Love Thy Neighbor (3 page)

However, a connection was useless unless both people felt the same
way.

His ring! A wedding band. I'll check his hand for it when I meet
him outside!

If I can make it out there without having a meltdown first.

She looked down at her own hands. They were trembling, unwilling to
stay still. Her weak legs didn't want to move.

Still, she made it through the messy kitchen, through the
clothes-cluttered laundry room, and out the back door into a patch of
bright, eye-burning sunshine. Today felt more like an August day than
an October day, warm, crisp, alive with the sound of birds and
children playing.

Her backyard was small, L-shaped, the grass a boringly pale shade of
green. It was encircled by rich, dark-green shrubs, with a small
Rubbermaid utility shed situated by the back corner where, beyond,
the alley opened out to the side street.

She went to the storage unit and got the mower, but she didn't
remember wheeling it around to the sidewalk to Baron. He stood on a
cracked slab, with his hands in his pockets and his attention going
from two kids biking down the street to a Firebird cruising up the
street. There didn't seem to be a care in the world in him. The guy
just seemed so free, so easy-going, so majestic. The glimmering sun
made this appear more so.

“
Awesome, Jenna, thanks.”

“
Janna.”

“
Oh, okay. Janna. I'll give
you a couple bucks for fuel when I bring it back.”

“
No, don't worry about it.”

Her eyes were drawn to his like a magnet. His didn't deviate much
from hers, either. They held visual contact briefly, until she got so
uncomfortable she couldn't stand it. Somehow, out came a stupid
little joke. “Well, have fun cutting grass.”

Those dimples, those apple-cheeks sparked to life again.

“
All right, thanks again. I'll
return this as soon as I'm done. Shouldn't be but half an hour.”

His hands came out of their pockets. Grabbed hold of the lawnmower.
Janna had forgotten about checking for a ring—the thought
slipped her mind. She watched the heartthrob turn and walk away,
pushing her mower, taking a piece of her with him. For a second, an
everlasting second, which happened to every human who'd ever existed
on the planet, whether they realized it at the time or not, nothing
could be better. The world could have stopped. A war could have
ensued in the background. People could be dying horribly, screaming,
bleeding and wailing in pain.

But, just for a second, none of that mattered. It all ceased to
exist, replaced by an almost supernaturally divine feeling free from
every tainted, unruly thing. Nothing, not even God Herself, could
take that away from her.

***

She watched him cut grass from her living room window. Watched him
sweat, stretch, and struggle to mow his overgrown lawn. Baron just
wouldn't leave her thoughts alone.

Dammit! Why didn't I look at his hands? I don't remember feeling a
ring when I shook his hand, but it could have been on his other.

What if... what if that bimbo was only his sister, a relative, or a
really good friend? Someone he could relate to in every way but
romantically? Sensually? What if it was someone he kind of knew just
helping him get situated in his new place? If that was the case, the
girl wasn't a bimbo; she was just a nobody.

Janna knew she had to pretty-up before he returned; hide the truth of
her appearance and hopefully fool the onlooker.

She ran upstairs to do just that.

The bathroom, a small square with a child-sized sink, a glutton-sized
clawfoot tub, and an average-sized throne, was at the top of the
stairs, across the hall from her room. Lights burst on in the room as
she entered and flicked the switch. Overhead bulbs and vanity bulbs
illuminated the dove-colored walls with almost eye-melting
brightness. She went to the mirror, make-up bag in hand. Instead of
using one tool at a time, Janna flipped the bag upside-down, dumping
the contents into the sink. Eyeliners, lipsticks, foundations,
sponges, mascara, eye-shadow, and a few other useful things joined
each other in one cluttered heap.

First, she put on the foundation.

Second, the mascara—just a tad.

Eyeliner, third.

Then rouge.

Lastly, red wine lipstick.

For a good three minutes, she gazed at her transformed reflection in
the mirror. Best—and fastest—make-up job she thought
she'd ever done. She looked positively striking, if she did say so
herself. Everything stood out colorfully, beautifully, masterfully.
Rosy cheeks. Plump red lips. Smooth, soft completion. Outlined almond
eyes. There was no way he would be able to look away.

