Neighborly Thing

by Wanda E. Brunstetter

  Two

  Sinda pulled her white minivan into the driveway and stopped in front of the basement door. She had more than enough work to do today. There were boxes to unload, stacks of paperwork to go through, and numerous phone calls to make. The list seemed endless, and there was no telling how long it might take to get everything accomplished.

  With mustered enthusiasm, Sinda climbed out of the van and went around to open the tailgate. There were five large boxes in back. Knowing they wouldn’t unload themselves, she pulled the first one toward her and began to carefully lift it.

  “Hi, there!”

  Sinda startled at the sound of a child’s voice. The same little girl who had brought her cookies the other night was crouched in the picture-perfect flower bed next door. She had a shovel in one of her gloved hands and appeared to be weeding.

  “Were you speaking to me?” Sinda asked from across the small white picket fence.

  “I said ‘hi.’ ” The child stood up and brushed a clump of dirt from the knees of her dark blue overalls.

  “Hello. It’s Tara, right?”

  The young girl wore her cinnamon brown hair in a ponytail, and it bounced with each step she took toward Sinda. “Yeah, my name’s Tara.” She pressed her body against the fence, and her dark eyes looked at Sinda with such intensity it made her feel like she was on trial.

  Sinda glanced down at her blue cutoffs and yellow T-shirt, gave her ponytail a self-conscious flip with one hand, then lifted the box. “I guess we’re both doing chores today, Tara.”

  Tara pushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. “Would you like me to see if Dad can come over and carry some of those boxes into the house? The one you’re holding looks kind of heavy.”

  Sinda clutched the box tightly to her chest. She hated to admit it, but it was a bit weighty. Accepting help from a neighbor she hardly knew was not her style, though. It hadn’t been Dad’s style either. In fact, if he’d had his way, she wouldn’t have associated with any of their Seattle neighbors during her adolescence. It was lucky for Sinda that she and Carol had gone to school together. That’s when they’d become good friends, and Sinda had decided to play at Carol’s house as often as she could. Of course, it was usually after school, when Dad was still at work, or on a Saturday, when he was busy running errands.

  “You look really tired. Should I call Dad or what?”

  Tara’s persistence jolted Sinda out of her musings. “No, I’m fine. Don’t trouble your father.”

  “I’m sure it wouldn’t be any trouble. Dad likes to help people in need.”

  Sinda grunted. “What makes you think I’m in need?”

  Tara moved quickly away from the fence, looking as though she’d been stung by a wasp. “Okay, whatever.”

  “I’m sorry I snapped,” Sinda called as she started up the driveway toward her basement entrance. “Thanks for the offer of help.”

  Tara went back to her weeding, but Sinda had an inkling she hadn’t seen or heard the last of the extroverted child.

  A short time later, when she’d finished unloading the back of the van, Sinda went around front and opened the passenger door. She blew the dust off her watch and checked the time, then withdrew a large wicker basket and carried it into the house. “How I wish this was the last load,” she muttered, “but I’ll probably be hauling boxes from my storage unit for weeks.”

  ❧

  “Just what do you think you’re doing, young lady?” Glen barked when he entered Tara’s bedroom and found her gazing out the window with binoculars pointing at the front yard of their new neighbor’s house.

  Tara jumped, nearly dropping the binoculars. “Dad! Don’t scare me like that!”

  “Sorry, but I did knock first. You obviously didn’t hear me, because you were too busy spying.”

  “I was watching Sinda Shull.” Tara turned away from the window. “I don’t trust her. I think she’s up to something.”

  Glen planted both hands on his hips. “Up to something? What do you think the woman’s up to?”

  Tara dropped the binoculars onto the bed and moved closer to Glen. She spoke in a hushed tone, as though they might be overheard. “I don’t think I have quite enough evidence yet, but with a little more time, maybe I can get something incriminating on her.”

  He raised his eyebrows. Where does this kid learn such big words? “Honestly, Tara. What kind of incriminating evidence could you possibly have on someone as nice as Sinda Shull?”

