2. Cohen

I pulled along the curb at my son's school, Emerson Academy. The place always scared me a little. Probably because it was nothing like the public high school I'd attended in the next town over.

Ollie lifted his backpack into his lap as I drew to a stop, and his fingers were already on the door handle.

"Hey," I said. "I know we're running behind, but what about a ‘see you later, Dad?' or ‘have a nice day, Dad?'" He was only a sophomore in high school, but it seemed like yesterday I was his hero and all it took to earn a smile was an airplane ride or a piece of gum.

Ollie gave me a lopsided smile that looked so much like my own at that age. But where my hair was mostly straight, he'd gotten his mother's curls, and they grew out messy atop his head. "Bye, father dearest. I hope you have an astounding day enabling alcoholism."

"Sarcasm," I said. "Nice."

He pushed open the door and got out. "See you Monday. And water the plants, please."

"Will do. Love you," I said, wishing he wasn't too cool to hug me in front of all his friends walking past us in their navy-blue private school uniforms.

"Love you," he said quietly before shutting the door and walking away.

I stayed in the spot for a moment, watching him. Maybe it was teenage brain, but he'd been so up and down lately. Happy and chatty one moment and withdrawn in his room the next. Not for the first time, I wished I had a parent to call—provide some perspective—but that ship had long since sailed, crashed, and sank to the bottom of the ocean, never to be seen again. Maybe I'd call Gayle later—despite not having children, she was great with teens. I knew firsthand.

A horn behind me honked, and I looked in the rearview of my Tesla to see a soccer mom with bug-eye sunglasses pursing her lips at me. I went to drive forward but stopped just in time. Pam Alexander, venom in heels, was walking in front of my car. She gave me a mix between a glare and a grin, and I lifted my fingers at her in acknowledgement. I wasn't one to wish away time, but I couldn't wait until Ollie was out of this school.

The clock on my dash told me I was already late for my next appointment, so I gunned it out of the parking lot and headed to meet my realtor. It had been two years since my wife and I split, which meant two years too long in an apartment.

I wanted to have a place for Ollie and me where we could make our mark—paint the walls, build displays for the houseplants he had all over our place, maybe even get a small yard for him to garden. The mild California weather meant he could have something growing all year long.

My GPS told me I was approaching the house, but I would have known anyway because of my realtor's small purple car. It had sparkles and a giant picture of her face on it. That car alone would have been reason enough to decline her services, but Steve, the manager at my bar, swore up and down she was the best.

As soon as I parked in the driveway behind her car, she stepped out, her hair and spiky pink heels making her almost as tall as I was. In the back of my mind, I could hear my ex's sure-fire criticisms. That made me like Linda even more.

"Hi, Linda," I said. "Tell me about it."

She gestured at the house. "Two bedrooms, one bathroom, galley kitchen, and a sizable backyard." The disappointment in her voice was apparent.

"What's wrong with it?" I asked. There wasn't any point wasting our time if this wasn't the one.

"You're going to love it."

"And?" I asked. "That's a bad thing? What about the commission?"

"I don't see you in this house!" She gestured at me, then the small home. "Don't you think you're going to get remarried someday? Your future missus will want space, maybe even an extra bedroom for a child-to-be?"

I snorted. "I'm a middle-aged man with gray hair and a sixteen-year-old kid. Yeah, I'm a real catch."

She shook her head as if she knew something I didn't. "Come on, Cohen. Let me show you around. It'll take about two seconds."

Chuckling, I followed her through the front gate. A chain-link fence surrounded the property, and I pictured Ollie and me getting a dog that would have run of the place. The "lawn" was mostly weeds, but I knew a guy who could help me handle that. And another who could help with the peeling paint on the exterior.

We walked through the antique front door, and I smiled at the hardwood beneath our feet. "These floors original to the house?"

She nodded. "So is the heater. But I think we could negotiate a credit for that."

I nodded, walking through the living room toward the dining room, which had a simple gray tile on the floor. The ceilings were a little low, but the house had plenty of character with built-in cabinets and antique fixtures. The kitchen was small—smaller than the one in our apartment even—but Ollie would be moving out soon, and it would be just me. I didn't need much.

Linda followed behind me, pointing out details about the house as I passed from the kitchen through the dining room to the small hall with the bedrooms and bathroom. Both small. But then I looked into the backyard and all that space. Ollie could have a garden and a greenhouse if he wanted. Maybe even campfires with his friends and a hammock strung between two trees.

"I like it," I said to Linda, who stood in the doorway behind me.

Her smile was wry. "I was afraid you'd say that."

I looked around the place, trying to see it from her perspective, but I couldn't see anything but potential here. "Is it really that bad?"

"I hope I'm not speaking out of turn," she said, "and you can ignore me if you think I am. But both of my kids are grown and gone. The house gets awfully quiet after they leave. Awfully lonely. And sometimes, that fear that keeps us from opening up to someone new can keep us from a lot of great things too."

My throat felt tight, but I cleared it and put a hand on her shoulder. "Thanks for the concern, Linda."

She nodded.

"Can you put an offer in tonight?" I asked.

With a petulant shake of her head, she said, "Alright, but I'm going to get you a hell of a deal."

"I'll count on it," I said.