The Flip Read online

  “Thanks, sis.” Julie hung up, resentful but willing to try what her sister suggested. Brad and she weren’t like her sister and her husband. She thought they had a relationship built on friendship and an equality that didn’t need the games others needed to play. Brad liked her aggressiveness, treating her as a partner first, and as a woman second. She loved that about him.

  Julie got into her small car parked at the train station. Instead of going home, she pulled into the supermarket and bought a roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and a vegetable in the deli section. It was as close to a home-cooked meal as she could put together on such short notice. Then she ran into the local bakery to buy the most decadent chocolate cake it had.

  Chapter 4

  Brad pulled his truck into the carport, got out, and opened the rear door to take out the paintings he had brought home. He lugged them one by one into their small ranch house and rested them against the couch in the shabby living room. He went back for the lampshade, placing the box on the coffee table. All the furniture was secondhand—not that he minded, but he knew Julie did. They’d bought this tiny house just before the wedding. It was little more than an apartment on a slab, with a small utility kitchen, a living room with a cozy fireplace, and three tiny bedrooms that looked more like closets with windows. The bathroom was still vomit-green, circa 1978, and the harvest-gold kitchen appliances were so old they had started looking trendy. He had ripped out the shag carpet himself and surprised Julie by polishing the blond wooden floor, then covering it with a Berber area rug that they had made love on in front of a roaring fire. He stopped and stared at the spot where he had knocked over a glass of wine during that evening. Though the rug was new, Julie hadn’t minded. She’d giggled and said she’d never be able to look at the rug without thinking of them humping away, throwing both caution and wine to the wind. A smile split his face, his even teeth gleaming, the depression that sat heavily on him all day dissipating.

  He stripped quickly, stepped into the shower, and let the needles of hot water pierce through the dirt coating his skin.

  Julie entered the house and put the food on the bridge table they were currently using in the dining room. The fourth leg wobbled; it always looked ready to collapse. Brad promised her it was sound. Sliding out of her shoes, she used a toe to gently press it outward, until satisfied that it wouldn’t fall.

  “Brad,” she called, removing her coat and hanging it on a hook in the dim entry by the door. “Brad?” She heard the water running in the bathroom. Quickly, she slipped off her shirt and the rest of her clothes, silently opening the door to the pint-sized bathroom. Condensation covered the mirror; it was like walking into a cloud. Angling the shower curtain, she slid in and put her arms around the slippery form of her husband and his taut belly. He was sudsy. She pressed her nose against his firm shoulder, inhaling his scent, and brought her entire body in contact with his. She heard his sigh, but she wasn’t sure if it was of contentment or despair.

  “Happy birthday,” she whispered, taking him into her hand and sliding down the length of him. This time she knew the sigh was of contentment.

  Brad stopped, closing his eyes and caressing her smooth arms with his soapy hands. Julie kissed his back and then placed her cheek flush with his slick skin. She heard him rumble, “Jules.” He turned to embrace her, and they lost themselves to the heat, water, and the glorious sensations of skin against skin. Dinner didn’t seem to matter after all.

  They stumbled out of the shower, spent, replete, and ready for more on their king-size bed. The room was so small, it was literally wall-to-wall mattress. They had no room for a dresser or nightstands. A television hung on the wall.

  Much later, Julie mumbled, “Thank goodness for flat screens.” She was lying in Brad’s arms, the down comforter twisted around them.

  “What?” He looked down at her.

  “The TV.” She gestured at the screen against the wall.

  “You want to watch something?” he asked incredulously.

  “No.” She turned to give him a long kiss on his lips. He put his arms around her slim back and pulled her against him, their bodies fitting tightly together. “I was just wondering where we would have put a television if we couldn’t hang it up.”

  “I never had one in my room. This is a luxury.”

  Julie looked up at him, her fingers dancing around his lips. Brad caught them, nipping them gently. She brushed the hair from his face. She opened her mouth to complain about the room, but decided not to ruin the mood. “Tell me about the house today.”

  Brad’s slate-gray eyes darkened for a moment.

