Closing Costs Page 5

  “Sounds great.” Evan and Nelle both smiled politely. The guy with his false teeth and hard pitch gave them a bad feeling. But then, they’d only really met one real estate agent who didn’t strike them as odd, and that was their own. Nelle could see from the look in Evan’s eyes, he wanted to call Dave as soon as they could.

  “Can I tell you anything else?”

  Evan shook his head. “No. I think we’ve got everything we need to make a decision.” He started for the door to return inside, Nelle falling in beside him. The agent followed them in, through the house, and to the front door. Nelle hesitated there, looking at the glowing green keypad next to the coat closet.

  “Is that an alarm system?”

  He nodded and pointed to a motion sensor in the corner of the front room and another in the hallway. “Sure is. Totally protected.”

  “Do you need an alarm system in this neighborhood?” Evan asked. John furrowed his brow and shook his head, but didn’t say a word. Evan nodded. “Gotcha.”

  Evan and Nelle walked out the front door to find another couple at the bottom of the steps waiting for them to pass before going in. Once in the yard, Nelle paused and looked to the right. With the large bushes running between the properties, they could hardly tell they’d have a neighbor. In Cambridge, their kitchen window looked right into the neighbor’s apartment, and the noise from Mass Ave was loud and constant, all day and night. Standing in the yard, she could barely hear the road. Though the neighborhood continued just on the other side of the highway, from there in front of the house, it felt like they would be completely alone. Secluded. Everything they wanted.

  “You okay?” Evan asked.

  “Totally fine.”

  He leaned over and kissed his wife. “Just like you.” She smiled at him and shivered a little. It was cold outside away from the fire, and her cute winter coat with the faux leopard collar and cuffs wasn’t as warm as it looked. Evan grabbed her hand, and they walked down the long driveway to their car parked on the shoulder of the highway.

  Inside the car, he started the engine and cranked the heater. “What do you think?”

  Nelle pulled off her gloves and held her hands in front of the vent. “I think we need to call Dave right now.”

  “Yeah. Me too. I want this place.”

  Though neither of them wanted to say, “Dream home,” they both knew that was exactly what it was. Evan pulled out his cell phone and dialed their real estate agent.

  8

  The man looked through spotter’s glasses at the couple sitting in their car. They were talking on the phone, excited and laughing. Though he couldn’t hear them, he knew what they were talking about. He watched them finish their phone call, kiss, and look back at the house they’d just exited one more time before driving away.

  He kept his watch, staring at another car pulling into the space those two Halloween rejects just left.

  9

  CLOSING DAY

  The radiator let off a low hiss and a short burst of steam, adding a touch of rusty-smelling humidity to the closeness of the room. Nelle thought about getting up to crack a window and let in a touch of the morning chill. There was no one with them in the Registry of Deeds signing room to stop her, but the building itself seemed to carry the kind of air that said the conditions of life inside were not alterable—not unless one was clothed in the power of the court. So, she sat in the hard wooden chair and glanced at the time on her phone again, trying to ignore the heat and her growing anxiety.

  The sellers’ attorney was late. Evan and Nelle’s lawyer shrugged; he’d worked with this guy before, and he was professional, just not always punctual. No cause for worry. Telling Nelle not to worry, though, was like telling a sparrow not to fly. She was less nervous about the sellers’ attorney being professional than she was about the sellers themselves.

  During the inspection, they’d uncovered a few issues with the house that hadn’t been disclosed prior: a minor carpenter ant problem by the front deck; the antique water heater well past its replacement date; a ceiling fan that needed to be replaced. Nothing catastrophic, but things Evan and Nelle’s attorney wanted to negotiate a credit back at closing to pay to repair. It’d taken the threat of pulling out of the deal after that for the sellers to agree, and ever since, it seemed like the sellers were fighting them. Now they were late. Nelle imagined them pulling out at the last minute to make their point in the most aggravating way possible.

