Won't You Be My Neighbor?

by Vanessa Gray Bartal

  He sighed, and she understood this was somehow another strike against her. Were all men so weird as this one and her neighbor? Not Tristan; Tristan is perfect.

  “All right,” Tim said.

  Blair breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn’t going to try and bully her into letting him go to the next dog house with her. She opened her door and turned to thank him for the strange evening, but he was right behind her. She raised her eyebrows in question.

  “I’ll walk you up,” he said. He pointed to her house as if he needed to clarify where they were going for her.

  The feeling that the evening was leading somewhere returned, fueling Blair’s anxiety. What if he tried to come in her house? She didn’t want him to come inside. He was larger than her and able to force himself in, but he wouldn’t do that, would he? Without realizing she was doing so, she glanced at her neighbor’s house again. There was no help to be found there, and yet she wondered if he would come to her assistance if she screamed. Not that she would scream. She had never screamed in her life, even when she was a child. They reached the porch too soon. Blair turned to say goodbye again, to think of some excuse why he couldn’t come inside, when he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

  His mustache brushed her lip and her mind jumped back to supper. How much of what he had eaten remained lodged in the fur above his mouth? She was too stunned to do anything more than stand still and absorb the impact of his lips on hers. He let her go and took a step back, looking more determined than pleased. “I’ll call you,” he declared.

  Blair made no reply. She watched until he drove away and still made no move to reach for her door. What had just happened here?

  “You look like you just took another dive off the ladder.”

  She jumped and spun. Her neighbor stood in front of her. He propped his shoulder on her doorjamb and, what a surprise, he was smirking.

  “What are you doing here?” Blair wasn’t one to snap at people, argue, or talk back. But this man brought out the worst in her temperament. Had he purposely sneaked up on her? She pressed her hand to her heart to try and make sure it had started beating again after it stopped in fright.

  “I came to check my patient,” he said. “When someone under my care, someone who has recently suffered a head wound, stares dazedly off her porch, I consider it my duty to check on her.”

  “Do you think there’s something wrong with someone who doesn’t like puppies?” Blair asked.

  Sully leaned forward, tipped her face up, and looked into her pupils. “Seriously, did you hit your head again?”

  She brushed impatiently at his hands. “Stop that. I’m serious.”

  “So am I. What happened? Didn’t your date go well?”

  “I didn’t have a...” She turned toward the driveway again. “Was that a date?” The question was rhetorical but of course her ill-tempered neighbor decided to answer.

  “Did he ask you out?”

  “He asked me to look at puppies.”

  “Did he take you to eat?”

  She nodded.

  “Did he pay?”

  She nodded again.

  “Did he walk you to the door and kiss you goodnight?”

  She tried not to grimace as she nodded a third time. If that was kissing, she wanted no part of it. The thought that he might have imparted food crumbs from his mustache to her face made her want to brush fervently at her lips. She refrained because Sully was still staring at her.

  “Then that, Miss P, was a date.” He was smiling. She couldn’t see it, but she could tell from the sound of his voice. Why was he smiling? Blair was tired of not understanding, of trying to figure out what everything meant.

  “I wonder what Tristan will say,” she mused.

  “Is Tristan your boyfriend?” her neighbor asked.

  “Of course not,” Blair said. “Don’t be silly.”

  The timer kicked in and the porch light clicked on, bathing them in a soft glow that felt harsh after the darkness. They squinted at each other.

  “Give me your key,” Sully said. He held out his hand.

  “You never ask,” she said. “You always demand.” She handed him the key.

  “And yet you always give in,” he said. He took the key, unlocked her door, opened it, and turned on the switch. The living room was illuminated, and Blair breathed a little easier. As much as she had tried not to be, she had been tense since the break in. Even though he irritated her, she was begrudgingly thankful for her neighbor’s presence. She wasn’t accustomed to letting herself into a darkened house.

  “Thank you.” She forced out the words as he pressed the key back into her palm.

  “Miss P, you baffle me, you really do.” He overlapped his fingers around hers, curling them around her key. He gave her hand a squeeze and walked away as Blair squinted after him.

  “Go inside,” he called without looking back.

  “You’re too bossy,” she yelled.

  He waved, more of a shooing motion toward her house. A sudden rebellion made her want to disobey and run away, but she had nowhere else to go and she was tired. She did as he said and went inside, but she closed her door a little louder than necessary. Take that, she thought. Though it wasn’t possible to hear him laugh from so far away, she imagined that she did.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning, Blair called the dog rescue person first thing, more because she had promised than because she actually wanted to do so. Darlene, the rescuer, was going on vacation for almost two weeks. She didn’t want Blair to come while her house sitter was there. Instead she asked her to wait until she came back so she could deal with her in person. Blair happily agreed; maybe the extra time would give her a chance to work up the desire for a dog.

  Her mind kept returning to the mother dog she had seen the night before. Again, as it had last night, the image of the exhausted dog reminded her of Tanya. Tanya needed a break; she needed a change of pace. Before she could talk herself out of it, she called her old friend and invited her for a visit.