  “What? Were there any problems?”

  Brad clicked his tongue. “It’s a mess. Too much dust. Too much wind.”

  “Wind?” Julie asked, only to be cut off by Brad’s lips.

  He rolled her over and moved down her body, kissing her softly. Julie opened her arms and closed her eyes. She wanted to ask another question, but it fluttered out of her head like an escaping butterfly.

  Hours later, they sat with the chicken between them, ripped into manageable parts. They ate it right out of the box.

  “You want potatoes?” Julie asked, her mouth full.

  Brad wiped a bit of food from the corner of her mouth. “Nope. This is enough.”

  She was wearing his T-shirt and nothing else. Greasy napkins littered the cover. Brad held up oily hands, looking for another napkin, laughing at Julie’s squeal when he motioned that he was going to wipe his hands on the white comforter.

  “I saw some artwork and a box in the living room.”

  “There’re a few things worth taking to Sal’s.” Sal was an antique dealer who directed them with their finds. He paid them fairly and, when it was warranted, arranged for things to be brought to auctions. Julie cocked her head. Brad smiled at her. “I found mounds of boxes in a sealed-off room in the cellar.”

  “Spooky.” Julie rolled her eyes.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Brad mumbled.

  “What?” Julie asked, her fingers shredding a chicken wing.

  “Nothing. It’s just going to take some extra time to go through all the boxes. I found a sampler.” He paused. “It looks to be early, you know, from, like, the eighteen hundreds.”

  “Folk art.” Julie nodded. “I watch Antiques Roadshow, too. What did it say?”

  Brad laughed at her. “Not sure. Something like ‘Home is where the heart is,’ I think. Looks homemade, like a kid did it. Then there was a landscape, dark with lots of greens.”

  “Could be a Hudson River School painting.”

  “I don’t think so. It looks like a painting of the house. Probably a local artist.”

  “Was there a name?”

  Brad nodded.

  “Good. I’ll google the name tomorrow. What else?” She burped delicately, and Brad laughed out loud.

  “There’s a portrait, probably a Hemmings ancestor. Then I found a print—could be Manet.”

  “Framed?” she questioned.

  “Impressively. All rococo and gold leaf.” Brad took a swig from a pony-neck bottle of Samuel Adams Summer Ale. It was icy-cold, the way he liked it.

  “Eclectic.” Julie smiled. “That could generate some nice income if it’s real. The frames alone could bring us a few dollars. If it’s a Manet, it would be nice to keep.”

  “To hang in this dump? I think not. Where are you going?” Brad called to her as she skittered out of the room, the bottom of her tight little ass exposed underneath his shirt. “It’s probably just a copy anyway. I didn’t see any numbers.”

  “I’m sure everything was culled through when the bed-and-breakfast people bought the house.” Her voice came from the kitchen.

  “I don’t know. The basement is a regular time capsule. I did find the false wall and the room filled with boxes. I’ve barely scratched the surface on separating the things in there. I didn’t even have a chance to get into the attic.”

  Julie walked into the room with th
e biggest chocolate cake he’d ever seen. Thirty-six lit candles decorated the top, illuminating her rosy cheeks. “Do you want me to sing?” she asked with a smile.

  “Only if you want to invite raccoons.” Brad made room for her on the bed.

  “Make a wish,” Julie told him with excited eyes.

  “I got it already.” Brad kissed her. “But I’ll make another.” He wriggled his eyebrows.

  “I can make the wish for you,” she offered hopefully, her green eyes lit with appeal. Julie never gave up once she had an idea in her pretty little head.

  Brad was too tired to humor her tonight. “We are not keeping it, Jules. Maybe the next one.”

  Julie pouted, but turned it into a smile, not wanting to risk the cold war again. This was nicer, more like old times.

  Without taking his eyes off her, he blew out the candles gently. “Where are the forks?”

  “We don’t need no forks!” she told him playfully, digging her fingers into the cake and putting it into his mouth.