  Evan put his hand on Nelle’s knee under the table to get her to stop bouncing her leg. Their attorney, Peter, had told them, while this sale was weirder than most, it’d all work out. He leaned over conspiratorially and said, “The sellers are a couple of flakes, but trust me, this is going through. My associate recognized their names from the family court docket and looked up their pleadings. Their split isn’t what you’d call ‘amicable.’ ” He whispered, “Mister’s got a girlfriend, but doesn’t want to get divorced, so he contested it. It’s all very sordid.” Peter grinned, having delivered the gossip. Their attorney had a casual style that Evan and Nelle liked, as though he was telling them a story over beers. He laughed a lot; they liked that too. He was a former assistant attorney general, and when he bit, it was to taste marrow, not blood. A good lawyer to have; a bad one for the other side.

  Nelle’s face scrunched up.

  Evan looked anxious. “Is that a problem for us?”

  “No. This home sale is to distribute their assets. It’s gotta go through.”

  Nelle nodded. “But that’s why they’ve been so difficult.”

  Peter nodded. “Yup. She’s already checked out, and he doesn’t want to sell, but has to. She’s got an order of protection out against him on top of it all. But once everything gets signed here today, their shit doesn’t affect you anymore.”

  “An order of protection? What happens when he doesn’t show?” Evan asked.

  Peter grinned like a wolf that wants seconds of farm fresh lamb. “If he stalls or sinks the sale, then we sue ’em. Get your money back, and you guys buy a house without carpenter ants.”

  It was hardly comforting. They didn’t want to sue anybody, and they didn’t want a different house. But Peter liked a fight, even if he’d left the cracking skulls business for a general practice. He was a hammer always looking for a nail.

  “It feels weird. Buying it because of a divorce seems like taking advantage of someone else’s misfortune,” Nelle said.

  Peter held up a hand to stop her. “Enough of that. They put the house on the market. If it wasn’t you guys who bought it, it would have been someone else, that’s a certainty. There was another offer, same as yours on the table. No one is being taken advantage of. This is the way the world is.” He smiled. “Except for good folks like you, naturally.”

  A man burst into the room in a flurry of apologies too practiced to be only occasionally employed. Peter stood and shook the man’s hand. He turned and gestured to the table where he’d already arranged the papers for the closing. “Evan, Nelle. This is Doug Edgerton.” He turned to Doug and held up his hands.

  Edgerton began unpacking his briefcase and explained, “Neither of the sellers will be coming today.” Evan took an involuntary breath in, nearly a gasp, and tried to hide it by coughing into his fist. Edgerton glanced at him and continued. “I have power of attorney to sign everything on both their behalf.”

  “Well, we’re good to go, then!” Peter patted Evan on the shoulder with the back of his hand. It was Nelle’s turn to squeeze his leg to try to calm him down.

  The two lawyers made chitchat while they signed papers and put in front of Evan and Nelle more to be signed. Peter handed over the cashier’s checks and Doug removed a single key from his suit coat pocket. He held it out to Evan. Nelle took it and said, “Shouldn’t there be two?”

  Edgerton’s brow furrowed. “I just have the one. If the other isn’t in my office, I’m sure my client left it on the kitchen counter or the mantel.”

  “It’s no big,” E
van reassured her. “We’re going to have the locks changed anyway, right?” She didn’t look satisfied by either man’s response, but one key or two, she’d be happy to be done with this meeting.

  Edgerton started to scoop papers into his briefcase. “Well, if that’s it, I’ve got to be off. It was nice meeting you two.”

  “Likewise,” Evan said. Evan and Nelle smiled politely and shook Edgerton’s hand before he walked out in nearly as much of a hurry as he’d walked in.

  Peter came around the table to give them both a hug. “Congratulations,” he said. “You’re homeowners! I’ve got to go record these next door to make it all legal and official like. But you two are clear to go to your new home.” He gathered the papers off the table and excused himself to the clerk’s office.

