The Good Neighbor (21 page)

And I did. I held her in my arms until she
fell asleep.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.