The Neighbor

by Gerri Hill

  “So how long has she been there?”

  “Sometime in December. I remember she had a Christmas party. That house was under construction for more than a year. Constant noise we had to deal with. But from what Frankie was able to get out of her, she won’t live there. A weekend place, she said.”

  “I’m going to miss the woods.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? I used to play in them when I was a kid. I loved to walk there. Dad always said he was going to buy it.”

  “Yes, well, your father was going to do a lot of things that he never got around to.”

  Laura shook her head. “You’re still so bitter. He’s the one who died, not you.”

  “And left me a widow.”

  “I’m sure if he had the choice, he’d have rather lived.”

  Her mother’s expression softened. “I’m…I’m not over it yet. I miss him every day.”

  This time, Laura was unable to keep her thoughts to herself. “Yet a mere six months after he died, Frankie moved into your bedroom. And two months after that, you married the man!”

  Her mother stared at her. “Six months is a long time to be alone. I had no one. All my friends had someone. I was always the odd man out. I stopped getting invited to places because…because it was couples and I was no longer a couple. I was lonely.”

  There were tears in her mother’s eyes, and Laura cursed herself for being so blunt with her.

  “We tried to be here for you, Mom.”

  “I know, but it wasn’t the same as having a partner. Someone to do things with. Someone to talk to in the evenings. Someone to share meals with.”

  “I’m sorry. I can see your point.” She held her hand up. “Truce, remember. Let me unpack.”

  Chapter Three

  After three days, Laura had settled into somewhat of a routine. That routine, unfortunately, did not involve writing. Writer’s block was a terrible thing. A horrible thing. She must have started and stopped ten or twelve different outlines in the past month alone. Not a one of them had the makings of a novel.

  “Breakfast on the patio again?” she called to her mother.

  Her mother shuffled into the kitchen, using her walker. Since the first day, the wheelchair had come out only in the evenings, when her mother was tired.

  “We should take advantage of the spring weather. It’ll be too hot before long.”

  “I don’t have anything fancy today. Oatmeal with fruit and toast,” she said as she buttered a slice.

  “I don’t expect fancy, Laura Sue.”

  Laura had stopped complaining of her mother’s use of her middle name. It had fallen on deaf ears. “Can you make it out or do you need help?”

  “I can manage.”

  Laura resisted the urge to open the door for her. The more independence her mother had, the better it would be for the both of them. She loaded the serving tray with their bowls of oatmeal and toast and two glasses of orange juice. She had found that her mother, unlike her, was a one cup a day coffee drinker, which she usually had while she watching the morning news. Laura, on the other hand, took her first cup outside with her, usually before dawn or right at it. The empty bird feeders had been filled her first day here. The low branches of the oak tree by the fence—where three feeders were hung—were a flurry of activity and she enjoyed the sights and sounds as the new day began. That was her quiet time, before her mother got up. If it was a particularly pleasant morning, she’d have two cups outside before going back in to start breakfast.

  “I hear music. Do you?”

  Laura put the tray down, then tilted her head and listened. “Yes.” She scowled. “The neighbor?”

  “I imagine. At least it’s not that godawful stuff those young people listen to.”

  “Young people? How old is she, anyway?”

  “Oh, I have no idea. Frankie didn’t say.”

  “Married? Kids?”

  “I don’t know. Frankie said there were some men over there sometimes. Maybe she has a husband. I never met her.”

  “So was Frankie spying on her or simply being a nosey neighbor?”

  “He wasn’t spying. No one has lived there—or even been out there—since we bought this house and you were three at the time. You’re almost forty now.”

  Laura gasped. “I am not almost forty! I’m thirty-seven.”

  “Only for a few more weeks,” her mother said with a smirk.

  Laura narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger at her. “If you don’t want me to start slipping nasty things into your food, you better be nice.”

  Her mother laughed and Laura thought it was the first time she’d heard her laugh since…well, since before her father had died. She couldn’t imagine that she’d have anything to laugh about living with Frankie.

