Dangerously Close

by Dee J. Adams

  Linda answered her cell phone and Mel didn’t give her a chance to say more than hi.

  “Linda, it’s Mel. Would you mind—”

  “Mel?” She repeated the name as if testing it on her tongue. “Oh, Mel!” Now she knew who he was. “Are you there yet? Isn’t it gorgeous? Everything I told you, right?”

  “Who the hell is up here in a gold Honda?” It came to him in a flash of brilliance. “It’s the cleaning people. Of course, I got it. Sorry to bother you.”

  Mel nearly disconnected the call before he heard Linda screaming at him to “Wait, wait, wait.”

  “What?” he said, exiting the car and pulling a duffel bag out of the trunk.

  “It’s not the cleaning people. They come every other week unless I tell them otherwise and they were there two days ago.”

  Mel didn’t like the sound of this. “Then who is it? God, I haven’t been here for five minutes and I have to call the police and make a scene. I don’t believe th—”

  “You can’t call the police. Mel! Don’t call the police. That’s your neighbor. She lives there. You can’t throw her out.”

  Mel stopped before he got into the house. “My what?” He hit the controller on the wall and the garage door slid down. He couldn’t have heard her right. He didn’t have any neighbors. That’s why he’d bought the goddamn place to begin with.

  “Your neighbor. I told you the sellers split the lot and sold the guesthouse separately.”

  What? “When the hell did you tell me that? I think I would’ve remembered if you’d told me something that important, Linda.” Mel shoved the door open and it banged against the hallway wall.

  “Why do you think they dropped the price two million dollars?” Her voice had gone up an octave. She sounded as pissed as he felt. “I absolutely told you about this, Mel, so don’t blame me if you were too drunk or high to hear it. I specifically said, ‘Do you understand?’ and you said, ‘Yes, Linda, I’m not an idiot!’”

  Fuck. He was an idiot. But hadn’t that been established early on?

  “A neighbor? I have a neighbor!” Mel heaved his bag in the middle of the kitchen floor and tossed his sunglasses on the granite counter. He barely even looked around as he paced the textured tile. “How many fucking neighbors do I have? How many people live there? Jesus, there could be a whole family in there by now if it’s been over a year.”

  “The owner’s name is Ashley Bristol. She bought the guesthouse about a month before you bought the main house. I don’t know too much about her.”

  “Great. Just fucking great.” Mel sat at the table and looked around the kitchen. It was huge. A ton of redwood and stainless steel. He doubted he’d ever do more than microwave a frozen meal.

  “You told me you were going to lay low. Just because you’ve got someone living next door doesn’t mean you have to interact with them,” Linda said. “It wasn’t like you were going to walk around nude all day.”

  “How do you know?” Mel complained. “Maybe that’s exactly what I wanted to do.” All this time he’d been looking forward to dropping the act. No more pretending. The unknown equation next door made that a huge improbability.

  “Yeah, Greg told me about your new bod. He said you’ve been trying to hide it, but he caught you with your shirt off after the show in New York. Am I going to get to see the new you? I hear the transformation is astounding.”

  “You heard wrong.” Damn, he didn’t want this getting out. In the blink of an eye, he could lose everything he’d worked so damn hard for the last six months. All it would take is one word spoken to the wrong person and his whole plan would go up in smoke. “Linda, about the new me. That’s confidential, okay. All of this, the house, the new look, all of it is strictly—”

  “Hey. Not necessary. I’m just giving you a hard time. I know what this whole thing is about and I respect it. Really. Anyone looking into the sale of the main house is going to see that the property belongs to Mel Summers. Your anonymity is safe.”

  “As long as my fucking neighbors don’t figure it out,” he groused, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Christ, how could he have let this happen?

  “No reason why they should. Just be a recluse. That’s what you wanted to do anyway.”

  “I didn’t want to be under house arrest.”

  “You’ve got the pool. She doesn’t have access to that. You’ll have plenty of freedom. Relax. Maybe she won’t know who you are.”