  “Steve can’t get the time off work,” Tanya said. She sounded disappointed to the point of tears. “I don’t have anyone to watch the kids.”

  Kids. Blair shuddered at the thought of having two small children in her house. Still, she had said she wanted to get to know them. And she was trying to stretch herself, to be brave, to make connections. So she closed her eyes and took a breath. “Bring them.” She heard herself say the words almost like an out-of-body experience. She had no idea what to do with two toddlers underfoot for two days, but Tanya’s excitement drove all such thoughts away. Everything would be okay. She could handle anything for two days. Couldn’t she?

  Next on her day’s agenda was her weekly appointment with Tristan. Somehow even their therapy sessions had settled into a regimented routine. They spent the first third reviewing her progress, the second third talking about the roots of her problem, and the final third talking about her homework for the next week. Blair enjoyed the familiarity of the routine; therapy was becoming an old, soothing friend.

  She had a lot of progress to share with Tristan that week, and he was rightfully proud. When she came to the part about the so-called date, she stopped. Instead she simply told him that she had gone to look at puppies with Tim, omitting the part about the kiss. Maybe it was because of her blazing crush on him, but she could not bring herself to talk about kissing with Tristan; it was simply too embarrassing.

  “Your progress is astounding,” Tristan said. “When I think where we started and how far you’ve come, I couldn’t be more amazed, Blair. This week I simply want you to keep up the good work. I’m not even going to give you a specific assignment. I want you to look for ways to stretch yourself.”

  Blair’s cheeks felt warm under his praise. She was glowing with an inner light of happiness that couldn’t be doused. The world was her oyster. She was succeeding at what she had set out to do. She was making friends and connections; she wouldn’t die alone.

  On
the way to the library, she spotted a woman on the street selling flowers. Mrs. Caruthers needed flowers. Today was the day to make her second visit to her elderly neighbor. Smiling now, she parallel parked and bought a large bouquet of flowers before resuming her mission. The church library was in such good shape that a couple more days would set it to rights.

  Susan’s car was in the lot. Blair didn’t have to do much plucking of her courage to stop in the office and say hello to her new friend. Susan was on the phone, so she merely had time for a wave. Blair waved back. Her smile remained as she walked to the library and let herself in.

  For the next few hours, she was immersed in organizing piles and stacks of books into alphabetical order, first by author, and then by title. As she worked, she hummed. She wasn’t a hummer by nature. She smiled, appreciating the change from her normal silence. Time flew as she lost herself in her work. When the door opened, Blair thought it was Susan asking to go to lunch.

  “What are you doing?”

  Blair looked up to see an elderly woman standing in the doorway. She was short and stocky. Her thinning white hair stood in angry spikes all over her head. Behind her stood a sullen-looking teenage boy. His eyes tried to rest anywhere but on Blair.

  “I’m organizing the church library,” Blair said. She thought it was obvious what she was doing, but maybe not. Maybe the woman thought she was stealing books.

  “It was organized. Now it’s not. You’re messing everything up.” She stumped into the room and picked up a book, glaring at its title in accusation.

  Blair didn’t know what to say. Arguing that the messy piles strewn all over the room could hardly count as organization didn’t seem polite. “The church asked me to help out. I wasn’t aware anyone was overseeing this room.”

  “The church doesn’t know everything I do for it,” the woman said. “The library has been my project for years. I take care of these books. I have a system. You’ve ruined it!” The book dashed to the floor. Blair cringed, not only because the woman was yelling but because the spine of the book cracked in half.

  Blair knew she wasn’t in the wrong. Susan had asked her to organize the library because the library needed organized. Maybe the woman had a system, but the system had been wrong. “It seemed to me that having things on the shelves in alphabetical order might be more prudent in the long run. I have a little ways to go. Would you like to help me finish?” To Blair, this was the ultimate sacrifice. She wanted to finish the project. The feeling of accomplishment she got from taking something messy and putting it right was tantamount to a euphoric high.

  The woman looked at her as if she had just offered up a dead rat. “No I don’t want to help. I want it back the way it was.”

  Blair blinked at her. Surely she wasn’t serious. To put it back the way it was, she might as well toss all the books onto the floor and jumble them together. She had never been good at arguing, though, and she didn’t want to make the situation worse. How was she supposed to respond? “I know change isn’t easy, but I think if you give it time, then you might realize that this system of organization is more user-friendly than the way it was before.” She gestured helplessly toward the rows of neatly categorized and alphabetized books.

  The woman stared at her as if Blair had suggested she should set herself on fire and run naked into the street. “It was easy to use before. I never had any complaints. Everyone knew where to find everything. You had no right to come in here and change things.” Her index finger came out and started to point menacingly in Blair’s direction as she advanced on her. Blair backed up until she reached the wall, blinking furiously as she tried to decide if the woman was a threat to her safety. “I’ve been in this church for almost forty years. I’ve seen little upstarts like you come and go. You come in here with your new ideas and try to change things, and then you leave. Meanwhile it’s people like me who are left holding the bag. And everyone wants to woo you and make up to you because you’re young and pretty. But it’s people like me, people who are old and worn out, who hold this church together. And don’t you forget it, Miss. You had no right to come in here and mess up all my hard work. You’d better believe I’m going to go to the pastor with this, and then we’ll see who’s right and who’s wrong.” The finger hovered a centimeter from Blair’s chest. It never actually touched her, but Blair felt as if it had. She felt as if she had been poked all over.

