The Good Neighbor

by Kimberly A Bettes

  She knew I was going to leave once she was out. My sleep was still off schedule so I couldn’t sleep if I wanted to. What she didn’t know was that I was going to be sitting on my porch, keeping watch over her again.

  I crept out of the house, making sure to set the alarm and lock the door behind me. With the key Carla had given me earlier, I could come and go as I pleased. I had given her a key to my house as well. We never knew when either of us might need to get through a locked door, and nothing made that easier to do than a key. I slipped into the night, leaving Carla in bed asleep.

  Thunder boomed loudly, and I couldn’t deny that it scared the crap out of me. I wasn’t expecting it. It’s not like it had been thundering for a while. It was the first clap, sudden and loud, and seemingly right above me.

  I quickly crossed the street. If it was going to rain, I wanted to be home before it started.

  As I stepped up onto the sidewalk in front of Hazel’s house, I glanced in Bernie’s direction.

  I nearly stopped in my tracks, but I somehow managed to keep walking, though it was barely more than slow motion. And I was unable to look away.

  There on the porch, stood Bernie, staring at me.

  Our eyes were locked, neither of us looking away. I kept walking, he kept standing there. He was at the top of the steps with one arm above his head, holding him up as he leaned against a pillar. He wore his scuffed cowboy boots and an untied dingy robe which flared open, revealing his naked body. Even from across the street, I could see his perverted excitement.

  I saw all this in my peripheral vision, as I didn’t look away from his eyes.

  Standing there, illuminated only by the streetlight, Bernie looked menacing. He was more than just a naked crazy man standing on his porch. He was a threat to everyone who lived on this street. I sensed something different about him. I wasn’t sure what it was. Something in his eyes, perhaps. Something in his stance, maybe. I didn’t know, but I sensed it. It made my skin crawl.

  I was directly in front of his house now. A few more steps would cause me to break eye contact with him. I didn’t want to be the one who looked away, but to keep looking would mean either walking backward the rest of the way to my house, or turning my head all the way around. And this wasn’t a movie. That would be impossible.

  Before I took the few steps that would cause me to look away, Bernie smiled at me.

  I froze.

  It wasn’t a regular smile. It was a gloat. The son of a bitch was gloating. That smile said to me ‘I do what I want and there’s nothing you or anyone else can do about it’.

  I clenched my fists.

  I wanted desperately to run across the street and rip that smile off his face and shove it up his ass. I wanted to snap his neck in my hands. I wanted to slit his throat and watch him bleed. I wanted to do every horrible thing I could think of to stop him from standing there smiling at me that way.

  I swear that as I stood there thinking of the ways I’d love to make him suffer, that smile broadened.

  My jaws hurt from being clenched so tightly. I felt like I was about to snap.

  I paid no attention to the rain that fell on me now. It didn’t matter that it soaked my clothes and hair. All that mattered was that Bernie was standing there smiling at me with that wicked smile, all but begging me to kick his ass.

  If he wasn’t careful, that’s exactly what was going to happen.

  I kept staring at him through the pouring rain, not only unwilling to break the eye contact, but unable to. What could’ve only been half a minute passed, but it felt more like hours. I was going to have to move. There was no doubt about that. The question would be, would I bolt over to Bernie and knock that smile off his face, or would I go home and wait until Andy came back?

  61 Bernie

  That damn Owen looked so stupid standing there in the rain. I wanted to laugh out loud, but I fought it and won. I’d laugh later. For now, I just wanted to show him that he wasn’t shit to me.

  I watched as he clenched his fists, and I thought briefly that he was going to come over here and take on ol’ Bernie Bear. But he didn’t. I was a little disappointed. Maybe that stab wound stopped him. A little reminder of the last time he messed with me.

  I hated the fact that the longer he stood there, fists balled up at his sides, drenched from head to toe, the more I felt like I was the one being made to look a fool. I was starting to feel uncomfortable about the situation. He was every bit as creepy-looking as I was, standing there in the rain, hidden in the shadows between two streetlights.

  I kept my smile, though. I kept the feeling of superiority I had over him. I knew – and would always know – that I’d had his woman. And he knew I’d had his woman. Every time from now on that he had her, would be a time after I’d had her. That was more than enough to make me cocky.

  I knew he hated me. I was glad. I hated him. I just wanted to make sure that he knew his place, which was behind me. He also needed to know his broad’s place, which was under me. That thought made my smile broaden.

  But he still stood there, staring me down.

  A few more seconds passed before I knew what I would have to do to regain the upper hand here. To make him move, I would have to pull out all the stops. My smile had stopped him, and had even kept him, but now I was tired of him. I wanted him gone.

  I knew just what to do to make him go away.

  I slowly turned my head to the right, toward the broad’s house, and grabbed my dick.

  62 Jill

  I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the most beautiful, horrific things I’d ever seen. I was scared to tell Owen about it, but I had to tell someone. I wished Andy was home.

  I was biting my nails, for crying out loud. I hadn’t done that in years, yet here I was, reduced to nervous childhood habits. I drew my legs up, pressing my knees to my chest, and wrapped my arms around them. I never took my eyes off what sat on the table. How could I?