  “Yeah, right.” Mel seriously doubted the chances of that happening. “And maybe California won’t have any more earthquakes.”

  “Oh, don’t be a grouch. It doesn’t suit you,” Linda said. “Go check out the house, take a Jacuzzi and call me back if you have any questions.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Talk to you later.” Mel ended the call. As much as he wanted to be angry with Linda, he couldn’t. He was the one to blame. He had no doubt that she’d tried to warn him about the property being split. Maybe he could stay away from his neighbor. God, he’d already forgotten her name.

  “Fuck.” Mel sighed and ran a hand through his non-existent hair. He was still surprised at the soft bristles. It was possible that his neighbor wouldn’t recognize him. Hell, he barely recognized himself. The whole point of the transformation had been to disappear in plain sight. Maybe he’d accomplish it. He wouldn’t know until he met the new neighbor. Besides, he hadn’t planned on doing much besides lie by the pool and the beach. Despite the November heat wave he doubted the woman next door spent all that much time by the cold ocean water. Most people took property like this for granted. They appreciated the view but didn’t take advantage of the actual beach. A new confidence washed through him. Yeah…yeah. He’d be okay. He’d just keep to himself.

  * * *

  Ashley sat curled up in the corner of her fluffy couch in the den. Frustration simmered in her gut as she painstakingly grazed her finger over the tiny dots on the page. Learning Braille was going to kill her. As heightened as all her senses had become, she still hadn’t gotten the hang of a new language. All the dots seemed to connect and very little made sense.

  In the beginning she’d handled the vision loss much better. Denial tended to have that effect on her. But now, more than two weeks later, despair was creeping in. She’d been positive the situation was only temporary. In fact, early on, every time she closed her eyes and went to sleep, she’d been certain her vision would return when she woke up. Steadily that dream had been dying a slow death. Maybe she’d never have her eyesight back. A jolt of nausea swirled in her stomach.

  After five appointments in the last two weeks, doctors still hadn’t figured out why she had loss of central vision. Two neurosurgeons had finally consented to bringing in an ophthalmologist, but they had serious doubts as to whether the man could find the problem either.

  Just what a gal needed to hear.

  “Shit,” she hissed, slamming the book shut. She ran her hands though her short hair and got up. She had zero concentration today. Finding her empty glass on the coffee table, she headed toward the kitchen. She’d gotten so good at walking through her house, she only put her arms in front of her when she knew the doorways were getting close.

  Roamer, happy to be on the move, jumped up from his spot near the sofa and joined her at a trot. He pranced around her legs in that universal dog language that said, Do I get a treat? Is it time for a treat? Can I have a treat?

  “You are relentless.” Ashley chuckled. “But if I get a break, so do you.” Once in the kitchen, she reached into the fridge and found the line of aluminum cans on the second shelf. She popped the top on a Dr Pepper as she moved to the counter, then grabbed the ceramic canister and handed Roamer a jerky treat.

  At the sound of a car coming up the driveway, she lifted her head and listened intently. She got the feeling her dog was doing the same thing.

  “Hey, Ashley,” Lizzie called from her bedroom, “looks like the new neighbor finally moved in.”

  Something new and exciting. Ashley headed out o
f the kitchen. Lizzie’s room had a window with a bird’s-eye view of the main house. “What’s he look like?” she called up the stairs.

  “Couldn’t tell. He just pulled straight into the garage.”

  “What’s he dri—”

  “A Prius. Black. Brand new.”

  Lizzie had learned to read her well. Though they still kept a certain amount of distance personally, Lizzie already knew what questions Ashley would ask first. Maybe because she’d worked with the blind for so long she sensed that people wanted a picture. Even though Ashley saw through blurry edges, she still wanted a picture. She wanted colors. Sounds came sharper than they ever had, but Ashley wanted to see.

  “At least he’s concerned with the environment,” Ashley mumbled about the car. She heard Lizzie padding across the upstairs hallway.

  “Should we go be the welcome wagon?” Lizzie asked from the top step.

