house checked for asbestos right after I saw the place.”

“You did?”

“The test came back negative.” He chuckles. “One of the few positive things about this whole crazy house flip.”

I let out a huge sigh. “So I’m not dying?”

“Is that what you thought?” asks Holly.

I nod. “Despite my bandanna, I must’ve breathed in about a gallon of that nasty dust.” I take a long swig of iced tea now, hoping to get rid of that powdery taste.

Dad shakes his finger at me now. “Asbestos or no asbestos, you need to use a proper respirator when you do projects like that, Gretchen. And at least a fiber mask for sanding regular surfaces. Your lungs are supposed to last a lifetime.” Then he tells me the basics for the proper way to remove sprayed-on ceiling, which doesn’t include a Shop-Vac. “Of course, you’ll have to put some kind of texture up there once you’re done.”

“Like what?”

“Well, you could probably slap some Sheetrock mud up there, use the broad knife, and move it around to make it look like plaster, then give it a good coat of paint.”

“Right…” I wonder why I even bothered with the stupid ceiling to start with.

“And if you need advice, Gretchen, you know my number.”

“Next time I’ll call you, Dad, I promise.”

“That’d be good.” He glances at Holly and chuckles again. “You really hosed her down like that? Right there in the front yard with God and the whole world watching?”

Fine. I am relieved to know I’m not dying—at least not today. But their jokes at my expense begin to grate. So I quickly finish my lunch and start putting things away in the kitchen as well as straightening the house and watering the plants and checking on the cats. Finally I tell Dad I’ll change his bandage and then I need to get back to the house to clean up my unfortunate mess. The nurse at the hospital showed me how to do the bandage, and although it’s not easy seeing a big incision like that on Dad’s chest, I’m reassured that it looks clean and healthy, with no signs of infection.

“Looks good,” I tell Dad as I gently tape the fresh bandage on.

“Still hurts sometimes,” he admits as he buttons up his Hawaiian shirt.

“Take your pain meds if you need to,” I remind him. “The doctor said you’ll heal more quickly if you’re not in pain.” I reach for the ones that I set by his bed last night and hand them to him along with the water bottle. “And then you should take a nap.”

He kicks off his slippers now. “Maybe I will.”

“Because you are still recuperating,” I say as I help him lie down. “And you promised the doctor you’d follow her instructions if she let you go home.” Then I pull the cover over him and kiss him on the cheek. “I’m sure glad you thought to check for asbestos,” I say, and he chuckles. “I’ll see you at dinnertime, okay?”

He nods slightly, closing his eyes. “You be careful, Gretchen Girl. You’re all I’ve got, you know.”

“Same back at you, Dad.”

“Tell Holly thanks for coming.”

I find Holly putting the last of the dishes in the dishwasher and tell her that Dad’s going to rest now. Then she drives me back to the house and actually apologizes for my cold morning shower.

Now I have to laugh. “Under the circumstances, I guess I can’t blame you. You must think I’m an idiot.”

“I actually think you’re very smart. And taking on this whole house-flipping project is very brave.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, as I was painting outside, I started to get a vision for this place. I mean the trees in the backyard are great. I can imagine a family really enjoying this place. If Justin and I hadn’t just bought that condo, I would consider something like this for us.”

“Really?” I begin to feel hopeful again.

“Well, if it was fixed up. I don’t think I’d try to do it myself. But then we both have to work full-time. You’re lucky to have summer vacation.”

Summer vacation? I wonder, what is that?

Holly goes back to work on the primer, and I head to the building-supply store to get the things on my list as well as the items Dad said I need to continue to safely and efficiently remove the gunk from the ceilings. When I get back, I see that Justins car is now parked in front of my house, and I worry that something’s wrong. Hopefully Holly hasn’t fallen off the ladder. I hurry around to the side of the house to see that they’re both painting now.

“Wow,” I say as Justin swipes on a fresh swath of white primer. “More help!”

Holly winks at me. “I figured at the rate you’re going, well, maybe we should call in the troops.”

“The troops?”

“Well, this is it for now. But what about our Bible study group?” Holly makes a face. “Even though someone—we won’t mention names—doesn’t go anymore.”

“Yeah,” says Justin. “How about a work party sometime?”

“When?” I say eagerly.

“Not next weekend,” says Holly. “That’s Tina’s wedding.”

“How about the one after that?” suggests Justin.

“That’ll be one week before my supposed open house,” I say, feeling even more desperate than I felt last night.

“And you’ll probably need help, won’t you?”

“Or a straitjacket.”

“We’ll talk to them about it this week,” says Justin as he dips his brush again.

“Thanks,” I tell them. “I’ll owe you guys big time.”

“We’ll know who to call when we need to repaint,” says Holly.

“No problem.” Then I go inside, and equipped with spray bottles, a respirator, coveralls, lots of disposable plastic drop cloths and tape, and goggles, I attack my mess in a much more strategic manner. At first it seems hopeless, but after a while I figure out a few things. And finally I have the messed-up bedroom and hallway fairly clean, as well as not one piece of popcorn on the ceiling. I’ve just tossed the nasty, goopy drop cloth, along with my coveralls, out the window when Justin and Holly come to check on my progress.

“Wow,” says Holly, looking at the scraped-clean ceiling. “You did that?”

I nod proudly as I remove the safety eye gear. “Yep.”

“But it looks kind of rough,” observes Justin.

“I’m not
finished
with it,” I explain somewhat impatiently.

“Speaking of finished,” says Holly lightly. “We have to go. Tina’s in-laws-to-be are having a barbecue, and the family is expected to be there.”

“Thanks so much for helping,” I tell them both. “I really, really appreciate it.”

“It was fun,” says Justin. “And we’ll be back.”

I want to ask him
when
but think that might be a little presumptuous. It’s already five, but I think I have enough time to get the next bedroom set up for scraping the ceiling tomorrow. Or maybe even tonight after I check on Dad.

As it turns out, I’m still scraping that ceiling at midnight. After taking Riley to visit Dad at dinnertime, at which I surprised Dad with takeout buffalo burgers from Henrys, I came back and painted the room where I’d already scraped the ceiling. I just wanted to have one room that felt close to being done…although it still needs a new window, closet doors, baseboard, and trim, not to mention the floor being refinished… But oh well.