She edged past a young couple coming out of one of the bedrooms. It was a girl’s room, with posters on the wall and a pink bedspread. She looked at the jewelry box on the dresser and the cluster of framed photographs that could only be family pictures. A bunch of high school photos were stuck around the edges of the mirror over the dresser, and Lindsay wondered if one of the cute guys was the girl’s boyfriend.
She felt a sudden urge to look through the girl’s CDs to see what kind of music she liked, but just as she was about to flip through them, she realized there was going to be an open house at her house next week.
An open house just like this one.
With strangers looking through her things.
She jerked her hand away from the CDs almost as if her fingers had been scorched.
She suddenly felt creepy about even having looked at the pictures and wondering if one of them was the boyfriend, and silently apologized.
The thought of this happening in her own room, with anybody at all going through her stuff, made her queasy. Having an agent show people through apartments and houses that belonged to other people was bad enough, but open houses, where anybody—anybody—could just walk in and look through her underwear…
Lindsay felt her queasiness turn to nausea, and knew that if she didn’t get out, she was going to throw up. She hurried back through the rooms and found her parents in the kitchen discussing the apartment with Rita Goldman, who looked just like a raven cawing over a prize piece of garbage.
“Mom?” she whispered, trying to pull her mother aside. But her mother, still listening to the cawing of the raven, put her arm around her shoulders and tried to draw her into the conversation.
“It’s only a block to the subway,” she heard her father telling her. “That’s really terrific, kitten!”
“Did you look at the bedrooms, sweetheart?” her mother asked. “What do you think?”
“I think I’ve got to get out of here,” Lindsay managed, bile rising up in her gorge.
Her mother’s smile faded into a look of concern. “Honey, what’s wrong? You look a little pale.”
“I just need to get out of here.”
Kara’s motherly instincts came to the fore and she nodded. “Okay.” She turned to Steve. “I’m going to take Lindsay out for some air.” She looked at her watch. “Oh, good Lord, she must be starving — look how late it is!”
“Why don’t we find a little place for some lunch?” the raven clattered. “I can make a few phone calls — maybe find something even better than this — and we can all get a bite.”
Lindsay tugged at her mother. She didn’t want to have lunch with this woman. All she wanted was the Thai cabbage salad she’d been promised. Then she wanted to go shopping and to forget moving to the city. She struggled against the tears now threatening to overwhelm her. “Mom, please?”
As if she’d read her daughter’s thoughts, Kara nodded, then glanced at Steve. “We’ll see you downstairs.”
The elevator was crowded again, and Lindsay’s queasy stomach began to escalate into an anxiety attack. She felt hot and clammy at the same time, and steel bands seemed to be tightening around her chest, making it hard to breathe. As the elevator crept downward, she felt the strange heat rise up through her chest and her neck and into her face, and when the doors finally opened on the ground level, she was unsteady on her feet.
She dropped onto a bench in the foyer and leaned against her mother, who sat down next to her.
“What’s the matter, darling?” Kara asked, her brow creased with worry. “Are you sick?”
“I’m hot,” Lindsay said. She picked up her mother’s hand and pressed it to her face.
“You’re burning up,” Kara said.
But already the flush was starting to pass. “No, I’m going to be okay,” Lindsay assured her. “I just needed to get out of there.”
“Then we’ll just relax here for a few minutes and wait for Dad. Okay?”
Lindsay nodded, closed her eyes and silently prayed for some kind of miracle that would mean they could just stay in their house and never have to go through this again.
“Did you like this place?” Kara asked. “It certainly seems to be the best thing we’ve seen — close to the subway, and close to a very good school, and not too far from your father’s office.” She paused, then added, “And we can afford it. Barely, but we can make it.”
Lindsay hardly heard the words, a single thought filling her mind: “Are people going to be going through our house like this?”
Her mother looked puzzled. “Well, of course they are. At the open houses next week. Why?”
Lindsay’s eyes widened and she paled. “I don’t want anybody in my room,” she whispered. “And I don’t want to move. Can’t we just forget about all this and go home?”
Kara hugged her close. “I wish we could,” she said. “But you know we can’t! Come on, sweetheart.” Turning so she could face Lindsay, she tipped her daughter’s head up and looked into her eyes. “It’s a new chapter, Lindsay. A new adventure. I know it’s scary, but you’ll get through it! We’ve had a wonderful life out on the Island, but we’ll have a wonderful one here, too.”
“But I hate all these places,” Lindsay whispered, her voice breaking. “I hate the city.”
“You’ll grow to love it. Trust me.”
But as the elevator dinged and her father came out with Rita Goldman and a flood of other people, Lindsay knew it wasn’t true. She hated the city now, and she always would. “Someone already made an offer on this place,” she heard her father say, sounding disappointed. “And it’s been accepted.” Lindsay immediately felt better.
“Timing is everything,” she heard the agent say. “I’ll do a little more research, and now that I’ve got a better idea of what appeals to you, I can zero in. We’ll keep looking until we find the place that’s just right.”
“Thai salad,” Lindsay whispered to her mother.
“Thank you so much for your time,” her mother said as her father shook the agent’s hand. Rita Goldman swirled her black coat like a pair of wings, turned and swooped out of the building with a promise to be in touch soon.
“We’ll find something we all like,” her father said, but Lindsay knew the truth.
Her parents would find something they liked.
The best she could do was cope.
But she would do it. Somehow, she would do it.
Chapter Eight
Kara was just fastening the last button on her blouse when she heard the doorbell. Damn. Was he early? A glance at the bedside clock told her he was right on time—she was late. “Lindsay?” she called. “Are you about ready?”
The only response was the sound of the toilet flushing in Lindsay’s bathroom, which meant that she was still a while away from being ready.
Kara slipped into her shoes and hurried down the stairs, tucking the blouse into her skirt. “Coming,” she breathed, hating, as always, to make anybody wait, and wondering why even the few seconds it took to get to the door made her feel guilty.
Mark Acton stood at the door, briefcase in hand, his agent’s smile covering his face like a mask. “Good morning!”
Kara pulled the door wide. “Hi, Mark. Come on in. We’re running a little late this morning.”
“No problem. You take your time, and I’ll just get started setting up.”
Kara put Steve’s breakfast dishes in the dishwasher and turned off the coffeepot. “Coffee before I throw it away?”
“No, thanks.”
She took a final swipe at the countertops, then looked around to make certain the kitchen looked clean and appealing. Suddenly the yellow paint she’d decided on two years ago didn’t seem like such a good choice. Too late now. “Lindsay!” she called up the stairs. “Time to go!” She turned back to the real-estate agent. “How’s the response so far?”