Promise Me

I call it the Cardall Principle: The chance of finding a Band-Aid in your soup is directly proportionate to how much you’re enjoying it.

Beth Cardall’s Diary

When I think back to that time, my life should have been bliss. Charlotte was healthy again, and I had fallen in love with a sweet, beautiful man who loved both me and my daughter. It should have been perfect. But, as Roxanne always said, “Every rose has its thorns.”

The first of the thorns arrived in the mailbox the following Thursday. I had just gotten home from work and was going though the mail when I came across a letter from my mortgage company. It was a final late-payment warning. I had ten days to bring my payments up to date or the bank would start foreclosure proceedings.

I was terrified. I had no money. Marc’s life insurance was long gone, as was my emergency stash. Marc and I had never been late paying bills, but now, with only one paycheck, and a meager one at that, I was on a sinking ship. I went to my room and cried.

Matthew came over that evening around six. He walked in carrying a white plastic sack. “Look what I found,” he said excitedly. “Gluten-free bread. It’s made from rice flour.” He handed me the sack.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice still weak from crying.

His smile fell. “What’s wrong?”

I wiped at my eyes as I carried the bread to the kitchen. “Nothing.”

“Something’s obviously wrong. You can tell me.”

I turned to look at him. “I’m just upset. I got a letter from my bank.”

His brow furrowed. “What kind of letter?”

I retrieved the letter from the counter and handed it to him. He looked it over, then set it down without saying anything.

“It’s just so embarrassing,” I said. “I feel like a criminal or something.”

“How much do you need?”

“I’m not taking your money.”

“How about a loan, just enough to catch up.”

“It doesn’t matter. I still couldn’t pay you back.” I started to cry. “I just keep falling further behind. I just don’t make enough.”

He walked around the counter and put his arms around me. I laid my head on his shoulder. “The house is too big for us anyway. We don’t need all this.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. He thought for a minute then asked, “How much equity do you have in your home?”

I sniffed. “I don’t know. I owe sixty-eight thousand dollars. I don’t know what it’s worth. Maybe a hundred twenty thousand.”

“I think you could get a lot more if you made a few improvements.”

“I can’t afford that, I have no money. That would only get me in more debt.”

“You won’t need much. And I’ll do the work for free.”

I looked up at him. “You can do carpentry?”

“My father was a home builder. I grew up working weekends remodeling homes.”

“You would do that for me?”

“Of course,” he said matter-of-factly. “It would be a shame to let this house go for only a hundred twenty thousand. So here’s the plan. First, you don’t want to sell a house in winter. There are fewer buyers and it will show a lot better in spring. So you take out a home-equity loan, enough to catch up on the payments and a few thousand extra to make some improvements, then, in April we sell your home. I think you could get an extra forty or fifty thousand out of it. That’s a lot of hours at the dry cleaner.”

“You would really do that for me?”

He touched my cheek. “Of course.”

I threw my arms around him. “Why are you so good to me?”

He smiled. “Because I like you.”

That evening we walked around the house with a clipboard, paper and pen. We decided that the main floor only needed a little touch-up on the baseboards, a new shower curtain and tile in the master bathroom. The basement had been roughed in but was basically unfinished, needing drywall, carpet and paint. There were a few repairs outside the house as well: a shutter needed to be fixed and the north-side rain gutter needed replacing.

After we had surveyed the house, we sat down at the kitchen table with the list. “I can do everything downstairs except the carpet,” Matthew said, tapping a pencil on the notepad as he thought through the work. “Drywall isn’t expensive. I’m guessing around four thousand, maybe five, depending on the quality of the carpet. I bet I could find a wholesaler and an independent carpet layer. I’d plan on about five, tops. With the extra finished rooms I’m betting you could sell for around a hundred fifty to a hundred sixty thousand.”

“That would solve my financial problems.”

“For a while,” he said. “And in the meantime, you wouldn’t have to worry about finding a new place right now and moving in winter.”

I walked over and sat on his lap, draping my arms around his neck. I kissed his cheek, then lay my head on his shoulder. “I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you. I love you.”

He was quiet a moment, then said, “I love you too.” After a few more minutes he exhaled deeply. “I’d better go.”

“Do you have to?”

“Sorry. I’ve got some things I need to do in the morning.”

“If you must,” I pouted. I got off his lap and walked him to the door.

“Can you take some time off at lunch tomorrow?” he asked.

I nodded. “Sure.”

“We need to open up that home-equity loan, so I can get started.”

“Oh,” I said. “I thought you were offering to take me out to lunch.”

He touched my cheek and his smile returned. “I’ll do that too.” He looked into my face. “You know, you’re too beautiful for your own good. Or at least mine.”

“You make me feel beautiful,” I said.

He kissed me on the cheek. “Good night, Beth.”

“Good night. Sweet dreams. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He stepped back from me, then walked outside. I stood at the open door, shutting it only after he drove away. “Girl, you are in way over your head,” I said to myself. “Way, way over your head.” I smiled, then went to bed.