  Laura smiled as she put their food out on the table. They had actually been getting along. Better than she would have imagined, really. After breakfast, her mother would retreat to the living room to watch TV and Laura—after cleaning up the kitchen—would go upstairs to her “writing room.” She’d rearranged the furniture the first day and set up an office for her. So far, she’d done little more than sit and surf. Yesterday afternoon—after starting laundry—she’d gone to the grocery store. Frankie’s freezer had been stocked as well as the pantry, but fresh food had been sorely lacking. There wasn’t even an onion or potato to be found. She had immediately thrown out the box of instant mashed potatoes that she’d come across. Who ate that stuff? How hard was it to cook and mash real potatoes?

  “I thought you didn’t like to cook.”

  “I don’t. What gave you the idea that I did?”

  “The pork chops last night,” her mother said. “Perfection. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but Frankie’s were always dry, even when he baked them.”

  “He was cooking them on too high of a temp,” Laura said as she scooped up a strawberry with her oatmeal.

  “You never cooked at all when you lived at home. I tried to teach you.”

  “I wasn’t interested. I’d rather have been outside playing.”

  “Or following your dad around. So how did you learn?”

  Laura put her spoon down. “Remember Sandi?”

  Her mother frowned and shook her head. “No, I don’t recall her.”

  “Oh, yeah. That was after Dad died…and Frankie was here. Well, I was seeing this woman—Sandi—and she liked to cook. All the time. We never went out. I was forced to help…chop veggies and such. I may have picked up a few pointers. Not that I like to cook,” she added quickly.

  “Well, that’s good. I take it she’s not around any longer?”

  “No.” She held her hand up. “And before you ask, yes, I was the one who ended it, not her.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask.”

  “You always blame me.”

  “Well, your track record is what it is.”

  “I just don’t see the point in continuing to date someone when you already know that they’re not ‘the one,’” she said, making quotations in the air.

  “I’m not sure you give them a chance,” her mother said with a wave of her hand. “Of course, the only tidbits of your life I’ve had lately have been from Carla.”

  “It’s not like I haven’t called you in the last seven years.”

  “Phone calls that lasted perhaps five minutes.”

  She picked up her toast, which was now cold. “I’m sorry, Mom. I simply could not tolerate that man.”

  “You never gave him a chance either.”

  Laura held her hand up. “Please…let’s don’t go there again. We’re getting along fine. Let’s not bring Frankie into it, okay? Truce?”

  Her mother took a sip of her orange juice, then seemed to study her. Laura sighed, then looked up, meeting her gaze.

  “What?”

  “I take it you’re not seeing anyone now?”

  “No. Not for a…a while,” she said evasively. As her mother had said, her track record was what it was.


  “Why?”

  She blinked at her. “I’ve been focusing on my writing.” Yeah, right.

  “So you can’t date?”

  “Yes, I can date. It’s just that the older I get, the choosier I get.”

  Her mother stared at her blankly. “I would think it would be the opposite.”

  Laura actually laughed. “It’s too easy. My comeback…it’s too easy. I won’t even say it.”

  “I know you’re referring to Frankie. I was fifty-eight, not thirty-eight.”

  “I’m thirty-seven!”

  “Regardless, you’ll wake up one day and you’ll be fifty and alone. And your problem all along has been that you’re too choosy. You were always that way, even in high school. You’re looking for this perfect person. They don’t exist, Laura Sue. You’re going to have to lower your standards.” Her mother’s spoon clanked into her empty bowl. “Although I did like that cute fellow you dated in college.”

  “You only liked him because his parents were rich.”

  “Filthy rich,” her mother corrected with a grin.

  “He was kinda nice,” she admitted. “He was my last attempt at being straight.”

  “Well, you are what you are.”