  Brad smiled, sucking on her fingers, his eyes rolling with pleasure. Julie squealed when he returned the favor. They fed each other, kissed, and ate some more. Soon their faces were smeared with chocolate, crumbs everywhere.

  “Oh, this is a mess.” Julie stood, brushed brown bits off the white comforter, and watched them leave tiny smears. For the first time, she couldn’t get herself to care about it. “By the way, don’t go into the attic while you’re alone. Wait till Saturday or when Willy is with you,” Julie warned him. “You remember what happened the last time.”

  Brad had climbed into the attic of their last flip and had fallen out, breaking his leg. Without Willy’s help, they couldn’t have finished the house. Brad had worn a cast for weeks, and even now she knew his leg pained him.

  Willy was an army buddy who helped with the repair jobs. An out-of-work vet, he was willing to wait until they sold the house to get paid. They always gave him a small percentage. There was nothing the man couldn’t or wouldn’t do.

  “Time is money, baby. We have to move this one, and Willy can’t come until next week. He went to Charleston to visit his mom.” Brad lay back, his face distant. His eyes narrowed, and Julie wondered what he was thinking about. His lips turned down, and his fist absently tapped against the counterpane.

  Julie contemplated the wrecked cake in the box. “Are you still mad?”

  “I’m not mad, Jules.” Brad pushed her hair behind her ear and lifted her chin so their eyes met. “This is a big house.” He placed his finger over her lips when she started to interrupt him. “We can’t keep it. Please, let’s just move it quickly.” He shivered, goose bumps pebbling the bare expanse of his chest. “It gives me the creeps.” He pulled her forward to kiss her lips. “There’ll be other houses.”

  Chapter 5

  Julie filled her travel mug and was rushing to get her satchel organized when Brad walked into the room.

  His hair hung damply over his forehead, his sleepy eyes dominant in his tanned face. He smiled, and for a moment, her breath caught at the beauty of him. Julie longed to throw her keys in the disposal, forget about her job, and stay home to work with her husband all day.

  “I’m meeting with the foundation people today. I think they should be able to raise the sagging floor in the subbasement,” Brad told her as he stretched. He reached for his mug to prepare a cup of coffee. Eyeing his wife, he said, “Earth to Julie…Jules…you paying attention?”

  Julie stared at him, not comprehending, struck by his perfection. His flannel shirt was open, the golden hairs on his chiseled chest glinting. Julie shook her head. “Got it. Foundation today. Please stay out of the attic, Brad.”

  “I have to get the work done.”

  “When is Willy returning?” Julie leaned against the counter in their kitchen and looked at him over the rim of her aluminum mug.

  Brad hopped up onto the patterned Formica counter. It was chipped in so many places. The border hung half off. Brad pounded it with his fist until the tacky glue stuck.

  Julie sighed. “I hate this place.”

  Brad pushed the lid down on the coffeemaker, touched the button, and watched as his mug filled. “It’s a lot nicer than what I lived in as a kid.”

  “We could just do the counter. I’m not suggesting new cabinets.”

  Brad shook his head. “I don’t want to stay here forever. It’s just a stopover.”

  She contemplated the golden oak cabinets, the warped doors—the wood was so faded by time, the old varnish had turned them orange. He didn’t care about his surroundings, but she did. Julie loved to live among elegant and stylish things. While she appreciated that Brad had polished the wooden floors, she longed to rip out the fixtures and make an up-to-date metro galley kitchen.

  “We don’t have to make double payments on the mortgage,” Julie appealed to him. “We could slow it down and make this place more habitable.”

  “Someone’s got to decide which shithole gets first dibs. Hold on, Julie. Don’t get angry. I didn’t pick the Hemmings house.” Brad slid off the counter to approach his wife. “I would have taken a rest after the Cape and put in some time here, but you wanted that run-down pile of crap.” He shivered.

  “What?” She walked into his embrace, feeling his tremors.

  “I don’t like that house.”

  “It was a good buy. We could flip this one for less money and live there for a bit. Think about it. We could make an income renting out the rooms. There must be fifteen bedrooms there. That way, we could fix it slowly.”