  How could something so beautiful be so hideous?

  I knew how. It was the giver of the gift that ruined the value and beauty.

  I knew what I had to do. I had to tell Owen everything. He needed to know about the banging on my front door, the dozen roses that awaited me, and the card. The horrible, awful card that accompanied them.

  A shudder went through me.

  I jumped up and ran through the house, making sure every door and window was securely locked. I didn’t sit again until I held in my hand the largest kitchen knife I owned.

  I didn’t sit long. I couldn’t.

  I hopped out of the chair and went to the front door. I peeked out the window and looked at Bernie’s house. A clap of thunder boomed loudly, making my already rapid heartbeat quicken. I couldn’t see much through the rain and the dark. Bernie could’ve been sitting on my porch for all I knew.

  I hurriedly pushed that thought out of my mind. Thoughts like that would keep me up tonight. Not that there was a chance in hell I’d be sleeping anyway.

  I didn’t know how Carla did it. How could she sleep at night with him right next to her? I couldn’t sleep with him across the street from me, and he hadn’t done anything to me.

  Yet.

  I shuddered again as I remembered the card.

  I considered calling the police, but I knew that it would do no good. Bernie hadn’t signed the card, and I had no proof that he’d left the flowers. Even if they wanted to check it for prints, that would take forever. Especially if he wasn’t in their system. By the time they could prove Bernie left the flowers, he would have me raped, killed, buried, and my body would be no more than bones.

  The police couldn’t help me now.

  I struggled to keep calm. I did everything I could to fight off the stress of the situation. I’d done okay until after dusk. Once night had fallen, I’d been on edge constantly.

  I looked at the clock on the wall and saw that it was almost five. There were only a couple of hours until daylight.

  Surely, I could hold out until then
.

  63 Hazel

  I thought I heard a cry, but over the roar of the thunder and the drumming of the rain, I wasn’t sure. I put down the knitting needles and yarn and pushed myself up from the chair, wincing as the pain shot from my shoulder down my arm. When I was standing and the pain was subsiding, I went to the front door. I heard it better now.

  I made a trip to the kitchen and returned with a slab of leftover roast.

  I unlocked the door and opened it to a wet and whining Oscar.

  “You poor thing,” I cooed to him. “You’re wet and hungry. Well, you came to the right place.” I bent down and offered the roast to the dog, who eagerly accepted it. He walked away with it, lying down in a far corner of the porch.

  As I slowly stood up, I noticed movement on the street. I could tell it was a large person, but no more than that. It was dark and raining, but that wasn’t the only reason I couldn’t see any more details. I couldn’t see that far.

  I only wore my eyeglasses to drive and read. Since I’d been doing neither of those things, I wasn’t wearing them now.

  I don’t suppose it mattered. It was odd, though, that anyone would be out in this weather. Then again, Owen had been worried about Carla. If he stayed over at her place and was on his way home, that would make sense. I’d seen him leaving her place late at night and early in the morning before, so it was possible.

  I didn’t forget about what Bernie had done to Carla, though. There were bad things happening on this street. I wouldn’t just assume it was nothing, but I wouldn’t jump to conclusions, either.

  I told Oscar he was a good boy and went back inside to finish the baby blanket.

  I made sure to lock the door behind me.

  64 Carla

  Just after I finished washing the breakfast dishes, Owen called to say he wouldn’t be over today. He said he wasn’t feeling well. I told him I’d bring him chicken soup, but he begged me not to worry about it. He didn’t want me to catch what he had, which seemed to be no more than a cold.

  I wished him well and we hung up the phone. I hated that he was ill. It would be so odd to not see him. I wondered what in the world I would do with myself all day. Then, I remembered I had a new hobby.

  I packed up the needles Hazel had given me and the yarn, made sure the kids had something to do, and we all headed to Hazel’s.

  Along the way, I hoped I wasn’t being rude or intrusive. She’d told me to come over any time, but what if that was just something she said to be nice?

  Any doubts I had were washed away when she opened the door. Her face lit up.

  “Come on in here,” she said, stepping back to allow us to enter.

  The kids rushed in ahead of me. They must’ve felt the grandmotherly vibe that I’d felt yesterday. They were already at home here. I was so happy that they would finally have someone they could consider their grandmother.

  I took my spot on the couch as Hazel sat in her chair.

  “Are you all hungry? I’ve got some food in there. I can make you something.” She waited for me to tell her we were fine before picking up her needles.

  We knitted in silence for a while. Then, she talked about growing up, meeting her husband, and raising her kids.

  As I listened to her stories, I realized how much I liked her. She’d been through so much in her life. It wasn’t all good. But look at her now. She seemed happy, though she’d grown up poor and had out-lived two husbands and a daughter. She was an amazing person. That was in addition to being so nice.

  I was so glad and felt so lucky to know her and to have my kids know her. There weren’t many people like her in the world these days. It was an honor to be in her presence. Everyone should have a Hazel.

  65 Andy

  I drove home in silence. I preferred the silence to the sound of the radio. When the complete silence became too much, I rolled down the windows not only to feel the breeze rush over me, but to hear the whooshing sound that filled the car. It was a different kind of silence.