  Yes, that was one thing she always respected her mother for. When she came out to her, to her father, her mother hadn’t blinked an eye. She’d said those very words to her. Even her father hadn’t been thrown by the news. Perhaps it’s true what they say; parents know long before you do.

  They heard laughter coming from across the fence and she swore she heard a splash in the pool.

  “It’s still April,” she said. “Even in Texas, who swims in April?”

  “Well, the days have been warm, but I bet the pool is heated. It sounds like they’re having a party.”

  “It’s barely nine o’clock in the morning.”

  Her mother shrugged. “Sounds like fun. Maybe you should go meet her.”

  “I will not. I’m mad because the woods are gone. I might say something ugly to her.”

  “I think the reason her house is so close to us rather than in the middle of the property is that she left a lot of the woods on the other side. That’s where most of the big trees were. It’s one of the large lots, Laura Sue.”

  Yes, Laura had already seen that from her bedroom window. The lots here ranged in size from one and two acres up to ten. Her parents were on a two-acre lot. She guessed the neighbor’s was the larger, at ten. At least from what she remembered when she was a kid, the woods had seemed to go on forever.

  She leaned back, looking at the backyard. It had been neglected. Her mother’s flowerbeds were crowded with grass and weeds. The neat cobblestone walkway had been encroached upon by the lawn. The lawn that needed cutting. Badly.

  “You used to keep this so tidy, so colorful with all your flowers.”

  “For everything Frankie did for me after the accident, he was not into gardening. He kept the lawn mowed, that’s about it.”

  “Is the riding mower still working?”

  “Frankie bought a new one just last summer. That old one finally went to the junkyard.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll tackle the yard this afternoon.”

  “It’s Saturday. Our new neighbor is here. It would probably be polite to wait.”

  She nodded. “I’ll wait until they go inside. How’s that? I don’t plan to schedule my chores so as not to disturb the neighbor.”

  Chapter Four

  At the time, Cassidy had thought it extravagant to heat the pool. This was Texas and the few months of winter could be tolerated. However, after watching not two, but three ladies—all clad in bikinis—take the plunge on this April morning, she was glad she did. Well, Deb would be better served in a one-piece rather than a bikini, but who was she to complain.

  “Come on in! It’s fabulous!”

  Yes. She already knew it was. She’d tried it last night after everyone had gone to bed. She turned her eyes to Claudia and smiled. After bed and after sex, she clarified. Claudia waved her in and she paused, pulling her T-shirt over her head and tossing it down before going to the board and diving in.

  Oh, yeah, heating the pool had been a great idea.

  “I can’t believe we got to come early,” Zoe exclaimed. “This is such a cool house, Cassidy.”

  “Thanks. It’s my dream home, that’s for sure.” She swam over to where Claudia was holding on to the side of the pool. “Thirty guests might be pushing it, though.”

  “With more than an hour’s drive back to Dallas, you might have every bedroom filled,” Deb warned. “How are you going to feed everyone?”

  “It’s catered. There’s a crew coming out about five to set up. We’ll do it outside on the deck since the weather’s good.”

  “Then we’ll do it inside later,” Claudia purred as her tongue snaked into her ear.

  “Oh, yeah,” Cassidy murmured. “Maybe even before that.”

  Claudia moved her mouth to Cassidy’s. “Maybe right here. Right now.”

  * * *

  Laura stared in disbelief as the anorexic blonde shoved her tongue into the dark-haired woman’s mouth.

  “Oh my God! They’re lesbians! Are they going to have an orgy or something? There are four of them!”

  God, I have got to buy some binoculars!

  Staring, she couldn’t pull her eyes away. But no orgy, no. They seemed to be coupled up and on opposite sides of the pool. But they were doing much more than swimming.

  She finally turned away.

  “That’s disgusting,” she murmured. It wasn’t even noon yet! “Who does that?”

  She slammed out of her room and went into Carla’s…the writing room. However, Carla’s room had a much better view of the pool than her own room. She was drawn to the window.

  The large, rectangular pool was now empty.