  “I don’t know. Maybe we should give him a few minutes alone in the place.” She’d been waiting so long for the new neighbor that now that he’d finally made an appearance she was hesitant to meet him. Or maybe she just didn’t want to meet anyone like this. Blind and dependent. “Maybe we should give him time to get acclimated.” Like another week when she knew more about her prognosis.

  “Maybe you’re right. How’s the Braille going?” Lizzie asked as she descended the stairs.

  She suspected Lizzie already knew the answer so she threw a punch of her own. “How’s the book coming?”

  Lizzie laughed. “Not fair. I asked you first.” Her tone implied the same frustration Ashley was feeling. She’d been having problems with the rewrites her agent had requested just as Ashley was having problems learning to read.

  “Sounds like we’re in the same boat,” Ashley mused. “I’ve got reader’s block and you’ve got writer’s block.”

  “Mm, reader’s block,” Lizzie echoed. “I’m going to use that in a book someday.” She headed toward the kitchen and Ashley followed. Lizzie opened the refrigerator door. “It’s so hot, what should we do for dinner?” Despite being November, the sun still beat down as if summer had never ended.

  Leaning back against the counter, Ashley rubbed her sore neck. She’d been crouched over that book for too long. Tension ate at her. “I don’t know. Whatever you feel like is fine with me,” she said. The fridge door closed and cool air wafted across her legs.

  “You’re stressing again,” Lizzie said.

  Ashley hated that Lizzie read her so well. Hiding her worry from her family and Ellie was easier on the phone. She didn’t want anyone to see how freaked out she was with the whole situation. She didn’t want the pep talks or the pity. She wanted her vision back. Pulling away from the counter, she headed to the window that overlooked the ocean. She did this every afternoon, hoping that the view would change from the dark spot in the middle of her vision to the blue of the water and the serenity it used to offer. But the serenity disappeared weeks ago and apparently Ashley wasn’t as good at hiding her stress from Lizzie. “Why do you say that?”

  “For starters, your hair is sticking out all over the place like you’ve run your hands through it a thousand times.” She paused and sighed. “You can’t put so much pressure on yourself. It takes time to acclimate to blindness. It’s not something that happens overnight.”

  “We’re way past the overnight phase,” Ashley said. Living in denial was getting harder with each passing day.

  “You’re doing great.” Lizzie joined her at the window. “It’s beautiful outside,” she said. “The sun is going down and it’s kind of orangey and yellow. The sky is so blue that it’s making the sun absolutely pop. The breeze is blowing and the trees are swaying. The green of the trees adds another color in the sky and it’s gorgeous.” She was so good about describing everything. Maybe because she was a writer or maybe because Ashley’s murals had so much color and life, Lizzie understood Ashley’s need to see. “You just have to take one day at a time, Ashley, and you’re doing that.” She rested her hand on Ashley’s shoulder. “The only thing you’re not doing is relaxing. All the stress you put on yourself isn’t going to help you. You know that.”

  Yes, she did. She’d learned it while going through her physical rehab two years ago. Worry only slowed the process. “I would love not to stress. Trust me. But it’s easier said than done.”

  “I know. I know. I just wish there was something I could do to help you.”

  “Are you kidding? You’re a godsend. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

  Lizzie had taught her so much…from learning to pour liquid into a glass to doing laundry and everything in between. The simplest things that people took for granted every day. And she’d done it with patience and a sense of humor.

  “I have an idea,” Lizzie said. “What if we have dessert for dinner and dinner for dessert? We’ve got that cookie dough in the fridge and if we don’t make it, it’ll go bad. We can take a dozen or so to the new neighbor too. That’ll keep us from eating them all and getting sick.”

  Chocolate chip cookies for dinner. Ashley’s mouth watered. “God, I love you.” She would’ve hugged her, but Lizzie was already busy taking out cookie pans and preheating the oven.

  Then again…making cookies meant actually taking them to the new neighbor. It meant meeting someone new. A fresh surge of frustration bubbled in her blood. She had to get over this and get out of the damn house for more than just doctor visits and trips to the ocean.

