Steps
by Kathleen Glassburn

Jenn and Jess would arrive for lunch soon, an unexpected get-together.

“How come?” their mother, Linda, had asked. She’d seen their daughters a couple of days ago, at Matthew’s birthday celebration.

“We’ll talk about it when we get there,” Jenn said.

Linda set a teapot and rose-patterned plates with matching cups and saucers onto the dining room table. It was the first piece of furniture she and Matthew bought after signing papers for their house forty-five years before. Rubbing an indentation in the cherry top, Linda considered the implications of Jenn’s serious voice.

Jenn, their twenty-five-year-old, arrived first, hollering from the front door as she burst in, “Mom, I’m here!” She marched into the dining room and gave Linda a quick hug. “Where’s Jess?”

“She’ll arrive in a minute.”

“How are you doing, Mom? How’s Dad? Are you both feeling okay?”

“We’re fine, sweetie. Same as last time.”

“You look tired. Dark circles under your eyes.”

“I am seventy-two.”

A tap on the door sent Jenn rushing off to welcome her younger sister.

Once all three were settled at the table, Jenn said, “We have something to talk to you about.”

“I figured that.”

“We want to address your living arrangements.” Jenn squared her shoulders. “It’s time for you to move.”

“Where to?” Linda had been waiting for this.

“A smaller house with no steps, a tiny yard, something safer,” Jenn said.

“Neither of us has ever taken a fall.”

“That doesn’t mean you won’t.”

Linda looked at her younger daughter. “Jess, what do you think?”

“I agree with Jenn. We want you to be taken care…”

“By moving?” Linda cut her off.

Jess didn’t react to her mother’s sharpness. “Thirty steps at your ages are…precarious.”

“We’re very careful.”

“Balance goes as you get older,” Jenn blurted out.

Linda felt tears blurring her eyes. She blinked them away. Their girls had grown up in this house. They didn’t know what it was like to be moved from apartment to apartment through your entire early life.

Jenn went on for a few more minutes, listing the yard problems.

Linda barely listened.

She had lived in three different states by three years old. By high school graduation she’d attended thirteen different schools. Linda was convinced that her long-deceased father had Gypsy blood. This rootlessness continued into her mid-twenties. Like a transplanted sapling, a start of what she wanted to be, Linda constantly had to adjust to new situations.

“We just think it’s time for you to consider alternatives, Mom,” Jess said. “Especially since Dad’s health scare. But let’s talk about something else for now.”

Jenn’s chin stuck out. “We’re not going to drop this. It’s something that needs to be done.”

“So, how was Million Dollar Quartet?” Jess asked.

Linda sighed with relief. “Great. I’m working on the review.” She went on to explain that this one was easy to write. “Everyone loved the show, even your father.” The Mowbray Playhouse’s production had caused “Love Me Tender” to continually run through Linda’s mind.

*

That evening she went out to the backyard and told Matthew about the visit from Jenn and Jess. Linda concentrated on outside problems, skimming over their concerns regarding inside steps.

Matthew stood up from the zinnias he was weeding. “Guess these stepping stones could use some refurbishing.”

“And the patio. Those cracks are getting worse.”

“Call Ray.”

The next morning Linda did call their longtime contractor. She told Ray about the necessary yard repairs.

“Sounds good,” he said. “I’ll come by tomorrow.”

Ray had been working on their house and yard, which had been here since 1907, for more than thirty-five years. The property always needed repairs.

Maybe this will placate the girls.

*

A week later, Linda sat across from her best friend, Maggie. Despite a high-powered desk lamp, pulled-down shades dimmed the office.

“Why do you keep it so dark in here?” Linda’s wrinkles deepened as she noted empty Diet Coke cans and papers strewn around.

“Don’t like the sun.”

“We get so little in Seattle.”

“More than enough for me.” Maggie’s mouth turned up in a crooked smile. “What’s going on, friend?

”

“I’m glad you’re my friend.”

“Don’t get sappy.” Maggie had been owner and editor of the Mowbray Nugget, which came out every Wednesday, since its beginnings in the eighties. “Why are you here? I’m busy running this paper.”

“Checking on my article.” Linda had been Maggie’s cultural editor for almost ten years—ever since her daughters started high school and she quit freelancing. Limited office space required her to work from home, which was ideal for Linda. She enjoyed the peacefulness.

“Your article is fine.” Maggie ran a hand through her grizzled gray-and-black mop of hair. “What else do you want?”

