The Good Neighbor

by Kimberly A Bettes

  She looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  I pointed to the signature across the bottom of the skillet. “This is Louis’ signature. This is from his line of cookware. He also has several cookbooks on the market.” I replaced the skillet and returned to the table.

  “Wow. A famous chef lives across the street. That’s awesome.” She was very excited about this, so I didn’t want to remind her that she may never see or meet him. I enjoyed her excitement too much to dash it. She stared across the room at her stainless steel pots and pans for a while before giving me her attention again.

  “Who else is there?”

  “Directly across the street from Louis, is an empty house. There was an elderly couple lived there until last year. They passed away within days of each other. It’s been empty since.”

  “That’s sad,” she said.

  “Next to that house, right across the street from me, is Mr. Jenson. He’s a reclusive man. He looks to be in his sixties or seventies. No wife, no visitors. He keeps to himself. We don’t know much about him. He’s lived here a couple years.” I didn’t tell her about his mysterious bags. I was trying to assure her that living here was going to be great. Telling her that Jenson could be carrying bodies out of his house in a trash bags would only scare her.

  “And between him and you, is Bernie Patterson. I hope you haven’t met him yet.”

  “Why?” She raised her eyebrows as she asked.

  “Let’s just say, Bernie’s single, and looking to not be.”

  She nodded, understanding what I meant.

  “He’s getting pretty desperate these days. He spends all his free time at bars, looking. I’ve seen him bring a few of those women home. It looked like he’d scraped the bottom of the barrel if you know what I mean. It wasn’t those ladies’ first time coming home with a guy they met at a bar. He seems so desperate to find someone, and so lonely. I feel bad for him.”

  She took our empty glasses to the sink and rinsed them. I did what I could to not watch, but I only have so much will power. She was so attractive without even trying. And it didn’t seem that she knew how beautiful she was. I couldn’t help but wonder about the kids’ father. I didn’t know the story, but I couldn’t imagine anyone leaving someone so sweet and so beautiful and so kind.

  Of course, they say you never really know someone until you live with them. And even then, you never really know them.

  “So no one in the neighborhood has kids?” I could hear the disappointment in her voice.

  “No. But I don’t know everybody. I just know the people immediately around me. You know, the people I see all the time. I don’t know anyone on the streets around us. I guess I’ve been a bit of a recluse myself lately.” I sure hoped she wouldn’t inquire as to why I’d become such a recluse, not even going to work.

  She faced me, leaning against the sink. “So you didn’t say who lives across the street from me.”

  “Oh. That’s Hazel, the sweetest lady you could ever hope to meet. She’s eighty, I think. She’s a widow.” In a voice you would use telling a campfire ghost story, I said, “If you get too close to her house, she’ll feed you. To death, if you let her.” We both laughed.

  She thought for a moment. “Want a tour?”

  “Sure.” I’d never been farther than the kitchen when I’d help Elaine carry in groceries.

  After maneuvering around boxes for the tour, she asked me to stay for dinner. I declined at first, telling her I didn’t want to be any trouble. She assured me that was silly, because she had to make dinner anyway.

  “We have to eat whether or not you’re here, so you might as well stay and eat with us.”

  I got the impression she didn’t want me to leave. Unable to think of a reason to go, and not really wanting one, I agreed to stay.

  She introduced me to the kids as they came inside to clean up for dinner. The boy, Ethan, was handsome and very well-mannered for only five years old. His sister, Shelby, was every bit as beautiful as her mother. Two years older than Ethan, Shelby watched after her brother and mothered him as if he were her own child.

  It was nice to be with them, sitting at the table, eating dinner as if we were a family. I realized suddenly how crazy it was for me to think such things. I didn’t know them well enough to think like that. I didn’t know if Carla wanted me to have such thoughts. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to have such thoughts. Yes, I’d decided that enough was enough already with the moping, but had I decided that I was ready for such radical notions as a family?

  My thoughts must’ve shown on my face because Carla was looking at me, worried. She didn’t question me until later, after we had loaded the dishwasher.

  She spun to face me. “Alright, Owen, spill it.”

  I opened my mouth to deny that there was anything to spill, but she didn’t let me speak. Instead, she took my arm in her hand and led me to the living room where we sat on the couch.

  “I know something’s bothering you. I can see it on your face. I told you I’m a good listener. And I’m all ears.” She was facing me, legs folded beneath her. She put her elbow on the back of the couch and propped her head up with it.

  I told her everything from coming home after work one day to find my wife leaving me, to Jill telling me to plug the hole. My falling apart, my depression, the way I couldn’t stand to be in my house. I told her all of it. Well, I told her most of it. Some things were meant to remain unsaid.

  “And you still wear the ring.” She reached over and picked up my left hand, holding it gently in hers. As she twisted my ring around my finger, it was hard to remember why I’d kept it on so long. “That’s sweet. And sad.” She continued to stare at the ring as she spun it around my finger, lost in thought.

  I had a few thoughts of my own. I’d never been this close to her. I’d never been this close to anyone other than Holly, as a matter of fact. Holly and I had begun dating in high school, and I’d never been with anyone else. I don’t mean emotionally close, but physically close.