  Well, at least they took it inside, she thought as she let the drapes fall back into place. But who was that? Was there a nympho lesbian living next door? She groaned. How cruel would that be? She hadn’t been on a date in eight months. She hadn’t slept with anyone in…well, in a while.

  “Of my choosing,” she murmured as she opened up her laptop.

  To say she was in a rut was an understatement. She was simply tired of the endless dates. Tired of meeting new people and none of them living up to her expectations. She was tired of pretending to be interested in someone when in reality, she was bored to tears. She’d told her friends to stop setting her up on blind dates. And they had. But like her mother, she often felt like the odd man out…and even some of her friends had stopping including her when they did group parties and such.

  So yeah, she was in a rut. And living out here, more than an hour away from Dallas and her friends, she suspected that rut was going to get deeper. It wasn’t like she knew anyone in the area any longer. She’d moved away when she was eighteen, losing touch with her old high school friends within months as she made new ones in college. She stared at the wall, trying to remember some of her friends from back then. While names popped into her head, the faces remained fuzzy. Oh, well. She turned her attention to her laptop and the blank page staring her in the face.

  If only she could write.

  Something.

  Anything.

  * * *

  “Do you have binoculars?”

  “Why on earth would I have binoculars?”

  “You live out in the country. Everyone has binoculars.”

  Her mother motioned to the closet. “Look in there. Frankie may have had some. And why do you want them?”

  “I want to spy on the neighbor,” she said as she rummaged in a very cluttered closet. “What is all this stuff?”

  “Frankie’s stuff.”

  She found the binoculars and pulled them out from under a stack of fishing magazines. Did he fish?

  “So we can throw all of this out now, right?”

  “I spoke with his nephew at the funeral. I told him to come by if he wanted anything, b
ut I haven’t heard from him.”

  Laura closed the closet door. “Did he have much family?”

  “None that live here, no. The nephew was the only one who bothered to come to the funeral. Terrible.”

  “Was there anyone at the funeral, Mom?”

  Her mother sighed. “Not many, no. For some reason, my friends didn’t warm up to Frankie.”

  Laura snorted. “Really? For some reason? Maybe it’s the same reason your daughters didn’t warm up to him.” She held her hand up. “But we’re not talking about this, remember? Truce.”

  “Truce. Now, why are you spying on the neighbor?”

  “Because they’re having a party.”

  “Oh? And?”

  Laura grinned. “Women in bikinis.”

  Her mother laughed and waved her away. “Well, by all means, spy away.”

  She turned all the lights out upstairs, then pulled her chair closer to the window in her writing room. She hid behind the drapes, only opening them enough to stick the binoculars out.

  “Oh my God,” she murmured. Definitely lesbians. Hordes of them. Oh, okay. There were a few guys. Kissing. Great! Her neighbor was having a gay bash. Half of the people were in swimsuits. Some of them should not be in swimsuits.

  Oh…there’s that anorexic blonde again. God, she’s pasty white.

  “Who’s she kissing now?”

  I wonder who the owner is.

  She scanned the crowd and the pool, trying to determine who their neighbor was. It had to have been one of the four women in the pool that morning. Surely to God not the anorexic blonde. No, not her. She spotted a woman—dark hair—making the rounds. She nodded. Yes, same woman from the pool, the one the blonde had been latched onto.

  Tall, dark…handsome, almost. Certainly too handsome to be called pretty. Her dark hair was a little shorter than shoulder length, parted on the side. Oh…she’s got bangs. How cute. Not young, though. In her early forties, she guessed. She rolled her eyes. Forty was sounding younger and younger, wasn’t it? Should you still have bangs when you’re in your forties? She had a nice body, though, regardless of her age. Skimpy bikini top, white shorts. Tan legs…firm. Really nice legs. A runner, maybe? Definitely athletic. She made the return trip up the woman’s body, back up from her legs to her face, then gasped as the woman seemed to be looking right at her.