  My eyes burned from all the crying I’d done. That was over now. I was all cried out.

  I felt weak and tired, a result of the combination of the inability to sleep and of being emotionally drained.

  There was to be no funeral. My mother was to be cremated. I was coming home to wait for the phone call from my brother telling me he’d received her ashes. Then, Jill and I would go back for the scattering of her ashes and the memorial service. For now, there was nothing else I could do, except go home to my wife.

  I sighed. So this is what it felt like to have no living parents. There was undeniable emptiness inside me now, a void. To know that I had no mother or father whom I could call if I needed to...well, that hurt. I still had Jill and my brother and his wife and kids, which helped. It’s not like I was totally without family. Just without parents.

  It crossed my mind then how cruel it was to have children. I mean, we all know what’s going to happen. We’re all going to die. And we still choose to bring kids into the world, knowing that one day, we will leave them parentless. It was a cruel, sick thing to do. But necessary, I suppose. We had to keep the human race going, and the only way to do that was to impose this horrible pain on our children.

  I wondered then if Jill and I would ever be able to have a child of our own. We’d been trying for so long that I was starting to think it would never happen. I wouldn’t tell Jill that’s how I felt. She remained hopeful about the whole thing. I didn’t want to dash her dreams of being a mother.

  Besides, I had dreams of being a father. I wanted a baby just as much as she did, but it was just starting to seem hopeless. I hadn’t given up on the idea yet, but I could feel it coming.

  66 Carla

  As I knitted with Hazel, I was content. Probably more so than I’d ever been. It was amazing just how comfortable it was to be in her company. Maybe the knitting added to the level of comfort I was experiencing. It was a relaxing hobby. I couldn’t wait to show Owen what I’d learned.

  Eventually, the conversation took a turn toward Owen. I told Hazel he had a cold. Hazel, the kind soul that she is, promised to fix that.

  She led me into the kitchen where we began preparing some chicken soup. Watching her cook, I believed it wasn’t so much the homemade aspect that would make Owen better, but the amount of love she put into it. After all, it wasn’t soup from a can. This was the real deal. Guaranteed to make someone well.

  I enjoyed cooking with her. She was funny, kind, and so sincere. I felt bad now that I’d lived across the street for two weeks without spending time with her. That was two weeks that I’d missed out on. Our relationship, however long it would turn out to be, was now going to be two weeks less.

  I pushed that aside and promised myself to not worry about it. The important thing was that I was visiting now, and I was enjoying her company. And I believed she was enjoying mine.

  “I could make you some home remedies to take to him, if you like,” she offered.

  “This ought to do the trick. If it doesn’t, then we’ll turn to the home remedies.”

  She laughed and nodded. I was sure in her day, people didn’t scoff at the home healing like they did now. Back then, your options were limited. You had an ailment, you made the cure.

  Hazel’s house soon filled with the aroma of chicken soup. I remained by her side, helping when possible, and memorizing this wonderful chapter in my life.

  67 Andy

  I turned onto Hewitt Street, feeling as drained as I possibly could. My eyes were still burning, but I think the burn came more from weariness now than from crying.

  I was longing to sleep. I wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and hold Jill and sleep for days. I knew this wasn’t going to happen, though. Jill was at work, and I had no doubt that sleep would fail to find me again, just as it had the last couple of days.

  I slowly drove past Carla’s house, looking for anything out of the ordinary and admiring the fence that surely Owen had something to do with. He sure was looki
ng out for her. Jill and I had been waiting for a woman to come along and erase the memories of Holly. It was more than time for Owen to move on. We were so thankful that Carla had moved in.

  I pulled into my driveway and parked the car. I didn’t get out yet. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and called Jill’s cell. The call went straight to voice mail, so I left a message telling her how much I loved her. I told her I was finally home, and would no doubt be asleep by the time she came home. I begged her to lay with me when she returned. I ended the call telling her I loved her.

  I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and rubbed my face roughly with my hands. I yawned. I opened the door and stepped out of the car. As I did, I glanced across the street and saw Jenson dragging one of those heavy bags to his car.

  I closed the door on the car and jogged across the street to where Jenson had just pulled the trash bag off the steps.

  “Let me get that for you,” I said. Without protesting, the old man let go of the bag.

  “Thank you,” he said. I hadn’t talked to him much, but even I could detect a strange tone in his voice.

  As I carried the bag to the trunk of his car, I asked, “Is something wrong?”

  He hesitated. After looking up and down both sides of the street, he replied, “I’m not sure. Something just feels wrong about the day. Do you feel it?” he asked, searching my eyes.

  I stood there, concentrating hard to see if I could feel what Jenson was feeling. I didn’t feel anything. Maybe it was because my emotional well had run dry. My senses were numb. Maybe it was because there was nothing to feel. Maybe I did feel it, but was so exhausted, it wasn’t registering with me. Either way, after several long seconds, I told him I didn’t feel anything.

  “Huh. Maybe it’s just me. I better get these quilts over to Am Vets. Thanks for loading them for me. These bags seem to get heavier and heavier.”