  Tara flopped onto the bed with a groan. “Nice? How do you know she’s nice? You don’t even know her.”

  Glen reached up to rub the back of his neck. He was beginning to feel a headache coming on, and he sure didn’t need an argument with his mischievous daughter right now. “Sinda seemed nice enough to me.”

  “You’ve only met her once,” Tara argued. “If you knew her better, you’d soon see that my intuition is right.”

  Glen’s lips curved into a smile. “You know, Kiddo, you might be right about that.”

  “You think she’s up to something?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I think we should get to know her better.”

  “Oh. I guess that would help.”

  “In fact, I believe I’ll invite her over here for dinner. Tomorrow afternoon sounds good to me.”

  Tara’s expression turned to sheer panic. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I’m totally serious. What better way to get acquainted than over a nice candlelit dinner?”

  “Candlelit?” Tara came straight off the bed. “Don’t you think that might be carrying neighborliness a bit too far?” She sniffed deeply. “Besides, Sunday is our day to be together. We don’t want to spoil it by having some stranger around, do we?”

  Glen bent down, so his eyes were level with Tara’s. “You said you thought it would help if we got better acquainted with the neighbor.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Then don’t throw cold water on my plans. I think I should go over there right now and ask her. If Sinda agrees to join us for dinner, I’ll fix fried chicken, and maybe some of those flaky buttermilk biscuits you like so well.” He clasped his hands together and flexed his fingers until several of them popped. “Let’s see. . .what shall we have for dessert?”

  Tara grabbed his arm and gave it a firm shake. “Dad, get a grip! It’s just one little dinner, so we can find out more about the weirdo neighbor. You don’t have to make such a big deal out of it.”

  “No more ‘weird neighbor’ comments. In the book of Luke we are told to love our neighbors as ourselves, and Romans 10:13 reminds us that love does no harm to its neighbor. That includes not making unkind comments about our neighbors.” He started for the door, but hesitated. “I’m going over to Sinda’s, and when I get back, you should be doing something constructive. And put those binoculars away.”

  “Can I borrow the camcorder for awhile?”

  “No.”

  “But, Dad, I—”

  “You’ve done enough spying for one day.”

  ❧

  The back door of Sinda’s house hung wide open, with only the rickety old screen door to offer protection from the cool spring breeze whistling under the porch eaves. Glen’s feet brought him to the door as his thoughts wandered. Is this really a good idea? Will Sinda be receptive to my dinner invitation? With a resolve to go through with the plan, he looked around for a doorbell but found none. He rapped lightly on the side of the screen door, and when there was no response, he called out, “Hello! Anybody home?” Still nothing. He leaned forward and peered through a hole in the screen, listening for any sounds that might be coming from within. “Hello!”

  There were no lights on in the kitchen, and he couldn’t see much past the table and chairs sitting near the door. The thought crossed his mind to see if the screen was unlocked, and if it wasn’t, maybe he’d poke his head inside. That would be categorized as snooping, he reminded himself. I’m getting as bad as that would-be detective daughter of mine.r />
  Glen had about decided to give up when another thought popped into his mind. Maybe Sinda’s out front. That’s where Tara was spying on her.

  He stepped off the back porch, nearly tripping on one of the loose boards, then started around the side of the house. He had just rounded the corner when he ran straight into Sinda. She held a bulky cardboard box in her arms and appeared to be heading for the front door.

  “Excuse me!” the two said in unison, each taking a step backward.

  “That box looks kind of heavy. Would you like me to carry it for you?” Glen offered.

  She shook her head. “It’s not that heavy. Besides, I’ve already made several trips to my storage unit today, and I can manage fine on my own.”

  Glen eyed her speculatively. Tara was right about one thing. Sinda’s green eyes did look sort of catlike. It was difficult not to stare at them. He drew from his inner reserve and lowered his gaze. Get yourself under control. You didn’t come over here to ask for a date or anything. It’s just a simple home-cooked meal, done purely as a neighborly gesture.

