Reality Re-Do

By Ally Hayes

Following her husband's sudden and tragic death, Beth Franklin finds solace on her couch, watching Dream House, a home improvement show—until she tires of the show's routine and writes in to the network, suggesting a plot twist. When TV executives ask her to consider appearing on the show, she finds herself not only renovating a house but her own life when she and co-host, hottie Scott Roberts, hit it off. With broken hearts in common, Beth and Scott take a risk on love, surprising not only themselves but the show's viewers, as well.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Sep 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781628304688

Ally Hayes

Ally is the author of several books with the Wild Rose Press. While all involve romance, they span from Women’s Fiction to New Adult and Young Adult. Originally from Massachusetts, Ally has lived in the Chicago suburbs with her husband and three daughters for over 25 years but still considers herself a Red Sox girl living in a White Sox world. When not writing, she’s reading or playing tennis.

Book preview

Inc.

Reality Re-Do

by

Ally Hayes

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Reality Re-Do

COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Ally Hayes

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Tina Lynn Stout

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Last Rose Of Summer Edition, 2014

Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-468-8

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To Mum,

who started it all by handing me a book,

and would have loved reality shows.

Chapter One

You’ve seen the show—or at least one just like it.

According to the ratings, they’re a huge hit among the eighteen to forty-nine year old demographic to which I still belong, barely.

Similar versions can be found on various cable networks, a testament to the popularity of the original version. Where soap operas and game shows were once the most popular choices for daytime TV viewing, now that I was a widow—and in sole control of the remote—I had my pick of renovating and redecorating programs.

Three years ago, while channel surfing in search of something to numb my mind and help me pass the hours, I discovered the Home Improvement Network. At a time when friends and family still allowed me to wallow in my grief, I’d decided it was acceptable to sit alone in the dark, often in my pajamas, clicking the remote control my only form of exercise.

Now I understand that those closest to me didn’t know what to say, or how to comfort me in my grief. Giving me time and space to get past the unimaginable tragedy of my husband, Tom’s death felt right for no one, especially me. No one could have foreseen the accident that took his life. Tom’s Accident was the only way I referred to it in those days, too numb to comprehend what I wanted or needed.

Reality television became an escape, a release, an excuse—and the only thing I truly enjoyed. And while I enjoyed the different programs about renovating bathrooms, overhauling kitchens, or rejuvenating yards, nothing captured my attention until—Dream House.

My first exposure happened after I accidentally clicked into the program about halfway through the episode and was instantly intrigued by the concept. And yes, Scott Roberts, the sexier of the two co-hosts, caught my eye; the initial flutter of attraction took me by surprise. Sure, I'd found certain movie or television stars attractive, but I’d never actually fantasized about one—at least once I was out of my teens.

As soon as the show was over, I immediately searched the cable listings so I could watch each episode in its entirety. From then on, I was an instant fan. Re-runs of Dream House ran every weekday afternoon and Saturday mornings; new episodes aired on Thursday nights. After watching that first episode, I sat through three more, courtesy of the on-demand feature from my cable provider. This was yet another technological advance I’d discovered during my self-imposed confinement on the couch: the ability to watch any show at any time simply by selecting the title and episode by description. Mind boggling. Movies and premium stations cost extra, but networks such as Home Improvement were free—further fueling my addiction.

One week after discovering the show, I found myself planning my days around the times it aired, justifying the addiction by forcing myself to eat, clean the house, and make one social phone call before taking a spot on the end of the couch and slipping into Dream House and fantasizing about Scott Roberts.

I answered no calls from anyone, including my daughter, Emma, or my friend Jill, during this sacred time. Sometimes I even went on the Home Improvement Network’s website after an episode ended for a little more investigation—and to get a longer fix of Scott. This usually got me through to the end of the day, after which I resisted returning to the website until the next day when more reruns would air.

A year into this routine, I recognized the irony of losing myself in a reality show in order to avoid what was going on in my life. Emma was a senior in high school by that time and preparing to make important decisions about moving on. Yet there I remained—stagnant on the couch. She needed me to be a model for her. So I tried.

In the end, I faked it by helping her with college applications. I accompanied her to guidance counselor meetings and even took her on two university tours. When she was in school though, I reverted to my old ways. I flipped through the channels and avoided family, friends, even my editor. While my family stood by me, I lost the friends. Finally my editor gave up on me, too, though she did tell me to call when I was ready to resume writing.

As a team of travel writers, writing was a passion Tom and I shared. Without him, I couldn’t imagine resuming either traveling or writing.

At the two year anniversary of Tom’s death, Emma left for college on the east coast. We debated her going so far away. She was afraid to leave me alone, but ultimately we decided a two hour flight from Minnesota to Boston was just as easy as a long drive to Michigan. Getting her ready gave me a nice reprieve from my couch routine, and I thought I had turned the corner in my grief. However a month into the quietness, I picked up the remote again. This time I told myself I’d watch Home Improvement Network to learn about re-decorating and remodeling. By the end of Emma’s freshman year in Boston, I considered myself an expert, ready to tackle projects around the house. I planned to start when Emma left for her sophomore year.

Except as soon as I started, I came across something of Tom’s and couldn’t bear to move the only things I had left of him. Books, relics from trips, even his sock drawer. I would pick up old notes, intending to throw them out, and then suddenly feel paralyzed. It wasn’t as though I thought he’d be coming back; I knew better. But disposing of his possessions made it seem so permanent. By the end of the year, I had weeded through my old things and cleaned out the linen closet. Come spring though, I was back to the couch, knowing the next step- emptying out Tom’s closet would be difficult.

Watching Dream House, however, was easy.

When Emma was home on break, I managed to pull myself together for her. I became quite adept at switching gears to appear the good mom. I shopped for groceries, filling the refrigerator with fresh food in place of take-out containers and frozen meals I lived on in her absence. I made sure to have the touches she appreciated: fresh flowers around the house and me in ‘real’ clothes instead of the usual lounge-wear or even pajama pants. It was an effort, but as Emma was doing so well with moving on and growing up, I couldn’t bring her down with me.

On her first morning home for summer vacation following her sophomore year, Emma came down to the main level from her bedroom upstairs and found me on the couch watching television. I assumed she was looking for the coffee I usually brewed early each day. I had not made any that morning, and I wasn’t on the couch because I had gotten up early; I had been there most of the night. I had tried to sleep in my bed the night before so Emma would think I had gone back to that normality, but I saw her eyeing my pillow, catching me in the act of avoiding my bed.

She quickly looked away and pointed to the screen. What are you watching?

"You’ve never seen Dream House?"

Is it another one of those reality renovation shows? she asked with a heavy sigh.

I picked up on her tone that said she thought I was pathetic. She’d made it clear months before that I needed to be more active and didn’t seem to understand that moving on wasn’t as easy for me. Not that it had been easy for her to deal with her father’s death, but she had the benefit of a new start by going off to college.

No! As I loudly defended my addiction, I realized how pitiful I sounded. Well, technically yes, but...it’s, um, well...good.

Emma rolled her eyes and I laughed,