The Big Bang (36 page)

“Keep an eye out.” The doctor noted something in his file. “But I don’t think you have anything to worry about where mold is concerned.”

“That’s a relief,” Hope said. “In the meantime, I’m supposed to leave for London this weekend and I’m not sure how I’m going to be able to get on a plane.”

“Throwing up?”

“At least four times a day.”

“Eating small portions of bland, low-fat foods at frequent intervals?”

“But not always keeping even crackers down.”

“I’m hesitant to prescribe an antinauseant this early, but some women have had found some relief with ginger pills.”

“I’ll give that a try.”

“Start as soon as possible. If that doesn’t help, I’ll suggest some possible over-the-counter options.”

“Do a lot of people have this kind of intense nausea?”

“When it happens, it usually hits around five weeks.”

“I don’t think I’m that far along yet.”

“Sometimes when there’re twins—”

“Twins?” The thought of the Trautmans’ double stroller sent her heart racing. If pregnancy was going to make her this sick, it would be ideal to have her two kids in one go-around.

“The incidence rises with Clomid.”

“I didn’t take it last month though.”

He looked down at her chart. “First day of last menstrual period was May fourteenth, correct?”

“I figured out my due date has to be March second.”

“Huh.” The doctor picked up a calculation wheel and began to spin. “First day of last menstrual period was May fourteenth. We add seven days. Subtract three months. Based on the forty-week model, that gives you an estimated due date of February seventeenth.”

“For twins?” she asked. “I know they come early.”

“We still calculate the date the same way.” He examined the wheel again. “Taking the first day of your last menstrual period, due date is February seventeenth and a conception date of Saturday, May twenty-eighth.”

“Memorial Weekend.” The words fell out of her mouth like pieces of lead.

F
ucked.

Figuratively.

Literally.

The conception in no way immaculate, and yet…

Tears streamed down Hope’s face and dripped into the open suitcase she couldn’t bring herself to pack or unpack.

How could she go to London at the end of the week? How could she not go and explain why she hadn’t? Explain that even though she knew better than to encourage the attentions of a man with that telltale gleam…

Humiliation tightened her throat.

Three men.

And all she remembered was possibly a hazy kiss.

Followed by?

Tim Trautman, while his wife was in labor?

Pierce-Cohn in her own bed?

She’d assumed
no worries
meant nothing had happened, but Will could have just as easily meant not to worry about what
had
.

And Tim.

She knew from their first meeting at the rec center that Tim’s flirtation was less than innocent, but really believed his commitment to his family meant he wouldn’t try to cross the line.

Did she really believe she was that gullible?

And what about Frank?

There was no way in Hell that she and Frank could have…

In my altered state, I may have done or shown you more than I should have.

Hope ran to the bathroom.

I’m confident Tim Trautman provided sufficient distraction before I arrived
.…
And when you slipped from my grasp, I’m glad it was into Will’s…

Which innocent wife and children would suffer the collateral damage of the substance-fueled seduction/rape/consensual God-only-knew what that had already forever changed everything?

She hunched over the toilet and vomited.

“W
ith so many questions, concerns, and bits of misinformation circulating through our community,” Frank’s calm voice rose above the nervous chatter and sour stress permeating the overcrowded multipurpose room, “I thought we should talk facts.”

Roseanne Goldberg, seated to Maryellen’s left, crossed her arms over her substantial bosom. “Like the fact the Estridges had to move out of their house?”

Maryellen shifted in her seat.

“I’ve been talking to Steve extensively,” Frank said in answer to Roseanne, but addressing the group at large in his Sunday confident voice. “He and Laney are doing just fine.”

Mold colonies established within our nasal passages and lungs.

Can’t set foot in the house again until every last spore is gone.

Maryellen looked down at her lap.

The doctor thinks toxicity was behind some of Laney’s erratic behavior.

Maryellen glanced at, but was careful not to make eye contact with, Will Pierce-Cohn. After talking with Steve about Laney’s condition, she took some comfort in knowing that Laney wasn’t in her right mind and hadn’t been for months. If she did bring the brownies like people were saying, then she couldn’t be held entirely responsible. Her reliability as narrator, particularly about seeing Hope and Will, was a huge question mark.

Despite it all, Frank was firmly back on
Pierce-Cohn
watch.

“For any of you who haven’t heard, the Estridges did suffer a flood which, unfortunately, led to the discovery of a substantial amount of mold in their basement.”

Someone in the row behind Maryellen sneezed.

“Bless you,” she whispered.

“And while the effects of mold exposure continue to be very controversial,” Frank said, “there is some evidence that long periods of exposure may be linked to health problems.”

“Are linked,” Roseanne said.

Laney’s MRI showed signs of mold on her brain. My Chronic Fatigue, her headaches, illnesses—all from long-term exposure.

“While their kids, who thankfully have only suffered allergies as a result, are happy and healthy at camp, the Estridges will undergo a course of precautionary treatment and plan to recuperate in Mexico until their flood issues have been resolved.”

Our best chance of curing her is at an experimental clinic just south of the border.

Frank looked out into the audience but seemed to avoid Maryellen’s part of the front row.

“What exactly happened?” Julie Connors asked.

“The mold couldn’t have grown overnight,” Pam Davis said.

The insurance agent thinks there’s a foundation crack that allowed water to seep in behind the walls. The heavy rain saturated everything until the walls started to give way.

“Great question.” Frank scratched the side of his face. “Looks like an expansive soils problem exacerbated by the recent rains, combined with what may well turn out to be a construction issue unique to the Estridges’ home.”

“Meaning what?”

