Someday Home by Lauraine Snelling Page B

hour and a half to get prepared, which included finding some backup properties to show if the buyer did not like the one they were walking through. She returned phone calls, one from the seller of the one house saying their last counteroffer was their final one. She thanked them and called the possible buyers back. They said thanks but no thanks and gave their reasons. When she offered to search for more properties for them, they said they’d get back to her.
    Right. One of the calls was for a short sale. Short sales were a lot of hard work for little money, but anything was better than nothing. She arranged the appointment and set Sandy to researching the short-sale lists for her. A couple wanted a second look at a property out in Rosedale, so she drove out and met them there. Should she tell them the traffic around Rosedale had become much more congested in the last few years? Not a chance. They came from Chicago. They knew traffic.
    By the end of the day, Angela dragged herself home to the emptier house. She had assigned herself one room at a time to stage for the showing. She was now on the master bedroom. She’d started with Gwynn’s room, then Charles’s and their bathroom. Those were the easiest. So far the packed boxes were gathering in the guest room aka sewing/craft room that she had appropriated after the children left for school and marriage. Preparing that room would be a nightmare.
    Walk away. Where had that thought come from? I want out. That was Jack’s line. Why was she the one doing all the work when he was the jerk? Jack the Jerk, a perfect name.
    Her phone buzzed; she had it set on vibrate, so she checked the face. Deep breath. “Hi, honey, good to hear from you.”
    “Mom, what’s going on?” Leave it to Gwynn to cut right to the chase.
    Angela collapsed into her leather recliner in the family room. “Why, what do you mean?”
    “I talked with Dad.”
    “And?”
    “And he seemed weird.”
    —er than normal? But she kept the sarcasm to herself. “How so?” She stretched her neck from side to side to try to alleviate the pending headache.
    “Evasive. Like he is keeping some secret. I don’t think he wanted to talk to me.” Her voice cracked.
    Daddy’s little girl was getting a dose of Jack the Jerk. Angela slammed her head back against the cushion. So unfair. What to say?
    “Mom, are you there?”
    “Yes, I’m here. Gwynnie, just ask him. You know he has always said you can ask him anything.”
    “Somehow I get the feeling that old adage of his is no longer true.” A pause. “So what is going on, Mom?” Another pause, this time from Angela’s side. “Mother, tell me!”
    Angela pounded her fist on the arm of the chair. Why, why do I have to be the one to dish out such disgusting news? “How many times have you tried talking with him?”
    “Three. I gave him every chance to tell me and he sidestepped every time. This just isn’t like him.”
    Not the Jack they used to know, but now…?
    “Mother, do not give me the runaround or I will be on the next plane to Minnesota, job or no.”
    Angela knew that tone; Gwynn did not make threats lightly. “Give me a minute, okay? Tell me something good about your life.”
    “That bad? Is he sick?”
    Only in the head. “No, your father is not sick. Look, I need to do a potty run and then I will call you right back.”
    “Promise?”
    “I promise.” She clicked off the phone, did what she needed, and swung by the kitchen for a glass of water. The dread of this talk parched her mouth. Back in her chair, she hit speed dial. Gwynn answered before the first ring was done.
    “Are you sitting down?”
    “Mother, you’re stalling.”
    “Your father has decided he needs to find himself and has filed for a divorce.” The words stumbled over each other in her rush to get it said.
    “ What? A divorce after twenty-five years of marriage? How can he? Surely you didn’t agree to it.”
    “It doesn’t matter whether I agree or not. He