Making Mr. Right

“You can do a house start to finish all by yourself?”

“There are a few things I have to hire help with,” Cindy admitted. “I have a part-time helper—a kid in high school recommended by the same shop teacher who got me started.”

“Mr. Havens?”

Cindy nodded. “I wait to do the heavier stuff until he’s around, afternoons and Saturdays. It works really well.”

“You’re doing okay, then?”

“I’m doing okay,” Cindy said semiproudly.

“I knew you would.” Flo had been one of the few who hadn’t thought Cindy was crazy when she started taking on small repair jobs for people around the old neighborhood. She’d taken woodworking her sophomore year in high school. Even though she and Parker had both been in the gifted program, “shop” had quickly become her most loved and best subject. She’d taken it every year after that. Gradually she’d acquired the reputation for being able to fix someone’s door if it didn’t close right or repair trim around a window. Small projects had evolved into bigger ones, like replacing a bathroom floor because someone had let the water leak under the sink go on too long.

Flo had been the first paying customer because she’d insisted and Cindy had been “on the job” ever since. She’d been the most affordable Ms. Fix It around. She’d purchased and learned to use various tools for each project as she went along.

“I’d probably still be doing the same old small odd jobs for everyone if the old neighborhood was still there,” she admitted.

“You were never fond of change, were you,” Flo sympathized.

“I guess not.”

“You must be making a good living now,” Parker commented from his vast store of knowledge on the subject. He forked the last bite of the cinnamon roll Flo had put on his plate into his mouth.

“I wish.” She punctuated the comment with a sigh. “This last house is going to be a tough sell, I’m afraid. I may be back to doing odd jobs.”

“It looked great.” Parker frowned. He’d seen the “before” when she bought it six months ago; she’d shown him the “after” the other day when he’d gotten the oil spot out of the garage floor. “Why do you think I’m so confident you can transform me,” he added.

“Fortunately,” Cindy said wryly, “no one is going to put a halfway house right down the street from you.”

Flo and Parker both frowned.

“You know, one of those places where they put kids after they’ve been in juvenile hall but before they let them go back to whatever home they originally had? It kind of annihilates property values for a little while until people see how it’s going to affect the area.”

“It’ll be okay.” Flo patted her hand.

“I know it will eventually.” In the meantime, Cindy would have to wait for a buyer as confident in the area’s potential as she was.

“You think people will expect crime in the area to rise?” Parker asked.

She told him what her usual real estate saleswoman had told her. “People will just be nervous of moving to or investing in the neighborhood for a while. Till they see what happens.”

“So selling may take a while,” Flo said, understanding.

“Or I’ll have to cut my profit to nothing and settle for a price to cover what I have invested,” Cindy agreed. “But enough of my problems. That’s not—”

“I don’t understand,” Flo broke in.

“She uses her profits from one house to buy another and fix it up.”

“And I live in the house while I’m working on it. That’s the only way I’ve kept my head above water so far. It keeps my living expenses to a minimum,” Cindy explained patiently.

“So you won’t have anywhere to live when you sell this one.” Flo asked, frowning.

“I won’t have any profits. No profits, no house to buy to work on or to live in,” Cindy told her. “It’s like when Parker was first starting—well, kinda. He made money hand over fist from the very beginning, but don’t you remember when he was sweating his monthly expenses and putting every cent of profit back into the business?”

Flo’s blank look suddenly cleared. “Oh. I see.”

Cindy exchanged a glance with Parker. “This was the house I hoped would get me ahead. I had a profit margin figured in that would allow me to start paying myself a monthly salary,” she admitted, adding with exasperation. “And I planned to buy my next house in the same neighborhood. It is...was,” she corrected, “becoming really nice. Stable. The people there have made great strides, cleaning it up, running out some of the bad elements. And with all the nice big old houses and it sort of overlooks downtown...” She let the rest of the comment remain unsaid.

“The potential is good,” Parker offered.

Cindy nodded. “Was,” she felt obligated to tack on.

“So the halfway house complicates things for you,” Flo analyzed.

“Temporarily. It’s just going to slow me down.”

“Maybe you should put your name in to remodel the halfway house.”

Cindy had always loved Flo. They thought the same way. “I did.” She grimaced. “They’d already hired a big name contractor.”

“You can come to work for me,” Parker offered for the hundredth time. He’d been trying to get her to work for him at PC, Inc., since he’d started it. Said she’d be the best personal assistant he could find.

“You know I would hate working in an office,” she gave him her standard reply, though her reasons for turning him down had just gotten stronger. I couldn’t stand seeing you every day and knowing there was never a hope of you loving me, she added to herself. And I’d never get over you.

“You know the offer’s good if you need something temporary to get you through.”

“He just wants you at his beck and call while you’re trying to perform this miracle,” Flo warned, laughing. “He tried the same thing with me. Tried to get me to move into the staff apartment.”

It was Cindy’s turn to look blank.

“Oh. You haven’t seen the whole house?”

Cindy shook her head.

“Just wait,” Flo cautioned. “You ought to see me trying to figure out when and where to serve his meals.”

“Maybe moving in would be easier,” Cindy suggested.

“I’m close enough,” Flo laughed. “I have the caretaker’s cottage out back,” Flo bragged. “I can see when his lights come on in here. I come up and serve his dinner—usually in here—then go back to my own little place, though cottage doesn’t do it justice. It’s the nicest house I’ve ever had,” she said, her eyes alight with pride. “Big enough to enjoy my kids and grandkids without sending out search parties to look for them.”

“That’s a shot at this house,” Parker explained to Cindy in case she hadn’t caught it.

“I noticed.” Cindy was enjoying the old I-cangive-as-good-as-I-get atmosphere of the old neighborhood.

“This is a warehouse,” Flo said. “Don’t let him kid you. You just don’t notice because you don’t leave this little suite of rooms.” She aimed the statement at him. She indicated his rooms with an expansive gesture. “Or he doesn’t leave the office,” she added to Cindy. “He’s becoming a workaholic.”

Workaholic, Cindy noted at the top of her pad. She was enjoying the warmth and companionship of this free-for-all way too much. It was time to get it back on track. “I’m making a list of things we need to tackle if we’re going to do this magical transformation,” she explained when Parker asked what she was doing. “Mallory’s the type who needs intensive care and attention,” she added dryly. “You can’t stay a workaholic if you expect to hold her interest. What do you think did in her first marriage?”