Lily’s Dream

Is happiness ever enough?

Let’s not ask Lily Stanton that question.  Here she was back with the love of her life Frank Franklin, Esq., in the beautiful house of which she oversaw the renovation and—it wasn’t enough.  She was restless and dissatisfied and wanted more.

While Frank was at work in Hartford, she had time on her hands.  Oh, her boring remote work in medical billing continued.  But it was a drag on her psyche.  She spent way too much time reading the ads, the real estate ads because she knew what she wanted to do in life.  Renovate!

She already had contacts in this area with the guys who did Frank’s house.  But she was willing to expand with other contractors, as the need arose.  She wouldn’t call it flipping houses, as that would suggest shoddy, fast work for a profit. For her it was making love to something that already existed, bringing out its inner glow and, okay, making money when it sold.  But it was the process not the result that interested her.

If she could start out with one house and see if she could make a go of it, would Frank support her?  He had already put a lot of money into this house, which he conceded came out brilliantly under her direction.  As in “Eden loved what you did with it.”  Well, if Eden loved it, wouldn’t everyone?  Lily had taste and a sensible head on her shoulders.  At least she believed she did.  During breaks from what paid her salary, she went on-line to read the latest editions of all the home design magazines, so that she could zoom in on the latest trends.  Now all she needed was a house, preferably in this area, before she spread her wings farther out.

She tested the water with Frank by dragging him to estate sales on way too many weekends—for him.  She wasn’t so much interested in buying anything, but she did want to wander the house to see if it spoke to her.

Unfortunately, Frank was an indulgent man but he wasn’t a dumb one.  He grew suspicious.  Especially that one Saturday when they hit four estate sales.  “What’s up?” he finally asked.

So she sat him down in their wonderful sun room and laid her plan before him.  “You don’t have to do anything,” she assured him.

“Except pony up the money.”

“Well, yes, that,” she agreed.  “Couldn’t it be considered a tax write-off?” she asked hopefully.

“I’m not an accountant.”  He was being rather grim.

“I want to do something, Frank.  Something I love.  You of all people must understand that.”

“So I should support something you love with something I don’t love, my lawyering.”

“On the other hand, you are a real estate attorney.  So.  Isn’t this rather a natural progression?”  No response.  “Let’s say I find something really cheap that’s basically solid and just needs loving attention.  Yes, we’ll be pouring money into it.”

“I’ll be pouring money into it.”

“But then we sell it at a profit.”

“Are people banging down doors to buy houses around here?” Frank queried?  “This one was on the market for almost a year.”

“Because it needed an extensive renovation.  Most people want to see what a house looks like when they walk in, not what it could look like with six months’ worth of work on it.”  He was listening, but not happily.  Perhaps she needed to be more forceful.  “When I came here, the house still smelled old, but now look at the light we’ve let in.  Every penny you’ve put into this has increased its value.”

“But I’m living here.  I’m not checking it’s value.  It’s my weekend escape.  It’s even the exurbs of Springfield.  So you find another house like this and who would be your clientele?”

“Look, there’re the Berkshires, music festivals, the colleges, the fall foliage.  Summer homes.  Winter escapes.  Let me try just one,” she, yes, begged.

Frank considered it.  Even if he bought something outright, there was still the cost of renovation.  It would mean taking loans.  He had been lucky in life to have a father who made it possible to go to college and law school without loans, so the thought of owing money didn’t thrill him.  Yet, Lily was so eager and he agreed she was wasting her life on medical billing. Still—  “If you bring me a house and a prospectus on how much it would cost to renovate, I’ll consider it.”  She almost jumped on him, but he held up his hand.  “Consider it,” he emphasized.  “Debt is something I want to stay well away from.  I don’t hold with having to spend money to make money.  That’s not a mantra for me.  It’s going to be a hard sell, Lily.”

How disappointing.  Frank was really being a stick in the mud.  Shouldn’t he once be willing to throw caution to the wind and support her dream?  If he loved her?  And wouldn’t he be happy if her plan worked out?  She knew it could.  Except with the interest rates fluctuating and—  Well, she’d consider financial issues later.  First, she had to find a house.

Her search began in the town of Chicopee, just south of the turnpike and therefore a good commuter location.  There were several houses on its main streets that could use a make over.  In fact, there was a triplex in really rotten condition with apartments downstairs, upstairs and out the back with the extension.  That one was on the market, but what would she turn it into.  A single family?  Leave it as a triplex and redo all three apartments?  Turn it into someone’s rental property. Like, with her as the landlord?  She’d be speculating.  She’d be gambling.

She’d be—falling into a funk.  Because all of a sudden, she felt way too much like her father.  She’d be gambling with someone else’s money.  And she suddenly realized she simply couldn’t do it.  It was an exciting prospect, but what if she didn’t make a profit?  What if she lost Frank’s money?  Isn’t that what they say couples argue about most?  Money?

Her dream made her happy, but Frank made her happier.  So when he came home that weekend and asked how her search was going, she told him she was giving up the project.  “I don’t want to end up like my father,” she explained.  “Taking your money and maybe coming up empty.”

Frank said nothing, just headed into the kitchen with the deli he had picked up.  If he had said either go ahead with your dream or thank god you’ve made a practical decision, it might have wounded their relationship.  But by neither saying yeah or nay, this non response was, when she considered it—annoying as it had been—the perfect response.

Later that night in bed, when they were just cuddling and Lily was wondering if there really was enough insulation in the house, Frank said, “You know what I think you should do?”  Of course she didn’t answer.  Maybe he didn’t expect her to.  “Plan our wedding.  I’d like it to be here, in this beautiful house you’ve created.  Maybe in the garden?  We can have my family, yours, my work friends, your friends like that one from Texas.  Your mother can bake some of her famous scones.”

Lily giggled.  “You mean infamous.  Or she’d suggest she bake the wedding cake.  Betty Crocker mix and frosting.”

“Maybe play the kazoo for your processional.”

Smacking him, Lily said, “You are awful!  Poor Mom.  How’s she going to live?”

“Don’t know.  As long as it’s not here.”

They settled in together but Lily stayed awake, wondering.  What would happen to her mother after her father was sent away?  Would she move to be close to him?  She never asked her mother about her financial situation.  Did she have any money in her own name, a credit card in her own name, anything that would ensure her survival?  Aside from Ellie’s Baked Goods?

And what would Lily do if her mother did come knocking.  Close the door on her?

Maybe—but no. On the other hand—  well she’d see.  No need to think ahead to something that might not happen.

Yet.