CURVEBALL

by Mariah Dietz

  I’m breathing heavily when his pudgy fist raps against the front door, and have to suck in my next breath so as to not appear like I really did just sprint across the front yard when the door opens wide.

  The blonde appears, her hair curled in waves over her shoulder. Her light blue eyes are wide and bright with the surprise of seeing us, but her lips are twisted into a smile that reveals she isn’t that surprised. “Hi! You guys must be the new neighbors?” She looks between us twice before settling her attention on me.

  Justin slaps my shoulder—hard enough that if my stance wasn’t spread so wide from taking the stairs two at a time, I’d probably have stumbled forward. Likely that was his plan. Insurance in case they had known to already call and service their chimney or didn’t believe the sales pitch he’s about to spout. “This is Coen, and he is indeed your new neighbor. I’m his friend, his best friend, Justin. I’m just helping him get moved and settled.”

  With raised eyebrows, I watch his feigned sincerity, coming across as a gentleman, though he’s only a marginal one, forced into the role by his wife.

  Her growing smile reveals she’s buying it. “Well, aren’t you sweet?” She brings a hand to her chest, exposing her southern roots. “I’m Rachel. It’s so nice to meet y’all.”

  “We just wanted to stop by and introduce ourselves, and offer some neighborly assistance. You see, we’re actually firefighters.” Justin pauses—creating an intermission where he awaits the accolades we often receive. She fills the break with the expected look of admiration and then proceeds to tell us how grateful she is for all of our services. He thanks her in return and then continues his plan of attack. “We were just noticing that your chimney looks like it might be in need of an inspection, and wanted to extend our services and ensure it won’t be a problem for you ladies.”

  Rachel’s eyes grow wide. “Does it look dangerous?”

  “It’s tough to say without getting on your roof and taking a closer look. Do you have a ladder that can extend up there?”

  She shakes her head. “I’ve never been on the roof. Clumsy me, I’d probably fall off and break my neck!” She giggles. I’ll admit it’s charming.

  Justin’s already pulling his wallet free from his back pocket. “Just call this number on Sunday. Coen will be on shift then and can come out and inspect it for you.”

  “You guys would make time to do that?”

  “Absolutely. Keeping citizens safe is our top priority.”

  There’s not a fat chance in hell dispatch would ever send the call through, and Justin knows it—that’s why he’s scribbling my cell phone number on the back of the card.

  “Or, we’ll be around. Getting more loads of things from Coen’s old place. If you’re around later, we could come by once we have one of his ladders.”

  “You guys have been working so hard!” She steps back into her house. “I can’t believe I’ve been so rude! Why don’t you come in and have some sweet tea and take a little break?”

  Her southern accent is like honey, making the invitation hard to turn down, but I don’t have to consider it because Justin has already accepted and is halfway into her house.

  “Ella!” Rachel calls.

  “Are they gone?” The words sound like they’re yelled from somewhere upstairs.

  Rachel’s eyes round.

  “I can’t believe they came over! What excuse did they try?” Her voice gets louder as she approaches us.

  Once again, I’m considering what I would be doing, or in this case saying, if they weren’t my neighbors. The silent dialogue directed at Justin’s expense has me smirking. It’s almost too good to not say aloud, but Rachel’s discomfort is evident with her reddened cheeks and loud coughs she’s faking in attempt to cover what has already been said.

  “Do you know what happened to those black capris you wore last week? I was going to wear them Friday…” The brunette appears in the kitchen with a dozen dresses thrown over her arm. Her eyes are as wide as her friend’s, allowing me to see that they’re also blue, nearly as light as Rachel’s but a more vibrant hue that reminds me of the blue found at the base of a flame. It’s the shade that is hardest to see and the most dangerous because it’s the thin wall surrounding the most intense heat. And just like a flame, her eyes are mesmerizing, causing me to stare blankly as she stumbles over words that are likely an apology.

  “…Ella,” she says, extending her hand and forcing me out of my stupor.

  “Coen.” Her hand is freezing as it slides into mine, but she only holds it a moment before slipping it free, her eyes never focusing on me as she moves to Justin and shakes his hand.

  “Good news, the new neighbor’s a firefighter,” Rachel tells Ella, her smile stretched wider in an attempt to further apologize as she reaches for glasses and pulls a pitcher of tea from the fridge.

  Ella blinks in rapid succession, then draws her shoulders back. It’s as though she’s just heard we’re male strippers or vandals. She looks to Rachel and nods once. It’s a tight jerking motion that makes her unease even more apparent. “That’s great. If you decide to barbecue again this summer, you’ll just need to yell next door.”

  Rachel’s laugh isn’t the same honey sweet sound it had been, but it is close, making it clear something has transpired. Rachel hands out glasses with another warm smile. “I nearly burned down my patio last summer.” She giggles again.

  If I wasn’t so distracted by the way Ella refuses to look at Justin or myself, I might be interested to hear the story Rachel is sharing.

  “Yeah, you have to be careful when it gets windy outside, especially with how low your overhang is.” Justin doesn’t miss a beat, catching me up to speed and holding the conversation for both of us.