  “There’re twelve. If you’re complaining about the kitchen here, the one at the Hemmings house is prehistoric. Nah.” He tipped her face up to meet his, kissing the tip of her upturned nose. “Willy’s going to be here next week. I’m pushing to get it done. Just forget about that wreck. Once we sell it, we can spackle this one a bit, put it up for sale, and move to the next one.”

  Brad kissed the light skin at the base of Julie’s neck where her pulse thrummed, smiling at the purr coming from his wife’s throat.

  “You are doing that on purpose to distract me.”

  “Guilty.” He kissed her fully on the lips.

  “You’re going to make me late for work again.”

  “Guilty again.”

  Julie slid her hands under his shirt, feeling the smooth flesh, the ripples of sculpted muscle wrapped around his lean flanks. He pinned her against the rickety table, her legs anchoring him. Leaning over her, he slid his palm between her legs, touching her in such a way that the condition of the countertop quickly became a distant memory.

  An hour later, they found themselves back in the kitchen, satisfied smiles shared between them.

  She rubbed at an old brown cigarette burn in the countertop made by some long-ago resident.

  “You’re going to rip it,” Brad warned.

  “Maybe it would look better.”

  “Don’t start that now, Julie.” Brad shook his head. “Let’s finish Hemmings first.”

  Julie considered the ancient blackened burn. “Do you think a house holds the energy of its inhabitants?”

  “That’s weird; where’s it coming from?”

  Julie pointed to the burn. “Someone did this, marked the house. Does it sort of make it his?”

  “The woman who made that burn is living in the Del Boca Vista retirement community in Tampa. She has about as much connection to this house as the lawyer who handled the closing.”

  Julie swallowed. “Listen, think about it. She made a mark here; does it make it hers? Does a part of her stay here forever, like a footprint or a fingerprint?”

  “You’re a nut, Jules. I’ve got to go.”

  Chapter 6

  “Well, was it good?” Heather asked Julie over the phone.

  “It’s always good. It just hasn’t been frequent enough.”

  “Welcome to married life,” her sister complained. “Wait till you have kids. You’ll have to live on memories.”

  Julie laugh
ed so hard, it echoed back into the receiver.

  “You won’t be laughing when it happens to you,” Heather warned. “I have an appointment with Cooper’s teacher in an hour. He’s failing math, and we have to think about our options. I’m glad the two of you talked.”

  “Believe me, there was no talking going on.”

  “Lucky you,” Heather stated.

  “He wants to sell the Hemmings house, and I want to move into it. Don’t you think it would make a great B-and-B?”

  Her sister was silent for a moment. “Marriage is all about compromise. Julie, you can’t push a guy like Brad around. He’s not your lackey.”

  “Lackey, are you kidding me? Just because I want to better our life, I get a bum rap. If I were a guy, everybody would say I was ambitious. When you’re a woman, you’re labeled a bitch if you want to get ahead.” Julie snorted. “Anyway, where is the compromise? We both want to make money, so I don’t know what all the fuss is about. It’s like he’s scared of the house.”

  “Brad?” her sister scoffed. “Brad’s not afraid of anything. I’ve never met a braver guy. He married you, after all.”

  “Screw you, Heather. I’m a prize.” Julie laughed.

  “Of course you are, honey. Men get like that. Scared. Sometimes they feel like they’re losing control.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Think about it, Jules. He does most of the flip himself. I know what’s his name—”

  “Willy.”

  “Willy helps, but the whole thing sits on his shoulders. Your success or failure depends mostly on him. That’s a lot of responsibility. Sounds to me like Brad just wants to make sure you stay on track and don’t get overwhelmed.”

  “I don’t know,” Julie replied skeptically.

  “No, listen, I only have a minute or so before I have to hang up. Sounds to me like Brad wants to take smaller risks and not get stalled by a project that may be too big for him. Life goes fast, really fast, Jules. First we were dating, then married, and now I’m holding on to the tail end of my thirties with my fingernails. Jack turned forty last year! That’s middle age, if we are lucky enough to get to eighty.”