“I have a problem.” Linda paused. “Actually two…”

“Go on…”

“Jennifer and Jessica are at me to find a smaller house, without all the ‘treacherous’ steps.” Linda frowned. “They’re using Matthew’s heart attack as part of their tactics.” His doctor had called it a “warning.”

“Sounds like those two…at least Jennifer.”

“They’re worried one or both of us—maybe we could do it hand in hand—will fall.”

“You aren’t getting any younger.”

“Thanks for rubbing it in. I don’t want to move. And Matthew sure doesn’t want to leave his garden.” Linda dug a tissue out of her purse. “What would we do with all our stuff?”

“Have a pick-up-junk outfit haul it away.” Maggie smirked.

“That’s a dumb suggestion. The dog and cat too?”

“Hmmm. Guess not.”

“It’s not just the inside steps. The girls are concerned about our cracked patio and old flagstone paths. Tree roots have pushed up lots of bumps. Jenn says these outside spaces are an ‘accident waiting to happen’ when it rains, which we know it does often.” Linda nods at Maggie’s closed shades. “Jess agrees with Jenn, like she always does.”

“What’s your other problem?”

“My contractor is divorcing me. I found out today.”

“You’ve never been married to him.”

Right when she needed him the most, Ray told Linda he planned to retire.

“What does Matthew think of this ‘divorce’?”

“You know he never gets upset about much—except during tax season.” Linda took care of house projects. Spending so much time at his accounting firm made Matthew want to be outside, “digging in his dirt” every spare moment.

“Have I met your contractor?” Maggie asked.

“Ray was that smiley guy at last summer’s barbeque.” It had been a good time. “After Jenn and Jess made their demand, he came out to check the patio and pathways. We came up with a plan. I figured this would get the girls off my back, at least for a while. He sent a message confirming the work order. Then today he sent another unfriendly message saying that he wouldn’t be able to help me. I might as well have been a potential client. I am so angry at him.”

“Have you responded?”

“No. I’m waiting ’til I cool down.”

“Good idea.” Maggie studied Linda’s face. “Did he give you a reason?”

“None.”

“Come back after you talk to him. He owes you an explanation.”

“I don’t want to call him. This really does feel like a breakup.”

“Do it sooner rather than later.”

“I will.” Linda momentarily brightened. “Glad you liked my article.”

“I didn’t say anything of the kind.”

“I know, but you did.”

“Good thing you’re confident about this.” Maggie held up the pages. “I’m sure everything will be okay. With the girls and the contractor.”

The two women stood. Maggie gave Linda a warm hug.

*

The next morning Linda sat down at her home office desk, straightened up, and called Ray. After greetings, she waited to see what he had to say for himself.

“How’s everything going?” he asked.

“Fine.”

“Sure am enjoying this nice weather.”

“Yeah.”

“Working outside’s easier.”

“I’ll bet.” So why can’t you work on my yard? “I was taken aback by your last message.”

“Sorry if it sounded brusque.”

Brusque is right!

“I’m cutting back on projects. You know I’m planning to retire.”

“Okay…”

“Your work will entail heavy labor, and my guys aren’t getting any younger. It’d be better if you found another company.”

“Why didn’t you say that upfront?”

“Assumed we could make it happen. Once I talked to my manager, it was decided that this would be too much for us.”

She heard him tapping what sounded like a pen.

“I’m having a hell of a time finding good workers,” Ray went on. “I can’t afford to lose any to injuries.”

“All right. Do you have some contractor recommendations?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You owe us that much. We’ve been your clients for decades.”

“I’ll think about it, Linda.”

I thought we were friends too. “Goodbye, Ray.”

*

Linda stopped by Maggie’s messy office again the next day.

“What’s up?” Maggie kept her eyes on a computer.

Does she even remember my problems? “I talked to Ray—my contractor.”

“How’d that turn out?” She typed something.

“He didn’t reconsider, and I doubt if he’ll refer some other company.”

Maggie looked up. “It shouldn’t be hard to find someone else. Lots of contractors around.”

“Good ones?” Linda thought of all the crummy people they’d hired before Ray. The worst were two tattered old guys who tore out every kitchen cupboard, then disappeared for two months. This was before she learned to pester if work got stalled. A squeaky wheel does get the grease.

“I don’t know why you’re so upset.” Maggie shook her head.

“I don’t either.” Lately, there’d been a sadness for Linda, as she pondered how much longer they’d be able to live in their house. Ray’s rejection added to this melancholy.