  Evan and Nelle stood in the sweaty, two-century-old room and looked at the house key. Nelle turned it over in her hand. On the back was a small reflective sticker shaped like a flower. “You won’t forget to call the locksmith?”

  He closed her hand around the key. “I’ll call him this afternoon. Let’s get out of here. We’ve still got to pack up the last of the apartment.”

  “You want to move a few things over today?”

  “You bet! But let’s go take a look at our new place first.”

  Evan held the door open for her. She dropped the key in her pocket and walked out.

  10

  An electronic chirp greeted them as they opened the door. Nelle struggled to pull the key out of the slot while Evan slipped over to the security system keypad to look at the display. It read SERVICE NOT AVAILABLE. The key finally came free, and Nelle shut the door. The system chirped again throughout the house, and she said, “Is it going to do that every single time we open and close a door?”

  He shrugged. “At least you’ll know when I get home from work so you can bring me my pipe and slippers.”

  She slapped his shoulder playfully. Evan grimaced and clutched his shoulder, groaning dramatically. “Jeez, bruiser! Watch where you’re swinging those.” On their first date a decade earlier, they’d gotten very drunk and she’d challenged him to a game of slap hands at midnight in a city park. She’d won overwhelmingly, and the backs of his hands ached for two days after. When she challenged him to a rematch on their second date, he said, “You have fingers like gloves full of rocks,” and was taken by the look of delight that had blossomed on her face. Ever since, he played it up like her touches were the whips of a fraternity paddle. It always made her smile.

  “Oh stop, you big baby.”

  “You watch it. I’ve been working out. You won’t be able to push me around for much longer.” He kissed one of his biceps, bringing on peals of warm laughter from Nelle.

  He looked around the empty front room of their new house. Our house. Ours. It seemed unreal, after searching for so long. They’d spent nearly a year trying to find a place they liked well enough to make an offer and then, a month and a half after walking through the door for the first time, it was theirs.

  The room seemed different now than when they’d done the final walkthrough, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. The seller’s furniture had already been moved out by then, so it wasn’t the emptiness. He stood there puzzling it out while Nelle walked past him into the kitchen. A moment later, she called out. “Evan! Come see this!”

  He rushed into the kitchen. She turned around and gestured with both hands toward a tall bottle sitting out in the middle of the countertop. Relieved it wasn’t a problem, he said, “They left us a bottle of champagne. How thoughtful.”

  “Come closer.” She drew a hand across the label, Vanna-style.

  He leaned down to get a closer look and read the label aloud. “Martinelli’s Sparkling Cider. Contains no alcohol.” He looked at Nelle grinning down at him and said, “The bottle is dusty. Think they had it cellared for a special occasion?”

  “Who cellars apple cider?”

  Evan and Nelle loved wine, and their small collection of nice vintages and new twenty-four-bottle fridge was waiting to be unloaded from the back of the RAV4 in the driveway. There was no way they were trusting the movers with those, no matter how highly recommended the company had come. He blew on the cider bottle, creating a constellation of dust mites in the beam of light shining through the window above the sink.

  “No one does, minha querida. They found it in the back of a cupboard or something and left it for us.”

  “It’s more passive aggression.”

  He straightened up and pulled Nelle closer. “Hey, now. You don’t know that. Maybe . . . they’re Mormon and it’s sincere. Don’t go getting dark on me.” As long as they’d been married, Nelle had been prone to somber moods. She wasn’t a negative person overall, but little things got to her in a way that pulled her deep into the shadows for a while. Little things like a broken barrette on the sidewalk or a personally inscribed book in the used section of the Harvard Book Store would send her spirits south, and it’d be a day or two before she was fully herself again. She said it was the cost of setting aside her emotions at work, but Evan had seen how sensitive she was to small cues of disappointment before she got the job at the funeral home. Since they’d . . . come into their money, the darkness had grown somewhat less frequent. What did they say? Money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy off unhappiness. While her melancholy remained, still, she was resilient. She always pulled herself out of the shadows. And if she needed it, he always had a hand ready for her to hold on to.

