Read By the Numbers for Free Online Page B

and air-condition so many vacant bedrooms. I despised writing checks to a landscaping company to maintain a yard I used only to curb my dog. And I wanted to sell while the market was still rebounding so heartily.
    More than anything, I needed to get the hell away from the scene of the crime, as I actively avoided the living room now. Given the circumstances, everyone should have been glad I was selling the place and not, say, committing arson. Every day I didn’t buy a blowtorch and a gas can should have been considered a victory. I didn’t care how long I lived, I’d never get the image of the open bottle of wine, those two glasses, one with lipstick on the rim, and smooth jazz in the background out of my head, walking in to Chris and That Hussy on the couch when I returned home a day early from my business trip as a surprise.
    Yes, indeed, I’d say we were
all
surprised.
    â€œWhere will you go?”
    â€œI’ve been looking at town houses on the north side of the city, close to Cousins Patrick and Michael. Barnaby will still have a little patch of grass with trees and birds. Or maybe I’ll live farther south and finally get to walk to work for the first time in my career. Doesn’t that sound great, Barnaby?”
    From his bed in the sunny corner spot, old Barnaby thumped his tail. He was the kids’ dog and had previously preferred the company of anyone to me. But since we’d been on our own together for the past six months, we’d formed a solid bond. We may not have been best friends for his first eighteen years, yet here at the end of his life, he’d come to value my companionship as much as I valued his.
    â€œThen who’s going to live here?”
    â€œI guess whoever wants to buy the house. Highest bidder, I suppose.” I calculated I’d have an offer on the house within a month, as the average market time in my area was sixty days. Given the amount of time it would take to close escrow, I estimated I could be living in downtown Chicago by the fall.
    â€œWhat if I want to get married here?”
    I picked up the Realtor’s card and began to dial her number. “I’m sorry, what?”
    Twin spots of color began to burn on Kelsey’s fair cheeks. Oh, no, she was winding up. “I said, what if I
want
to have my wedding here? The yard is big enough for a tent with a huge dance floor. And they have those trailers with the upscale Porta-Potty bathrooms that can be wheeled in, too.”
    â€œIs having your wedding here a possibility?” I asked, hanging up the phone, when really, what I should have been doing was battening down the hatches. “You’ve lived in this house your entire life and you’ve never once mentioned you’d want to be married here. You’ve talked about dozens of places—from the top of the Hancock to the Botanical Garden to Coachella to Italy to Forks, Washington [let us never speak of the brief
Twilight
obsession again], to the Rainbo Club downtown. The one place you’ve never mentioned is
here
.”
    Her voice took on a shrill quality, pitched at the exact decibel that often causes spasms in my left eye. “So now I’m not
allowed
to have my wedding here? You’re all, ‘You can have anything you want, except everything.’ Nice. Real nice. Thanks a lot,
Mom
.”
    I struggled to stay calm, and I could feel my head beginning to throb. My left eye began to twitch. I pinched the bridge of my nose to relieve some of the mounting pressure inside my sinuses. “Honey, I didn’t say anything like that. Have your wedding where you want.”
    At this point, she was practically shrieking. “Fine. My wedding will be
here
next year. One year from now.”
    Barnaby looked at me out of the corner of his eye, his old brow wrinkled as if to say,
I do believe you’ve stepped in it now, Miss Penny.
    Evenly, I said, “We can do whatever you want—but are you sure