“Also, you need to stand up to Jennifer and Jessica.”

“You’re absolutely right.”

*

Linda was twenty-five and a few years out of college when she met Matthew. She quit her job traveling for an office supply company, and they married in a civil ceremony with only their best friends, Maggie and Chuck, standing up for them. Linda’s mother was in an Alzheimer’s facility and didn’t attend. Matthew’s parents were in Minneapolis, living in the house where he grew up. His mother had been diagnosed with lupus, and they seemed relieved to forgo a trip to Seattle.

Weeks after their marriage, Linda and Matthew started searching for a house. The real estate person they contacted, a guy in his middle years who sounded fresh off the boat from Norway, took them to several properties. When they came across the house they bought, old and charming and only a half-hour drive to Matthew’s office, with two bedrooms for possible children and a spare room for Linda’s office, as well as a large yard for Matthew’s garden, they both fell in love.

That night in their apartment, Linda slept with a real estate flier under her pillow, dreaming about the giant leap of signing a thirty-year mortgage on two thousand square feet. In January of 1973, they bought the house, located in the village of Mowbray, twelve miles north of downtown, for forty thousand dollars.

Maggie, who had still lived in the city, said, “We’ll need an oil change in order to come out and see you.”

With the excitement of buying their own house, Linda and Matthew purchased a used, almost brand-new dining room set from a widowed Polish lady. The poor woman looked devastated as she rubbed its cherry surface. “Illness has forced me into a retirement home. My children will never enjoy special dinners at this table.”

Maggie, Chuck, and other friends volunteered to help Linda and Matthew move from their apartment, picking up the dining room set from the Polish lady last. Their help was appreciated since the young couple had no money for professionals. However, during the transport of their belongings, despite protective pads, something rubbed against the table’s top and made a scribbly indentation about the size of a rosebud. Needless to say, Linda was terribly upset when she discovered the damage.

Maggie and all her girlfriends felt Linda’s pain. Once they’d commiserated over beer and pizza, offers were made to stick around, unpack, and put items away.

“I want to do it myself.” Linda preferred being alone in this unfamiliar setting—her first ever home—to get comfortable.

The guys assembled their queen-sized bed so Linda and Matthew had somewhere to sleep that night.

Later, snuggling in, Linda said, “I don’t ever want to live anywhere else. For the first time, I’ll be listed correctly in the phonebook.”

“Sounds good to me.” Matthew held her against his chest.

*

Over the years, they made several improvements to the old house—some successfully, others, like the kitchen cupboard fiasco, not so successfully. As their daughters grew older, Linda decided that she and Matthew really needed more space. With a multitude of kid-friends hanging around, they were awfully cramped. She started dreaming up ways that the existing house could be expanded. Matthew told her that he understood and was fine with whatever she came up with, as long as it didn’t take away from his gardening.

Sitting down with paper and pen, she listed pros and cons. There were lots of pros: a short walk to the elementary school; there’d be plenty of room for the girls and friends and pets; a beautiful yard that Matthew had created and maintained; a deep sentimental attachment, especially for Linda.

Their babies had come home to this house.

Other than a pesky neighbor, who complained about things like a row of messy cherry trees where the two properties met, there were no cons.

“He’s the devil we know,” Matthew said.

“It’s going to be so much money,” Linda fretted. “I want to be certain we’re doing it right.”

After months of listening to her daydreams, Matthew said, “I’m tired of all your planning. Let’s go for it. It’ll turn out fine.”

They had been in the house ten years when embarking upon The Big Project.

At the Home Show, Linda met Tracy, a pleasant, knowledgeable residential designer. She came to the house, drew up plans, and put Linda in touch with a contractor.

This man showed up an hour late, then rushed through the house, talking as if on a high-speed recording.

Linda cringed, knowing she couldn’t tolerate him. After a night staring at the ceiling, she called Tracy. “He’s a no-go.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll try to get in touch with another guy.”

A month later, after much turmoil for Linda, Tracy sent Ray. He was in his mid-thirties back then, like Linda and Matthew. Eager and punctual and slow-spoken, he thought before putting anything into words.

Delighted, Linda told Tracy she could work with him.

At their final meeting before she and Matthew signed the contract, Linda demanded a locked-in price and a predictable timeline. No pussyfooting around.

It was 1982. They committed to a one-hundred-thousand-dollar addition—five hundred square feet for a new kitchen/family room and five hundred square feet for a new third-floor master bedroom suite.