  “Do you guys get lots of calls for fires when barbecue season begins?” Rachel asks.

  “Here and there, but fall is worse. Candles are one of the leading causes of fires. And Christmas trees always bring a rush of calls, but all in all we receive far more calls for medical assistance than fires. Accidents, allergies, things like that,” Justin explains.

  “We know all about food allergies,” Rachel says with a shudder as she looks to Ella. “Don’t we?”

  Ella gives a tight-lipped smile in response.

  “Food allergy?” I ask.

  “My son, actually.” She swallows, and those captivating blue eyes meet mine with a silent challenge. “He’s allergic to peanuts.”

  She looks too young to have a son. When I don’t balk or frown at the mention of her having a child, she diverts her attention once again, focusing instead on the glass Rachel has placed before her.

  “Peanut allergies can be rough,” Justin sympathizes.

  “They’re in so many things!” Rachel agrees. “Halloween is terrible.”

  Ella pushes away from the counter she had settled against, her arm still buried beneath numerous articles of clothing. “I’m so sorry to be rude, but I have to get going.”

  “No, that’s … us too,” I say.

  “Yeah, we’ve got a few more trips to make.” Justin drains the rest of his tea. “But please remember to give us a call. Especially since there’s a kid living here.”

  “Oh, no,” Ella says, shaking her head. “I don’t live here.”

  I feel Justin’s eyes on me like laser beams, rejoicing that my own rules may not be applicable to her any longer with this piece of information.

  “Yeah, Ella and her son, Hayden, live down on the other side of the neighborhood.”

  Ella looks startled with the information Rachel has shared with us.

  “Well then we’ll likely be seeing both of you around.” Justin places his glass in the sink and turns with a smile. “Thank you so much for the hospitality. It was a pleasure to meet you both.”

  “Oh, anytime. If you need anything, please feel welcome to just holler. And I’ll be sure to call you about the chimney.”

  “The tea was really great.” Depositing my glass next to Justin’s, I want to k
ick myself.

  Really great? Who says that?

  We head down the short hallway to the front door with both women behind us.

  “Thank you again for coming by,” Rachel says. “I’m so glad you guys noticed my chimney. I never even thought about it.”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” I say.

  “But,” Justin’s rounded eyes move from me to Rachel, “we’ll be sure to check it out and make certain it’s safe.”

  Rachel and Ella return his smile with different variances of authenticity.

  Taking the last stair off the porch, I turn and stare at her long enough that she’s forced to acknowledge me. “Nice to meet you.” I want to say her name. I want to say her name so badly my throat refuses to suck in a breath without saying it.

  She cocks her head to the side and forces another smile. “It was nice meeting you too.” While her features remain aloof, there’s a warmth in her tone that convinces me she’s working harder to dislike us than she is at hiding her emotions.

  3

  Ella

  “Hayden, I’m leaving!” I yell up the stairs.

  “Bye, Mom!”

  I look to Rachel with a grim smile. “I don’t like that he’s getting too cool for good-bye hugs.”

  “He’s just watching a movie.”

  “That didn’t stop him a year ago.”

  She smiles, but her eyes are taunting me. “You’re going to be late. You need to get going.”

  Her reminder leaves me sighing. “Think he’ll appreciate or hate a couple of Metallica references?”

  “No sabotaging!” She pushes my shoulders toward the door.

  “His name is Lars. He has to expect it.”

  Rachel rolls her eyes. “You can make one. But only one, and it’s just to see if he has a good sense of humor.”

  “And his taste in music.”

  “He saves animals for a living. That cancels out a possibly bad taste in music.”

  Halfway through the doorway, I turn on my heel. “Are you preparing me for something I didn’t notice?”

  Her shrug gives her away.

  “Tell me I’m going to like you after this date.”

  “He’s really sweet. Really sweet.” She stresses the word, making my lack of desire for going on another date drop below disinterest straight into abhorrence. “He just gets a little emotional sometimes.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “He’s not emotionally damaged, just … sensitive.”

  “Rachel!”

  “Just give him a chance.”

  Sighing, I stomp down her porch stairs, wearing the black heels my best friend convinced me to pair with my black-and-white polka-dot dress. One of the worst things about dating is deciding what to wear. But I’ll admit, the more dates I go on, the less I care.

  “Don’t let Hayden talk you into staying up past eight this time,” I warn her with one final look.

  “Enjoy your date!” she says, shoving me and ignoring my concern because we both know she will.

  Without any excuses left, I make my way down the short walk to the driveway and get in my car.

  The restaurant’s parking lot is full, another disadvantage that comes with going on dates on weekends. However, they also represent large crowds which provide distractions and high noise levels which are sometimes the best excuses for little conversation, and on a few occasions have even led to ending dates early.

  People are congregated outside, enjoying the warm evening as they wait for their tables, drawing attention to the biggest draw of dating on the weekends: the waiting.

  I pull open a large glass door, and the scent of Italian food is nearly as overwhelming as the noise. Joining the line of patrons to get on the list for a table, I resent how difficult it’s become to make reservations when going out to eat.