  My heart was pounding. The scent of her perfume was delicate and intoxicating. I breathed through my nose, trying to memorize the smell. Her skin was soft and every bit as delicate as her scent. As I watched her slender fingers spin the ring that was placed on my hand by a woman who obviously never loved me, I was overcome by the urge to rip the ring off and flush it down the toilet with all the dreams I’d had of growing old with Holly. Of course, if I wasn’t wearing it, she wouldn’t be holding my hand and her knee wouldn’t be resting against mine.

  “Think you’ll ever take it off?” she asked, resting her head against the back of the couch.

  “I’m sure I will. I think it’s time.” She stopped spinning my ring, but didn’t let go of my hand. She absentmindedly caressed my fingers lightly. “So what about you? How’d you become a single mom?”

  “I loved a man who loved himself.” I heard the pain in her voice as she spoke. “We were married for nine years. I gave him everything I had, only to find out he was giving all he had to someone else. Then, I found out it wasn’t the first time he’d cheated on me. It crushed me. But I have kids to think about, so I divorced him and went on with my life as if he’d never been a part of it.” She looked at me, still holding my hand. “There’ll come a point when you do the same.”

  I squeezed her hand slightly. I knew she was right. I could feel that point rapidly approaching.

  “I better go,” I said, standing. “It’s getting late.”

  Carla stood with me. “Do you have to go so soon?”

  “Yeah, Andy will be leaving for work soon. He’ll want to give me some crap, I’m sure.”

  “About being here?” I could see by the smile she wore that she knew it would be about her.

  I nodded and we laughed. She walked me to the door. I turned to her and thanked her for feeding and listening to me. She assured me it was a pleasure to do both, and begged me to come back soon. I told her I would, and after a quick thought about kissing her, I left with th
e kiss as no more than a thought.

  As I neared my house, I heard someone whistle. It was dark even with the streetlights on, and I couldn’t see the whistler, but I had no doubt who it was.

  “Boy, I do believe you got a little spring in your step.”

  I stopped in Andy’s driveway where he was leaned against his car. “You’re out early,” I said casually, folding my arms across my chest.

  “Came to keep you company, but I didn’t know you were keeping company at Carla’s.” He chuckled. “How’d it go?”

  “You make it sound like I was running some sort of secret operation. We had a nice visit. I met her kids. We had dinner. We talked a little. That was it.” I walked over and leaned against his car beside him.

  “Well, you better get in there before Bernie does.”

  “Bernie won’t get in there, whatever that means.”

  “As soon as he lays eyes on her, he’ll quit barhopping. Why go fishing when there’s fish in the freezer?”

  I laughed. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means why would he want to go to the bar when he can hit on the pretty, young, single mother next door? She’s easy prey. You watch. You’ll see. Hey,” Andy said, changing the subject. “Speaking of you seeing, you see Jenson today?”

  I thought for a second. I shook my head. “Haven’t seen him all day. You worried?”

  “Nope. Just wondering.” Neither of us spoke for a while. Finally, Andy asked, “You think you two are going to hook up?”

  “Have you been reading love poems? You sure know the language,” I said sarcastically.

  “Fine,” he laughed. “Do you fancy courting her? Is that romantic enough for you?”

  “It’s better,” I said, laughing. Then I shrugged. “I don’t know. I like her. I guess she likes me. But she just moved in, Andy. Good grief. The girl’s not even unpacked yet. Geez, give her time to get settled before you start trying to marry her off.”

  “Hey, I just don’t want you two to be a younger version of Hazel and Jenson. Single people living across the street, but nothing ever happening. I’d have to move. I can’t live in the midst of so much sexual tension.”

  “Sexual tension? Hazel and Jenson? Are you serious?”

  “Well, they’re both older, single people. No reason they can’t hook up.”

  “No reason, huh? Jenson’s weird. Hazel’s so sweet. I don’t see it.”

  “They both keep to themselves. Shouldn’t they keep to themselves together?” he asked.

  “Is it really keeping to yourself if you’re doing it with someone else?”

  He laughed. “Yeah, you’re right. I was just saying you should go out with Carla. It’d do you some good. I know Jill kind of already told you that.”

  “Yeah, thanks for telling your wife everything. If I ever kill somebody, you’ll be the last person I tell.”

  We laughed.

  5 Owen

  With Andy gone to work, I sat on the porch alone for a while thinking, mostly about Carla. I kept finding myself looking at her house. I imagined her in there, reading to the kids before they fell asleep. Then, I imagined her getting ready for bed.

  I stopped myself before that line of thought went too far.

  I decided to turn in for the night. I didn’t figure sleep would come easily, but I was prepared to try. I made my way upstairs slowly, preoccupied with thoughts of the single mother. I brushed my teeth, wondering if she was doing the same. I used the restroom and washed my hands. I stripped down to my underwear, wondering what she wore to bed. Then, I slid under the covers, trying to guess what side of the bed she slept on.

  I lay awake, thinking. Carla and Jill were both right. I had to move on. It was time. I took my wedding ring off and laid it on my nightstand. I knew it was only a figment of my imagination, but my hand felt lighter. I flexed the fingers of my left hand to determine if taking off the ring really had made such a difference. I couldn’t be sure.