“Henderson Homes has already sent a structural engineer out to answer that question. We’ll have the report soon. In the meantime, they’ve assured me that the Estridges and their home will be soundly restored.”

“At least someone’s covered,” Craig Froam shouted from the back of the room.

Whatever calm Frank gained with his not entirely forthright explanation was lost in the chatter that erupted around the room. He cleared his throat into the microphone. “Which brings me to the primary reason I called this meeting today.”

“Good.” Larry Collins from Whipperwillow Way stood. “Because I’m glad for the Estridges and all, but I came here to find out why, when I call to get someone out for the leak in my window well, Star Fulfillment has
we are not currently accepting work orders on Henderson Homes Properties
on their outgoing message?”

Frank nodded sympathetically. “But only temporarily.”

The rising din of voices began to escalate into a frenzied spiral.

“I asked almost the same question of Henderson Homes VP of quality control.”

He waited until the room quieted to the point where Maryellen could hear the rustle of Roseanne Goldberg’s blouse as she crossed her arms again.

“Melody Mountain Ranch is one of eight Henderson Homes developments in the metro area containing warranty-covered properties, and, it should be noted, one of the very few offered the gold-level, five-year, extended coverage.”

“Which is useless if the warranty company won’t take our calls,” Larry restated.

“By show of hands, and not counting any damages since Memorial Weekend, how many of you have filed a work order in the last year?” Frank asked.

A smattering of arms went up.

“And how many of you have contacted Star Fulfillment in the last thirty days?”

Maryellen raised her hand, along with about two-thirds of the people in the room.

“Henderson Homes claims that they, along with all the other builders in the area, have had a 70 percent jump in claims
for the year
as a result of rain damage sustained in the last thirty days.” Frank glanced around the room. “Which, as you can see, is consistent with our informal poll.”

Despite simplifying both the Estridges’ situation and the structural warranty coverage, which wasn’t guaranteed until the engineer located the source of the moisture penetration, there was no denying Frank’s ability to reason with a group poised to morph into an angry mob.

“If you’ve had work completed or been contacted to do so, please lower your hands.”

About a third of the raised hands went down, along with Maryellen’s.

“Which confirms their assertion that up until last week, their contract providers, including Star Fulfillment, have all been prompt to respond considering the unusually heavy load.”

“Maybe if you’re the Pierce-Cohns,” someone whispered behind her.

“Work was done on a first-come, first-serve basis, with emergencies as priority,” Frank said as though he’d heard from up at the podium. “Until Henderson Homes started scrambling to get the various subs paid up for so many claims in such a short time—Star Fulfillment in particular, whose payment terms are apparently the most strict.”

“Which is great if you called early on,” Susan Cole from Warbler Way said. “But what do the rest of us with covered damage do in the meantime?”

“Two options: One, wait for Henderson Homes to catch up with the accounting on the financial backlog and Star will once again be servicing those claims.”

“How is that an option if I have a leak that’s getting worse?”

“Exactly.” Frank pulled out two stacks of paper he’d had Maryellen photocopy, and handed them to the front row. “I asked, and Henderson Homes agreed, to release copies of their negotiated billing rates for you to use to contract out work.”

“So we have to find someone to do the work and pay out of pocket?”

“Ask your contractor about billing Henderson Homes directly. Given their reputation in the industry, I’ll bet most will.”

“And if we have problems?”

“Tim Trautman, our new Covenant Violations chair, has agreed to help troubleshoot.”

A low mumble filled the room.

“Doesn’t seem fair,” someone said.

“Acts of Nature often don’t,” Frank said.

***

“You know that allergic reaction you had in the Estridges’ basement was mold-related,” Roseanne Goldberg said as Will passed by in the rec center hall, “don’t you?”

He stopped. “Hadn’t thought of that,” he said.

“First thing I thought of when I heard about the Estridges,” she said.

“At least it’s going to be fixed,” he said.

“Their house maybe, but I talked to a general contractor friend of mine. He thinks the Estridge situation is a huge red flag and needs to be looked into more closely.”

Frank’s booming voice echoed from the multipurpose room down the hall.

“That’s his job.” Will shrugged. “My house is fixed.”

“Mine too,” Roseanne said. “Because we both have lien warranties.”

“I’ve never heard of a lien warranty,” Will said. “Much less bought one.”

“Was your wife a state rep when you bought the house?”

“Just elected.”

“Then you must have gotten a little CYA gift from Henderson Homes. I negotiated mine into the contract to make sure future repairs would be covered.” She shook her head. “They must have given you yours. You’d be surprised what those subs don’t do on a building job.”

“So you’re saying?”

“I’m saying it’s suspicious that so many houses, most of which seem to be on mine, yours, or one of the adjacent cul-de-sacs, have storm-related damages.”

H
ope walked down a long, brightly lit hallway, toward the sound of a cooing baby.

Her beautiful, blue-eyed, baby girl.

Lilly.

At the end of the hall she reached a white nursery so charming, so utterly inviting she never wanted to leave. Wouldn’t have, but for the tug of her newborn, who wasn’t tucked into the eyelet and lace cradle, but behind one of the four frosted glass doors at the back of the room.

She opened the first door.

“I’d love to give you your baby, but I gotta run.” Tim gave her the gun finger. “Catch ya later?”

She closed the door and opened the next one.

Frank was inside, reclining on a bench outside his newly built church. “Collaborate with me, baby.”

She shut the door.

“I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life,” Will said as she opened the third door. He pointed inside the fourth door which had swung open of its own accord. “But, it’s his job.”

Jim, who was sitting on a glider rocker, and held a bottle, looked down at the empty blanket in his arms. He shrugged and looked up at Hope.