  She looked in his eyes and said, “No darkness. Only light.”

  He held up his little finger. “Pinky swear?”

  “Pinky swear!” She entwined her finger around his and kissed his knuckle.

  He kissed hers and smiled. “Okay, then. You know the deal. You break that swear, I get to break your pinkies.” He let go and cast his eyes toward the cupboards. Nelle furrowed her brow as Evan reached for the bottle.

  “What are you doing?”

  He nodded at the bottle of cider in his hand and winked.

  “Oh no. I am not drinking that. No way.”

  He tore the foil away from the neck, finding a bottle cap instead of a cork. He pulled his keys from his pocket and pried the cap off with the bottle opener on his keyring. Instead of a pop, it made a hiss, more like an evil spirit escaping an ancient tomb than a fresh bottle of bubbly. Lacking anything to pour into, he raised it in a toast and said, “To our new home.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  He gulped straight from the neck of the bottle.

  She watched with amusement as his expression changed from mischievous to disgusted and waited to see how much he could chug before it came back up.

  Evan pulled the bottle away from his lips and turned toward the sink. Nelle shook her head as he spit down the drain. He turned on the faucet and drank straight from the tap. Without a dish towel to dry himself with, he dragged his shirtsleeve across his mouth and made one more contorted face before holding the cider out to his wife. “Want a pull?”

  Nelle laughed and covered her mouth with a hand. “It’s all yours, sweetie!” He lifted the bottle as if to take another drink. Nelle turned away, pretending to be sick at the thought.

  Back from the shadows.

  He upended the bottle over the sink, shoving the neck into the drain and letting gravity finish the job. A strong odor of sugar and apples drifted up, and Evan felt for a brief moment like he might actually be sick. Taking a step back, he made a face and belched. That too stank like apples, and Nelle waved her hand in the air.

  “Shall we take a look around and see where everything is going to fit?” he asked, grabbing her hand and pulling her through the kitchen into the hallway, away from the aroma that was likely going to haunt him for the rest of the afternoon.

  The bedroom upstairs possessed the same undefinable difference as the front room. He looked around, trying to put his finger on what had changed. Why it felt somehow emptier than merely empty. He could tell that Nelle sensed it too.
She stood staring out the windows.

  “The blinds,” she said.

  There had been Roman blinds installed in all of the bedrooms and the family room in the back of the house. Evan ducked out of the master suite into the other upstairs bedroom—the one he thought would be nice to set up as an office or Nelle’s den. He headed downstairs past the other guest rooms. The blinds had been removed from all of them. He came back to find Nelle inspecting the window frames, running her fingers over the holes where the screws holding the mounts had once been. “They’re all gone,” he told her.

  “They can’t do that. Can they? I mean, it’s not legal, right?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t think so. Should we call Peter?”

  Nelle’s head slumped. He could see the darkness swirling around her like ink in water. Soon, she’d be completely blacked out and no burping bad cider hilarity would bring her back. “What’s the point?”

  “Point is, they’re not allowed to do it. Want me to call our agent and have him make them bring them back?”

  “Fuck it,” Nelle said. “Let them have ’em. I’d rather find curtains I like better, anyway.” She was lying, but he didn’t argue. He put a hand on her back. She breathed deeply and leaned against him. Evan suggested they head to IKEA as soon as they unloaded the wine fridge and bottles from the back of the SUV. “Let’s look around to see if they took anything else. We can make a shopping list, have meatballs for lunch, and be back before dark.”

  “Or, we could call the locksmith and just order in some rogan josh, drink a bottle of wine, and get loaded. And stay here tonight.”

  “You want to sleep on the floor? How about Plan C: we unload and then head back to the apartment so we can grab a measuring tape and our sleeping bags and pillows? We figure out what size curtains we need, and then, after the locksmith leaves, we can fall asleep on the floor after a couple of bottles with dinner.”