Chapter 9 - The Insurance Quote Cost More Than Our First Mortgage
Lisa came over Tuesday evening.
She had found coverage.
That was the good news.
The bad news sat on one page.
Annual premium:
$11,840.
Our old policy had been $3,900.
Sarah stared.
“You're joking.”
“I wish.”
I looked at the deductible.
“Ten thousand for wind and hail?”
“Yes.”
I laughed.
Lisa looked miserable.
“Market capacity has changed dramatically.”
Sarah leaned back.
“Please speak English in my kitchen.”
Lisa nodded.
“Companies are paying more storm claims. Reinsurance costs are higher. Some carriers are leaving areas they consider overexposed.”
“And our repairs?”
“Helped.”
“By getting us an eleven-thousand-dollar policy.”
“It would be harder without them.”
Sarah looked at me.
Neither of us needed to say what we were thinking.
Lisa continued.
“This quote is not your only possibility.”
“What else?”
“A state-backed option with different limitations. Another nonstandard carrier. I’m still checking.”
I asked:
“Could Bay State reconsider?”
“I submitted it.”
“And?”
“They declined.”
Sarah stood.
“So the roof is fixed.”
“Nearly.”
“The siding is fixed.”
“Yes.”
“Fence. Tree.”
“Yes.”
“And they still don't want us.”
Lisa looked at her.
“Yes.”
There was something weirdly clarifying about hearing it plainly.
Sarah asked:
“Did you know Bay State was pulling hundreds of policies when you told us to finish the list?”
“Not hundreds.”
“When did you know it was widespread?”
Lisa thought.
“Early August.”
“And you still didn't tell us.”
“I was afraid you'd stop the repairs.”
Sarah stared.
Lisa realized what she had said.
“You were afraid we'd make a different decision if we had more information.”
Lisa looked down.
“Yes.”
Nobody shouted.
We were running out of energy for shouting.
She continued.
“I believed finishing the work was the responsible choice.”
“For us?”
“For the property.”
Sarah laughed softly.
“Our property doesn't have a checking account.”
Lisa accepted that.
I asked:
“If we sold tomorrow, would the repairs help?”
“Yes.”
That caught Sarah.
“How much?”
“I'm not a realtor.”
“No.”
“But buyers generally care about a new roof, new exterior work, resolved permit issues.”
Sarah looked toward the living room.
Lisa continued:
“I’m not saying you should sell.”
“Good.”
Then Lisa did something I respected.
“I should have told you everything I knew when I knew it.”
Sarah's face changed.
Not softened.
Changed.
Lisa continued.
“I kept trying to deliver an answer instead of uncertainty.”
I almost laughed.
She looked at me.
“What?”
“Apparently everybody in my life has the same disease.”
Lisa smiled cautiously.
Then Sarah said:
“We may sell.”
Lisa went still.
I turned toward my wife.
“You mean that.”
“Yes.”
I sat back.
Lisa gathered her papers.
“I should go.”
Good instinct.
At the door she said:
“I'll keep shopping coverage until you tell me not to.”
“Thank you,” Sarah said.
After she left, I stood near the window.
“You want to sell.”
“I want to look.”
“Same thing?”
“No.”
I smiled despite myself.
“Learning.”
“Slowly.”
She came beside me.
“I called a realtor.”
That hurt.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“You said you wanted us to understand what keeping it costs.”
“I do.”
“And selling?”
“I want to understand that too.”
“When is she coming?”
“Thursday.”
I nodded.
Sarah watched my face.
“You're angry.”
“Yes.”
“At me?”
“Some.”
“Why?”
“Because you called before telling me.”
She looked away.
“I knew you'd react.”
I stared.
She immediately caught it.
“Damn it.”
“Yeah.”
She rubbed her forehead.
“I did the same thing.”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
Not fixed.
Named.
I asked:
“What's the realtor's name?”
“Monica.”
“Thursday?”
“Six.”
I looked around our living room.
The dent in the baseboard from moving the piano.
The window Sarah wanted bigger.
The doorway where Caleb had once slept after his divorce.
May you like
Our house held eleven years of evidence that we had stayed.
Thursday, a stranger would walk through it and put a number on leaving.
Related Stories