  Glen cleared his throat a few times, and Sinda gave him a questioning look. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Olsen?”

  “Glen. Please call me Glen.” Now that he’d found his voice again, he decided to plunge ahead. “I was wondering—that is, my daughter and I would like to invite you over for dinner tomorrow afternoon.” He rushed on. “I make some pretty tasty fried chicken, and there’s always plenty. Please say you’ll come.”

  Sinda shifted the box in her arms. He could tell it was much too heavy for her, but if she didn’t want his help, what could he do about it?

  “I wouldn’t want to put you or your wife out any,” Sinda stated as she moved toward the house.

  Glen followed. “My wife?”

  She nodded but kept on walking.

  “Oh, I’m not married. I mean, I was married, but my wife died of leukemia when Tara was a year old.”

  Sinda stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. Her green eyes had darkened, and if he wasn’t mistaken, a few tears were gathering in the corners of those gorgeous orbs.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Olsen. . .I mean, Glen. I’m sure it must be difficult for you to be raising a daughter all alone.”

  “It can be challenging at times,” he admitted.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t remarried,” Sinda remarked. “A child really does need a mother, you know.”

  An odd statement coming from a single lady, and her tone sounded almost reprimanding. Glen shrugged. “Guess I’ve never found a woman who could put up with me.” Or my daughter, he added mentally. The truth was, he had dated a few women over the years, but Tara always managed to scare them off. She was more than a little possessive of him and had made his dates feel uncomfortable with her unfriendly attitude and constant interrogations. Most of them backed away before he could deal with Tara’s jealousy.

  “How ’bout it?” Glen asked, returning to the question at hand. “Will you come for dinner? It’ll give us a chance to get better acquainted.”

  “Fried chicken does sound rather tasty.” Sinda paused and flicked her tongue across her lower lip. “Okay, I’ll come.”

  Glen could hardly believe she had accepted his invitation. The other night Sinda seemed rather standoffish. Maybe she’d just been tired. “How does one o’clock sound?” he asked.

  “That’ll be fine. Can I bring anything?”

  “Just a hearty appetite.” He turned toward his own yard. “See you tomorrow, Sinda.”

  Three

  “I still don’t see why we’ve gotta have that woman over for dinner,” Tara whined as Glen drove them home from church Sunday afternoon.

  “You’re the one who gave me the idea of getting to know her better.” He smiled. “Who knows, you might even find you’ll actually enjoy yourself.”

  “I doubt it,” Tara mumbled.

  “Just try,” he said through clenched teeth. “Oh, and Tara?”

  “Yeah, Dad?”

  “Be on your best behavior today. No prying into Sinda’s private life. If she volunteers any information about herself, that’s one thing, but I don’t want you bombarding her with a bunch of silly questions. Is that clear?” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

  She shrugged. “How are we gonna find out what she’s up to in that creepy old house if we don’t ask a few questions?”

  Glen’s patience was waning, and he scowled at Tara. “Sinda is not up to anything.”

  “I saw her carrying a wicker basket into her house the other day,” she persisted. “And you know what I heard?”

  “There’s nothing unusual about a wicker basket.”

  “But I know I heard a—”

  “Tara Mae Olsen!” Glen usually had more patience with his daughter, but today she was pushing too far. “I don’t want to hear another word. Sinda Shull is our neighbor, and we’re going to enjoy dinner while we try to get to know her better.”

  Tara sniffed deeply. “I’m just glad you didn’t ask her to go to church with us.”

  A pair of amazing green eyes flashed into Glen’s mind, and he smiled. “I should have thought of that. Maybe next time I will ask her. If she hasn’t already found a church home, that is.”

