Richard drew in a sharp breath of exasperation, “Wow. You put all your eggs in the wrong basket. Didn’t you.” I hung my head in shame. ‘”Jillie,” he started drawing circles on his notepad and lines and arrows. “You. Will. Foreclose. How much is your Mortgage. $325,000,” I said weakly. We need to fiqure out how many months before this will happen.” He starts writing the coming months in big, bold letters. “I say you have six months. And remember, it is 2010. “We are now in the worst recession since the ’30,s. Do you have a divorce lawyer yet?
‘No.”
”You are in trouble here, Jillie. Please pay attention. Let me get you a glass of water.” I sat there watching him maneuver through his backroom. I could hear water come out of a faucet. “Here you go,” he hands back to me a paper cup. Something was rising inside of me. Did Richard say Foreclosure? I felt like tossing out the water and crushing up the cup and stomping on it on the floor.
I hesitated a moment, then drank all the water and smashed the cup with my fists on the table instead. Richard did not even notice. So busy writing on his pad and talking. “Now, what I see is that the Mortgage will not get paid.” Richard stopped and gave me a long look and a slow, sympathetic smile. “Jillie, the only way you will get out of this mess is to re-marry.”
Re-marry. Is this 1950 or 2010? I am seeing how Richard sees me. Sitting in front of him is a customer who he has mostly always dealt with the husband, but now he has this dumb, uneducated housewife asking for his advice, and he already assumes because I am a dumb, uneducated housewife that I only just need a little pat pat pat on my head.
Foreclosure? Because I am just a housewife? For the last 39 years, I have sat around on my lazy butt eating bon-bons, watching TV, reading True Confession books, letting the kids run wild! Bull shit! After all, I know I have one skill; talking on the phone and booking appointments. I will NOT lose my house in Foreclosure. I will NOT end up and Old Wallmart Greeter or worse homeless with a shopping cart full of my meager possessions walking the streets.
I am feeling impatient. I loved Nick and was proud of our 39 year marriage. Right now, I am not proud of myself. If you can no longer trust your spouse, who can you trust?
“Well, there are low-income Senior Citizen homes and best go check those out now, “Richard said and continued. “What are you, how old are you now”.
“57.”