  The woman turned and stalked from the room. The teenager slunk behind her. Blair remained where she was. She was shaking and blinking. Tears didn’t come easily to her, but they were there now, clouding her vision and choking her throat. The project that only a moment ago had seemed so fulfilling now felt tarnished. Would the woman really tell the pastor on her? And would she twist things so that Blair came off looking like the bad guy? Would the pastor be angry? Would he ask her to apologize or leave the church or something equally humiliating? Retreat, retreat, retreat. Her mind screamed the word. This time she listened. She grabbed her keys and ran, not stopping until she was safely inside her house.

  Watching Miss P’s house had become second nature to Sully. He had added it to his morning routine—shower, brush teeth, make coffee, glance at Miss P’s house. He tried to stop there, tried to tell himself that he was making a neighborly inspection to assure himself that everything was okay, but then he found himself watching her house in the evening, too. At supper, he now angled himself so he could stare at her house and ponder. What was she doing in there?

  Before he met her, he assumed she knitted or read or petted her cat. Now he wasn’t so sure. She was quirky, but in a good way, the way that amused more than exasperated. For all he knew, she could be doing something off the wall and unexpected. Or maybe the officer was there. Sully frowned. He didn’t like that thought, and he didn’t like that he didn’t like it. Who Miss P dated was none of his business.

  Today when he looked over, he didn’t have to ponder what she was doing inside because she was outside. She knelt on the ground between their houses, digging something at a mad pace. He stood and squinted out the window for a better look, and then he groaned. He was going to have to interfere and stop her. Again. He tried and failed to feel some remorse about that as he rinsed his plate and stacked it in the dishwasher. Instead he laughed and shook his head. “Oh, Miss P,” he muttered.

  “What are you doing?”

  Blair yelped and dropped the trowel. “Why do you always sneak up on me?” she groused. Her neighbor’s shoes came into view, but she didn’t look up. She didn’t want him to see the tears that were still too close to the surface.

  “I don’t sneak. You’re in your own little world all the time.”

  He had her there, so she didn’t argue.

  “What are you doing?” he repeated when she made no reply.

  “Weeding,” she said. Why did people keep asking her what she was doing when what she was doing should have been obvious?

  “Why are you weeding your columbine?” he asked.

  She paused and looked at the tall green things lying wilted in the dirt. “Uh-oh.” Now she did glance up at him and was annoyed to see a smile playing on his lips. “This isn’t a weed?”

  He shook his head. “It’s a very pretty purple flower, one I enjoy looking at as I load my dishwasher, so I would really appreciate it if you stopped killing it. Unless you simply hate columbine.”

  “I thought it was a weed,” she said, restating the obvious. She clutched the trowel and studied the poor wilted stems. Tears pricked her eyes again. “I killed it. I know I can’t garden, and I keep trying. Stupid, Blair. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

  “Hey.” Sully knelt beside her and gently pried the trowel from her hand. “It’s not dead. It’s just resting. I know—I’m a doctor.” She watched in a daze as he replanted the columbine and watered it. He made it look so easy, but if she tried it, it would no doubt be a big mess. A few minutes later, the plant looked no worse the wear. Sully brushed his hands together and turned his attention to Blair. />
  “What’s up, Miss P?” he asked.

  She shook her head. Blair had never been one to wear her heart on her sleeve, especially with a stranger. Unloading her problems on a listening ear was foreign to her, except with Tristan; Tristan was the exception to every rule, but only because she was paying him.

  “Did you and the officer have a fight?”

  Blair frowned as she tried to figure out what he was talking about. “Officer? What officer?”

  “The one who took you on a date,” he clarified. “How many are there?”

  “Oh, that.” She waved her hand. “Why would I fight with Tim?”

  “Why, indeed?” Sully said. “So if it’s not man trouble, what is it?” Unless he was a terrific actor, then the look he was giving her said he genuinely cared about the answer to his question. Was it possible that he actually wanted to know what was wrong with her? For that matter, how did he know something was wrong with her? Blair was notoriously guarded with her emotions.

  She shook her head. “Just a bad day, I guess.”

  He cocked his head to the side, studying her. “What’s a bad day for Miss P?”

  She shrugged.

  “Do you always make people drag information out of you this way?” he asked.

  “People don’t usually want information from me,” she said.

  “I do. I want to know why you’re trying to murder your garden.”

  “Why? Why do you care?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “You pique my curiosity for reasons even I don’t understand. Suffice it to say that if you don’t fill me in and put me out of my misery, I’m going to lie awake at night wondering what was so bad that made you try and uproot innocent flowers.”

  Was he serious? He wasn’t smiling, but surely he was joking. “I’ve been working on a project at my church,” she began.