*

By this time, Maggie and Chuck had moved across the road from Linda’s family.

When they all were out to dinner at Luigi’s, a favorite Italian restaurant, one Sunday night, Linda said, “We’ll stay at Dusty’s Motel for a few months—during construction.”

“Where’s that?” Maggie asked.

“On the highway. It’s the only motel around.”

“I’ve driven by that dump. There are some very sketchy-looking characters going in and out.”

“We’ll be fine.” Linda started cutting up Jessica’s spaghetti. Jennifer announced she could do it herself.

Maggie came by the next morning. “Chuck and I talked last night. You must stay in our basement. It’s finished and there’s plenty of room for all of you.”

“That’s a lot, Mags. You’re not used to spending so much time with kids.”

“We’ll be fine. You cannot go to that awful motel.”

The four of them settled into their friends’ house that winter and stayed for three months. Fortunately, decades later, Maggie and Linda were still best friends. Maggie and Chuck had split up. He moved to Los Angeles. She moved to a nearby condo. Linda still got choked up when she looked at her friend’s former house.

*

During construction, a lot of Linda and Matthew’s furniture had been shoved into the untouched living room. The Polish lady’s dining room table sat protected in the center.

A huge, beautiful spruce at a corner of the house had once been the previous owner’s Christmas tree. Linda had planned their first deck built around that tree. When they were small, the girls rode wheelie toys on its wooden slats. It was where their first German shepherd and their first cat, a black-and-white tuxedo kitty, sunned themselves and played pounce-and-chase. In order to make way for the addition, the tree and deck had to go.

Worse than seeing these slaughtered was the demolition of the house’s interior. Linda got sick to her stomach when the workers tore her kitchen down to the studs. She had put a gate at that doorway, and their baby girls crawled amongst toys spread over the redbrick-patterned linoleum.

*

A new stairway went up the middle of the house to the added-on third floor. It was a continuation of the original stairway. There were five landings and a total of thirty steps. The bedroom was twice as big as Linda and Matthew’s old one. A walk-in closet, a vanity with double sinks, and a bathroom with a shower big enough for two, as well as a soaking tub took up one side of the addition. This side faced Matthew’s backyard garden. In front, the bedroom/sitting room faced west, giving them a Puget Sound and Olympic Mountains view.

*

Several months after the girls brought up moving, Maggie dropped by to check on developments.

Linda walked out back with her. “I’m glad you came by, Mags. Let’s go enjoy Matthew’s flowers.”

“These dahlias are glorious!” Maggie said. “There’s every color imaginable.”

Patting a place next to her on the yard swing, Linda said, “Come sit for a while.”

Maggie pushed the swing with her foot as she focused on the new patio. “My God, Linda, that looks great. And that guy! What an Adonis! Where did you find him?” Since Chuck had left Maggie for a girl half his age, she noticed and remarked upon young guys.

Max, a well-built fellow with golden skin, never looked up from his work.

“He is nice-looking, Maggie, but put your jaw back in place and stop exaggerating. I found his ad in The Nugget, and he’s done an excellent job.”

“What’s next?” Maggie returned to her normal, no-nonsense self.

“He’s going to replace those flagstone steps and paths.”

“Lots of heavy work.”

“He and his helpers can handle it.” Linda took a deep breath. “Mostly, I want to make this place as safe as possible. For Matthew and for me too. I feel fine right now, but who knows how long that’ll last. Every morning when I wake up and hop out of bed, raring to go, I’m thankful to have another day to be here."

“I think you’re worried about losing Matthew and your home.”

“I’ve dismissed those kinds of thoughts. Still, I know you’re right.” Linda fell silent for a minute. “Jenn and Jess are only thinking of our well-being. But we’ve lived here our whole married life. Neither of us is going anywhere until it’s absolutely necessary…when one of us is gone.”

“You two have put your hearts and souls into this place. I don’t blame you a bit for not wanting to leave.”

“Thanks. I’m glad you were able to see the garden. By late September things will start to wane.” Linda looked up at the clear blue, cloudless sky, sniffing the flower-scented air. I’m so grateful for this perfect summer, this beautiful yard, and all of Matthew’s efforts.

That night, she set out the good china for their salmon dinner and placed a bouquet of zinnias in the center of the Polish lady’s table. Linda and Matthew toasted each other with crystal glasses of sauvignon blanc.

“To us,” Matthew said.

Linda rubbed the rosebud-shaped indentation in the cherry wood.