  “Ella?”

  Turning, I come face-to-face with my date. “Lars.”

  His smile makes mine grow wider. Dark green eyes are thinly veiled by even darker eyelashes and thick-rimmed glasses that give him an attractively nerdy vibe. His dirty-blond hair is casually styled, and his narrow build appears wider because of the width of his shoulders, but confirmed with the hollowness of his cheekbones.

  “I came early in case it was busy and got us on the list so we wouldn’t have to wait for an hour,” he explains.

  It gives him bonus points right off the bat.

  “I hope you haven’t been here long.”

  His green eyes brighten as his smile stretches. “The clinic closes at noon on Fridays, so I had the time.”

  “I really admire your choice of work.”

  His lips grow thin as his smile turns almost grim. “Really, it chose me. It was my calling.”

  Rachel’s warning that he can be sensitive has my mind working overtime, considering safe subjects.

  “Do you have any furry or scaled family members?” Lars asks, turning my thoughts in a one-eighty.

  “Furry, yes. A dog named Shakespeare. She’s half golden retriever, half mutt.”

  His eyebrows leap over the frame of his glasses. “I think you might have to explain the joke.”

  “Joke?”

  His cheeks stain red with discomfort, and his shoulders draw forward. “Her name. You thought she was a boy originally?”

  “Oh.” I try to make my tone friendly. “Not a joke, just an open mind.” With eyes remaining on my date, I continue, “Many believe Shakespeare was a woman.” My shrug is intended to express I don’t have a strong opinion over the matter so we can simply discard the topic.

  “Women weren’t allowed to attend schools at that time.”

  “But many were tutored.”

  He stares at me, calculating his next words. I’m struggling to know if I’m glad or offended by his unspoken thoughts when his name is called by the hostess.

  Wine or one of their pretty fruit drinks would likely dull my need to keep trying to read his expressions and make me care less about his opinions regarding history during the English Renaissance, but I also fear it might make him seem far more interesting than he actually is, so I opt for lemonade.

  “So why are you single?”

  My eyebrows shoot up my forehead. Aside from my mother, no one has ever asked me this question, and even she adds more tact. “Why are you single?” I think I was trying to sound less defensive, but I’ve failed miserably, and he makes that clear when he sits back farther in his chair.

  “Divorced,” he finally says.

  Generally, when someone reveals they’re divorced, it’s followed by an expletive: sadly, thankfully, finally, etcetera. But Lars doesn’t tag anything on; he just sits across from me either waiting for me to comment or explain my own reasons for being single.

  Taking a deep breath, I fight my lips into another smile. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. “I’ve never been divorced, but I imagine it’s quite difficult.”

  “So you’ve never been married?”

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  “Do you want to get married?”

  Society often has this misconception that all women want to get married pronto and have a zillion babies. I don’t know where this notion came from. Perhaps the same people who lied and said chocolate causes acne. Eating more chocolate as a teenager would not have given me more zits, and while I have known women ready to find Mr. Right Now, more often than not it is men who seem ready to lift their legs and claim ownership. Lars, however, might be different. He really doesn’t seem to be the possessive type. I’m struggling to know what type exactly he is, making my answer much harder.

  “I don’t know.” Seems much safer than not to you.

  “Loving someone can be very difficult.” Lars reaches for his water glass with a trembling hand.

  I remain silent, uncertain where he’s taking this.

  Lars looks up, his eyes glossy from tears, revealing he isn’t fit to be going out tonight either. I wonder if he has a pushy parent or friend who forced h
im to be on the dating site or if he thinks this will help him heal faster.

  “So are you from North Carolina?” I ask, already knowing he isn’t.

  Lars shakes his head. “The New England area, actually.”

  “Really? Where about?”

  “Southern Maine.” His deep set frown reveals he’s homesick.

  “I spent a summer in Maine when I was a kid. It was gorgeous.”

  His eyes light up. “Nowhere is better. It’s the most beautiful place on earth.”

  His expression teeters between nostalgia and anger, once again making me uncomfortable and issuing his first strike that really should have been given after his comment about Shakespeare.

  I stare at my menu and consider safe subjects to discuss with him that will bury this side of aggression I’m seeing as well as his tears. A few months ago, I would have been damning my mom by this point, but currently she’s barely a thought as I work to maneuver myself out of yet another awkward date.

  When the waiter comes to take our drink orders, we’re ready to place our meal order as well due to the extra time allotted by the tense moment.

  “You obviously have a deep love for animals,” I say. “What kind of pets do you have?”

  His smile returns, and for a second I’m caught off guard by his harmless appeal. He reminds me of a young boy playing dress up, even down to how his sport coat doesn’t fit him quite right and the sharpness of his shoulders.

  “I have four dogs, two parrots, six guinea pigs, a parakeet, five cats, and three rabbits.”

  “And a partridge in a pear tree?”

  He stares at me, and then cracks a smile. “Oh, you’re joking.”

  I nod, and against Rachel’s wishes, I give him a second strike for lacking a sense of humor.

  4

  Coen