  Meeting the new guy next door would be her first step. So what if she couldn’t put makeup on to cover her scar? So what if she could hardly see anything? She’d wasted more than a year of her life when she could see and she refused to waste more.

  Walking next door and ringing that bell would be the beginning of a new way of life.

  Chapter Six

  Surveying his music room, Mel liked the light and space. He’d set up a couple of guitar stands along the inside wall, and the keyboard he’d had delivered sat in the corner of the room. Three storage cases of guitars were stacked in another corner and he needed to pull out his favorites. Cathedral windows similar to the ones in his bedroom brought in light, and French doors led to a balcony overlooking the water and every sunset. Not a bad place to get creative.

  Mel opened the first storage case and smiled at the guitar in the front slot. He picked up his most coveted acoustic. The vintage Gibson Advanced Jumbo was one of three hundred built in 1936. This guitar had been with him for years. He’d bid for it at a benefit he’d played. He hadn’t intended on staying for the auction, but once he’d set eyes on this baby, he had to have her. Mel returned it to the case and pulled out the one he had in mind; a new Gibson Advanced Jumbo slope-shoulder with rosewood back and sides and a spruce top. The old one was for his collection, which was closing in on two hundred. The new one was for finding his new sound.

  He set the guitar on a stand and dug in his bag for some picks when a series of chimes rang through the house. What the hell was that? The doorbell? He’d have to get that sucker changed to something else. Something more user friendly and less vampire.

  Who was ringing his bell anyway? Christ. He’d barely been here an hour and already his quiet had gone to hell. Maybe he shouldn’t answer the door. Whoever it was would eventually get the hint and take a hike. On the other hand, if this was the neighbor as he suspected, she’d probably seen him drive up and think he was an ass for not coming to the door. Regular guys probably answered the damn door. Mel went downstairs and saw two bodies through the frosted glass. Not just one neighbor. Neighbors. There were definitely two people out there.

  Great. Just fucking great.

  What the hell did he say? What if they recognized him? His hair, or what was left of it, was different enough. He hadn’t shaved and had a nice beard growing. Sunglasses were the norm in California so he slipped on the Ray-Bans that had been perched on top of his head. Different scenarios raced in his mind. If they realized who he was, he could deny it. He could say, “Yeah, I
get mistaken for him all the time,” or “Gosh, that’s a first.”

  One of them laughed right before he opened the door, then he didn’t have time to think about anything else as a huge dog lunged at him. His heart jack-knifed as he took a step back and threw his arms up in defense.

  “Roamer! Down!” Reproach quickly replaced the blonde’s laughter. She took a tighter hold on the dog’s leash and pulled him back. “Sorry about that,” she apologized. “He’s really friendly. Wouldn’t hurt a flea. He just wants to say hi.” Her short, shaggy hair, splayed out in all directions, looked as if she’d stuck her finger in an electric socket. She didn’t have a bit of makeup on her angular face and neither did the brunette behind her.

  Mel gave a shaky laugh. “No harm done.” He took a deep breath and got his pulse steady as he extended a hand for the dog to sniff. After a few quick licks of a warm tongue, he had a new friend. “Is he a pit bull?”

  “Boxer mix. We’re just not sure what he’s mixed with.” The blonde gestured to her friend. “We just wanted to welcome you to the hilltop. I’m Ashley Bristol and this is Lizzie Carerra.”

  Lesbians?

  Cool. He could handle that. No temptation. No women chasing him. This could be like having a couple of guy pals for neighbors. The blonde, Ashley, was in great shape with spectacular blue eyes and a knockout chest. Mel usually went for the tall brunettes, but something about her appealed to him, especially that laugh he’d heard before he opened the door. That laugh had been kind of musical. Of course, if she played for the other team, it didn’t matter what his preference was. A thin crescent-shaped scar curved from the corner of her eye to midcheek. Had to be a hell of a story behind that.

  The brunette, Lizzie, handed a paper plate of cookies toward him. “These are for you. Fresh out of the oven.”