“Want me to call back later?” she asked.
“No. It’s fine. I could use the distraction,” he said, muting the TV.
Lauren smiled, feeling his pain. “So, Dad, I’ve got to be honest. I can’t come home Wednesday. I can’t come home for that kind of an anniversary and do the whole cemetery thing, with flowers and all of it. It doesn’t feel right to me. I don’t want to remember Blake that way. Maybe one day I can go there, visit, but it’s not that time yet.”
He heard her out, letting her get all the words spoken before agreeing with her. “I get it. I do. Part of me feels that way, too, but your mom wants to go. She needs to go. Likes to go. And she does, you know, every couple of weeks.”
“What does she do there?”
“Prays. Talks to him. Makes sure the gravestone is clean.”
Lauren’s eyes suddenly felt gritty. “Doesn’t it make her . . . sad?”
“Sometimes. But it also gives her a sense of purpose. Makes her feel useful. As if she is still taking care of him.”
Lauren hung up the phone and slid it slowly into her pocket. Eyes still stinging, she blinked, clearing her vision.
So that’s why Mom went.
Lauren swallowed hard. She finally got it.
* * *
Sarah wasn’t on vacation. She had a job to do, and that was to find her family a rental house for the next three to six months. Possibly longer if the A’s extended Boone’s contract.
So on Monday morning, she blew through Dev’s list of rentals in three hours and shot down his suggestion of a nice lunch at a popular spot in Walnut Creek. She wasn’t interested in chitchat today. She wanted to find the right house, sign the contract, get the utilities on if they weren’t, and then call the moving company and let them know where the truck could go on Wednesday.
“You’re all business, aren’t you?” Dev complained good-naturedly when they’d worked through lunch, and then only hit Starbucks so Sarah could use the restroom and grab an iced tea for the road.
Sarah looked at Devlyn; he’d been cute in high school, and he’d grown into a handsome man, but she wasn’t with him today because she craved his company. She was here, in his car, because she needed to get things done. “Work is work,” she said, “Play is play. And I don’t find looking at houses fun.”
“Maybe you just haven’t had the right realtor,” he teased.
“Perhaps. Because the right realtor would know that the only thing I want today is to find a house so that when my husband returns Thursday night, he’ll have a couch and TV in the family room, clothes in his closet, food in the kitchen, and a bed with sheets that he can sleep in.”
She found a house she thought would work, too. It was the last house Dev showed her, and she knew why he was saving it for last. It was actually perfect for them—big, private, in an outstanding neighborhood in Orinda, an affluent East Bay community—and it was ideal for Dev since he was the agent for the house, and the seller had told him to get it rented or sold within the month or he was giving the listing to someone else.
“Found a house,” Sarah blurted as soon as Boone called her that night.
“Yeah, I saw your text. Tell me about it.”
“It’s in Orinda. It’s big, plenty of space, an acre, with a workout room and a pool.”
“Your text said it was expensive.”
“But we’d get a great deal on it if we’d be willing to sign a six-month rental agreement.”
“I don’t know that I’ll still be with Oakland come September.”
“I thought about that. But it doesn’t mean we’d all have to move. We could stay in Orinda . . . enroll the kids in school there. It’s got a great school system. One of the best in the country.”
“Not private?”
“Wouldn’t need to go the private route here.”
“Tell me more about the house.”
“It’s been on the market for almost two years. Owners bought high and were willing to sell at a loss, but not in the millions. So, they’ve pulled it off the market, waiting for prices to come up a bit, and are now trying to rent it out.”
“And you like the house?”
“It’s . . . big. Mediterranean. But . . .”
“Yes?”
“It’s dated.”
“How dated?”
“Early 1990s. Faux walls everywhere. Sponge-painted halls, bathroom.”
“What colors?”
“Um, your favorites?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Peach, rose, and teal green.”
“Nice, Sarah.”
Sarah laughed so hard her eyes watered, tears running at the corners, and as she laughed, some of the terrible pressure in her chest eased. Things would be okay. They would. She just had to stay positive. Had to keep her focus. Family first. It’s what Mom always did and it worked. Just be like Mom and it’d be okay . . .