“If that’s everything you need from me, I’ll get out of your hair.” The woman from the escrow company stood and extended her hand across the meeting-room table.
Tara rose to return the gesture when her sights were drawn to her phone, which lit up with a call from Grant Singleton. Luckily, she had her ringer on Mute. She’d let it go to voice mail. “I believe we’re all set.”
“Perfect. The Bakers will be so happy to hear that. So will their contractor. He’s eager to get to work. He has an awful lot of it ahead of him.”
Tara showed the woman to the door. “Getting started on the kitchen right away? I know they weren’t happy with the size of the center island and were thinking of adding a pizza oven.”
“Oh, no. They’re leveling the whole thing.”
“The entire kitchen?”
“The whole thing.”
Oh.
“New construction,” the woman continued. “They didn’t see any point in trying to salvage what was there. Once you opened up the kitchen, you might as well tackle the dining room, and it only snowballs from there. I realize the seller did a lot of work on the property, but it’s not quite to the Bakers’ taste.”
This was a common occurrence in the more expensive areas of San Diego County. The land was often worth more than the structure standing on it. But it still didn’t strike Tara as any less wasteful to tear down a gorgeous home. “They told me they loved the house. We negotiated based on their personal plea that they wanted to raise their children there.”
The woman shrugged. “They will raise their kids there. Just not in that exact house. Gotta get a good deal somehow, right?”
Tara dug her fingernails into the heels of her hands. This was the exact kind of frustration that made her question what she was doing. Money wasn’t enough. How much satisfaction could she take in a job well done when clients turned around and bulldozed everything she’d found for them?
“I hope they’re very happy,” Tara said and bid her farewell. She had to let this go. Just like she’d done dozens of times.
As she turned back into the meeting room to grab her phone, the screen lit up again. Another call from Grant. Grant was an old friend, and business partners with Tara’s ex-husband, Johnathon. She and Grant spoke every now and then, but it was odd for him to call her twice in such a short span of time. She should answer.
“Grant, what’s up? Is this a butt dial?” Tara could admit that the vision of Grant’s butt crossed her mind. She’d never seen it in the flesh, but the man looked amazing in a pair of dress pants, or jeans when he wore them.
“Thank God you answered.” Grant’s normally deep voice was breathless and desperate. He was usually calm and always in control. But those few words hinted at trouble.
“What’s wrong?”
“Johnathon had an accident. I’m at the hospital downtown. How fast can you get here?”
Tara’s stomach sank nearly as fast as her pulse began racing. Adrenaline kicked in. She beelined for her office, cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder and grabbed her handbag. “I’m on my way. Twenty minutes if I don’t hit any traffic.”
“Hurry, Tara. It’s serious.”
She came to a halt. “This isn’t a joke you two cooked up, is it?”
“No. Of course not. Just get over here. We might lose him.”
Tara was back to running. “Lose him? What happened?”
“There’s no time to explain. I have to go. Just get here.” Grant hung up.
Tara raced down four flights of stairs in heels and sprinted across the parking lot to her Mercedes. The midday, early July sun was fierce as she fumbled for her sunglasses. She tried to ignore her heart’s thunderous performance in the center of her chest. She fought back waves of nausea. She and Johnathon had been divorced for seven years, but she still loved him and cared about him deeply. Even though losing him had left her hollowed out in the end, they’d had a magnificent ride. She couldn’t stand the thought of not having him in her life anymore. And if she was going to allow herself a purely selfish thought in a weak moment, she couldn’t live through another personal loss.
But Johnathon was impossibly strong. If ever there was a fighter, it was him. “He’ll be okay,” she muttered to herself as she zigged and zagged her way through traffic. “He has to be.”
Luckily, the hospital had a valet, and she zipped right up to the stand. Tara practically threw her keys at the attendant as she ran in through the sliding doors and up to the information desk to find out where Johnathon was. She rushed down the hall, breathing hard, which only made the antiseptic smell fill her nose more readily. These were not pleasant aromas. They made her think of losing her dad. And her mom. No more hospitals. She couldn’t stand them.
There was a wait for the elevator, so she hiked up to the fifth floor, emerging from the stairwell, huffing and puffing. And duly disoriented. Where was she? This did not look like a surgical floor and it was miles from the ER. The nurses’ station was off to the right, but she only got a few steps closer to it before a hand was on her elbow, pulling her back. She turned to see Grant. All color had drained from his handsome face, making the contrast between his skin and dark stubble so much starker. He opened his mouth to speak, but in that split second, Tara knew, deep down, what he was about to say.
“I’m so sorry. They couldn’t save him.”
No no no. This wasn’t possible. Johnathon was larger than life. He couldn’t simply die on a Tuesday with
