July 20
I’ve come to the conclusion there are basically four kinds of clients. There are the Laid Backs, whom I can never get enough of—they’re okay with unexpected delays and don’t really care when the work gets done, as long as it gets done. Unfortunately, you don’t get too many of those in the renovation business. There are the Indecisives, who for days can’t figure out what the fuck they want, and when they finally figure it out, they usually end up changing their minds: I think I want a brushed nickel faucet instead of chrome...the paint to be gray instead of blue...the wall you just took down put back...in fact, why don’t you just change everything you’ve done so far and start over. There are Perfectionists, who see every blemish in your mudding, every bubble in your urethane. There are the Impatients, who even though you’ve given them a timeline, ask when you think you’ll be done. And there are the Hoverers, who like to be in the room with you watching you work.
Ed, the guy I’m working for now, is what I’d call an Impatient Perfectionist Hoverer. I’ve been getting his Cape ready to go on the market: things like spackling, repainting, polyurethaning woodwork. Since he’s retired and widowed, he has a lot of time on his hands, and that, combined with a few OCD tendencies, could make for a difficult job. But luckily, I really like the guy. And I feel badly for him, since his wife died a few months ago. He seems lost. I think it helps him to have me here, just to have someone in the house to talk to and so he can focus on what I’m doing, instead of missing her. I’ll drive in, and Ed’ll be in the bay window, like he’s been watching for me. He always opens the front door before I even get out of my truck and greets me the same way every time: How are we doing today, Mr. Decker? And I always respond, Stellar, Mr. King, and you? I can picture how he was as a professor, calling his students by their last names. I bet they got a kick out of him, and liked him. No doubt he was the kind of teacher who really cared. He still wears buttoned-up plaid shirts and Chinos, like he’s all dressed for school. Poor dude.
I know he doesn’t want to sell the house. Every so often, he’ll rest his hand on a door frame, his wrinkled, wobbly fingers gripping the wood trim, or he’ll pat the countertops, like he’s connecting with the Cape personally. The house always feels like it’s in the middle of a big, deep sigh. To be honest, it’s kind of depressing working here, because it makes you see how old age can suck. But like I said, I like him, and I want to do what I can to help him. I’m not going to hurt his pride by telling him, but I’m charging him just for materials.
Sometimes I feel like I’m more therapist than handyman, because a lot of this job involves listening. Case in point: today. I’m giving the entryway a new satin coat of butter-yellow paint, and Ed is standing beside me, talking and supervising. “I was a good painter, back before my hands started getting shaky. Marian loved color—the deep purple dining room was her favorite...I think I see a roller mark over here, Mr. Decker...we argued over that color, let me tell you. I wanted a pale blue, because of the pewter chandelier, but she insisted on the purple, and by gory if the woman wasn’t right, like she was about most everything. Looks positively regal, that color. Might want to smooth out what you just did, Mr. Decker...there, that’s it. Think you’ll be all done with the painting by tomorrow?”
Like I said: Impatient Perfectionist Hoverer. “Should be, yes, sir. What realty company are you going with?”
“Maine Coastal. Heard great things about them.”
Callaway’s company. Just the thought of her sends a jolt of pleasure rocketing through me. It’s only been a couple of days since I’ve seen her, but it’s hard. Literally. I’m betting both of us will be ramped up by Wednesday. I’ve been doing a lot of fantasizing about what I plan to do to her.
I turn my attention back to Ed, who has slid his glasses down his hawk-like nose to look closely at the paint job. “I’m sure you’ll be in good hands with Maine Coastal, Ed.”
And soon, I hope to be, too.
“Awful hard to think of leaving this place.”
I can detect a tremor in his voice. Ah, the poor guy.
“Lot of good memories, but it hasn’t been the same without Marian. Fifty-five years with that woman, and it went by in a blink. Now that she’s gone, though, it seems like it’s been centuries.” He takes out a rumpled blue handkerchief from his pants pocket and dabs at the corners of his eyes. “Time can be cruel, that way. But she was worth it.”
Ed’s more emotional than I’ve ever seen him. I dip my roller in the paint tray under his watchful eye as I nod and let him talk, because that’s what he seems to need right now.
“At the end, I think she was hanging on just for me. I could see how much pain she was in. She was worried about me—she kept whispering that—and I told her the first lie I’d ever told her in all our years together. I told her that I’d be fine. But she needed to hear it. I always knew that true love means putting the other person first, and it really hit me then.”
His voice trembles, and I keep painting slowly, smoothly, giving fresh color to this house that will soon be home to someone else.
“I told her it was all right for her to go. And that was all she needed, because she closed her eyes and looked relieved. Peaceful, like she could finally rest. Her pain ended, and mine began.”
He’s wiping his eyes again. Jesus, I can’t stand it. I put the roller down in the tray, and I turn around and give him a quick man-type of hug. I’ve never done anything like this before, but I can’t take seeing him so sad, and at this moment, he’s more like a grandfather than a client. “Thanks for sharing your story with me, Ed. I’m really sorry about your wife.”
He pats me on the shoulder in a glad, appreciative kind of way. “You do good work, Mr. Decker,” he says as he folds up his handkerchief and tucks it back in his pocket. “I’m going out to the garden and check on my tomatoes.”
Just before he heads outside, he fixes his pale, watery eyes on me. “Even with losing her, I still feel like I’m the luckiest man on Earth.”
I’ve got a whole new respect for Ed King.