  I touched the groove the ring left behind with the fingers of my right hand and wondered if there would ever again be a ring there. It was hard to imagine anyone else ever placing a ring on my finger while the memory of Holly doing so was deeply engraved on my mind.

  I pushed thoughts of Holly from my head. The time for thinking of her was over. She’d had her time in my life. She’d thrown it away. It was time to think of someone else, someone with whom I could have a future, not a past.

  I fell asleep thinking of Carla.

  The next morning, I awoke with more energy than I had in a while. I felt younger, more alive. I knew there were only two reasons for this change. The first reason was my decision to push forward with my life. I had turned the last page on the final chapter in the book that was my life with Holly. That story had ended. Now I was turning the first page of the first chapter in a story that would hopefully have a happy ending. It was the story of my life with Carla, the reason for my newfound energy and youthful feeling. It truly did feel like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I didn’t feel as though I were walking down the stairs, but floating down them.

  I whistled while I made toast. After breakfast, I headed to the porch. It was no longer because I hated being inside my house, trapped with the memories of Holly. It was out of habit more than anything. Also, from my porch, I could see Carla’s house.

  I sat in my chair just as Andy was pulling in his driveway. I knew there would be no escaping a visit from him this morning. He’d had all night to come up more questions.

  As I’d predicted, he came over and plopped in the chair beside me.

  “Clouds are bright this morning, huh?” I asked, indicating the dark shades he wore in spite of the heavy clouds that hung low in the sky.

  He took them off, folded them, and hooked them in the neck of his t-shirt where they hung down his chest. He laughed. “I forgot I had those on.”

  I looked at him, clearly puzzled. “But why did you put them on at all? It’s been cloudy all morning.”

  Without looking at me, he said, “I had a headache. The light made it worse. Has Jenson been out this morning?”

  “I haven’t seen him.”

  We both sat staring at Jenson’s house without speaking. I didn’t know what was going on in his head, but in mine, I kept thinking of how weird it was to see someone wearing sunglasses on a cloudy day. It was as weird as wearing them at night.

  The sound of children playing caused me to turn my attention to Carla’s house, which Andy didn’t fail to notice.

  “You going to her place later?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. If she wants me to.”

  He laughed. “Of course she wants you to, man.”

  “You don’t know that. Besides, I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

  “Well, if you don’t get in there, Bernie will. And he’ll wear out more than just his welcome, if you know what I mean.”

  “God, Andy. You kiss your wife with that mouth?” I teased.

  “Yeah, and she begs me for more.” He laughed, heartily. I shook my head, embarrassed.

  It was then that Jenson came outside, again dragging an apparently heavy large, black trash bag. We watched him in silence for a while. He seemed to not notice he was being watched. Or he simply didn’t care that he had an audience.

  He wore a dark brown cardigan and tan slacks, cuffed above a pair of worn brown loafers. His wispy white hair blew in the breeze as he slowly made his way down the steps and across the lawn to his car. One hand still holding onto the bag, he fished a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocked the trunk. It was all he could do to hoist the bag off the ground and wrestle it into the trunk. Once the bag was safely inside and the lid closed, he rested his hands on the back of the car, clearly taking a moment to catch his breath. He then shuffled his way to the front of the car. He got in the driver’s seat and moments later, he slowly backed out of the driveway and drove away.

  Andy and I looked at each other.

  “What the hell is i
n those bags?” Andy asked. I could only shake my head. “They’re always heavy. How can one old man have such heavy trash?”

  “Maybe it’s not that the trash is heavy,” I suggested.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, he’s old. Maybe he’s just weak.”

  Andy thought about that for a moment. “Why doesn’t he use smaller bags so he won’t have to struggle so much? He doesn’t struggle with his white bags.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe his trash won’t fit in a smaller bag.”

  “He’s a little old man who lives alone. How much trash could he possibly accumulate in one week? What could he have over there – some soup cans, maybe some bread wrappers or something? Light stuff. But he’s always carrying out these enormous bags, filled with something so heavy, it’s a struggle for him. I don’t get it.”

  We paused to ponder the mystery.

  “How often does he take out a bag?” I asked, trying to solve the puzzle.

  Andy snorted, “You know more than I do. You’re out here all the time.”

  That was true. I tried to remember if I’d noticed a pattern in the days Jenson took the bags to wherever he took them. I was coming up empty. After a year of sitting on a porch directly across the street, a year of watching him, I hadn’t really paid any attention to him. Sure, I’d seen him. I’d noticed him enough at the time to talk to Andy about it. But I hadn’t noticed enough to recollect anything. No patterns were clear in my mind. I only knew a lot of heavy black bags had came out of his house, been put in his trunk, and been driven away.

  We sat on the porch for another hour or so before Jenson came back. We watched in silence again as he made his way out of the car and into the house.

  “I’m dying to know what he’s doing,” Andy said in frustration. “We need to keep track of what days he does this, see if we can figure out a pattern or a schedule.” He stood to leave. “And, hey, think about what I said before about us following him once. I’m starting to lose sleep wondering what’s going on.”