  ❧

  Sinda glanced at her reflection in the bay window as she stood on the front porch of the neighbor’s split-level rambler. She’d decided to wear a pair of khaki slacks and an off-white knit top for dinner at the Olsens’. She’d chosen a pair of amber-colored tortoise shell combs to hold her hair away from her face, and even though she might look presentable, she felt like a fish out of water. Probably as out of place as my archaic house looks next to this modern one, she mused. What on earth possessed me to accept Glen’s dinner invitation? It wasn’t like her to be sociable with people she barely knew. Dad had taught her to be wary of strangers and not to let anyone know much about their personal business.

  With that thought in mind, Sinda was on the verge of turning for home, but the front door unexpectedly swung open. “You’re ten minutes late,” Tara grumbled as she motioned Sinda inside.

  Sinda studied the child a few seconds. A thick mane of brown hair fell freely down Tara’s back, and she was dressed in a red jumper with a white blouse. The freckles dotting the girl’s nose made her look like a cute little pixie, even if she did seem to have a chip on both shoulders. Such a rude young lady. Why, if I’d talked to someone like that when I was a child. . .

  With determination, Sinda refocused her thoughts. “I’m sorry about being late. I hope I haven’t ruined dinner.”

  “It would take more than ten minutes to wreck one of Dad’s great meals. He’s the best cook in the whole state of Oregon.”

  “Then I guess I’m in for a treat,” Sinda responded with a forced smile.

  “Dad’s out in the kitchen getting everything served up. He said for us to go into the dining room.”

  Sinda followed Tara down the hall and into a cozy but formal eating area. It was tastefully decorated, with a large oak table and six matching chairs occupying the center of the room. The walls were painted off-white, with a border of pale pink roses running along the top. A small pot of purple pansies sat in the middle of the table with two pink taper candles on either side. The atmosphere was soft and subtle. Hardly something most men would have a hand in, Sinda noted. She offered Tara another guarded smile. “The flowers are lovely.”

  “They’re from my mother’s garden. She planted lots of flowers the year before I was born. Dad takes good care of them, so they keep coming back every year. He says as long as the flowers are alive, we’ll have a part of Mom with us.” Tara lifted her chin and stared at Sinda with a look of defiance. “Dad loved her a lot.”

  “I’m sure he did.” Sinda swallowed against the constriction she felt tightening her throat. She had to blink several times to keep unwanted tears from spilling over. What’s wrong with me today? I should be able to get through a simple thing like
dinner at the neighbor’s without turning into a basket case.

  “Have a seat,” Tara said. “I’ll go tell Dad you’re here.”

  The young girl sashayed out of the room, and Sinda pulled out a chair and sat down. Tara returned a few minutes later, carrying a glass pitcher full of ice water. She filled the three glasses, placed the pitcher on the table, then flopped into the seat directly across from Sinda.

  “Something smells good,” Sinda murmured, for lack of anything better to say. Why was Tara staring at her like that? It made her feel like a bug under a microscope.

  “That would be Dad’s fried chicken. He wanted me to tell you that he’ll be right in.” Tara plunked her elbows on the table, rested her chin in her palms, and continued to stare.

  “Is there something I can do to help?” Sinda asked hopefully.

  “Nope. Dad’s got everything under control.”

  “What grade are you in?” Sinda was hoping a change in subject might ease some of the tension.

  Tara began playing with the napkin beside her plate. She folded it in several different directions, opened it, and then refolded it. “I’m in the fourth grade,” she finally answered without looking up from her strange-looking work of art.

  “Do you like school?”

  “It’s okay, but I can’t wait for summer break in June. Dad and I always do lots of fun stuff in the summer time. We usually spend all our Sundays together too.” Tara looked pointedly at Sinda.

  Refusing to let the child intimidate her, Sinda asked, “Who looks out for you when your father’s at work?”

  “Mrs. Mayer. She’s been my baby-sitter ever since I can remember.”

  “Is your dad a mailman?” Sinda asked, taking the conversation in another direction. “I’ve seen him dressed in a uniform, and it looked like the kind mail carriers usually wear.”

  Tara nodded. “Yep, he’s a mailman all right. Dad has a walking route on the other side of town.”