Shit!

It just occurred to her. Like a lightning bolt strike, it struck her.
She felt absurdly foolish, blinded by her chaotic wave of emotions.
What would
he
think when he saw her like this? After he mowed
his grass, he would come back and see her
suddenly
all dolled
up like some prostitute?
Yeah, that's what I look like, a freaking
hooker! A good-looking one, sure, but that's not what I am, and
that's not what I want him to make me out to be.

In a rush, she wet a rag, dabbed it in soap, and scrubbed every bit
of beauty enhancement off her face. In the end, here she was, reduced
to a plain, average-looking dork with flat cheeks; big, ugly lips;
dark, insignificant eyes; and a slightly hooked nose. Far different
from the stunning prostitute just a moment ago. This version of Janna
wasn't attractive in the least, in her eyes. Not attractive enough to
smile. Not attractive enough for anyone to love. Just another
throw-away face bound for the garbage dump.

Really, even if he isn't married... what are my chances with him?
Hitting the Powerball would be easier.

She wanted to wallow in self-pity, but the knock on the downstairs
door prevented her from doing that. For now.

***

“
Hello,” she said
bleakly, opening up the front door a moment later.

“
All done. Didn't much enjoy
the mowing, but I tried to.” He laughed. It drew a smile from
Janna, who fought to suppress it. She also fought to swallow her
feelings for this man and move on.

But nature would not let that happen.

Reflexively, without even thinking, she glanced down at his
hands—they gripped the handlebar of the lawnmower—and saw
no wedding ring. No imprint of where one might have been if he'd
taken it off, either. The guy was not married.

Unless that bimbo was his girlfriend. That still presented a problem.
Just not such an imposing one.

“
Well, anyway, here's five
dollars for gas,” he said, handing her an Abraham Lincoln. “And
it was nice to meet you, Janna. Maybe we—“

She couldn't hold her tongue or repress of feelings any longer.
Either something came out or she'd explode from the inside. “Baron?”

“
Yes?” He blinked those
candy eyes.

Oh, damn, now what do I say? Should have kept my big mouth shut!

Somewhere deeper down, she heard a little voice say:
No.

“
What, um... could I... do
you... how...”

Just say it! Speeeak!

“
Would you like to hang out
sometime? Maybe watch a movie? Have a drink? Well, I don't drink, but
we can have some iced tea, lemonade, even a soda.” She had
finally spilled the beans. Now her stomach knotted in more places
than one as she waited, dreaded, and looked forward to his response.

He paused and looked down—almost looked away. Then, the
beginnings of a smile. It hurt Janna, for she knew that smile. It was
a smile of flattery but refusal. It said, in not so many words:
Thanks for asking me that, but I really am sorry, I'm just not
interested.

Then, the actual words were expressed, possible knives toward Janna's
heart: “I really do appreciate the offer. Sincerely. I actually
just moved here, though, from Michigan, after a very bad break-up.
It's just way too soon for me to see somebody, anybody, so don't
think it's you, okay? It's not. I just came here to... start over, in
a sense.”

The knives struck, penetrated, wounded.

Womp-womp-woooooomp!

A blank, thoughtless look came over Janna's face—a deer caught
in highbeams. “Oh.”

“
Look, I'm sorry. It's not
you, it's me.” He felt so bad, he wanted to ease her apparent
pain by taking the offer. But life was still too messy for another
relationship.

“
Tell you what. Let me settle
in for a while. When I feel better, get situated, maybe we'll do
something. As friends. Sound okay?”

She nodded a zombie's nod.

Across the street, a Honda pulled up to the curb. The blonde bimbo
behind the wheel put the vehicle in park.

“
Well, my sister's back. I'll
talk to you later, Janna.”

He turned and jogged down the three steps. Broken, Janna slammed the
door shut, locked it, and cried, devastated.

Chapter 4

The hurt within turned to numbness for a while, then to unquenchable
desperation. She refused, utterly refused, to live the rest of her
life alone. The thought of dying without anyone to hold or comfort
her in her final days, put her in a reckless mood. Nine years without
the love of a good man was too many. Her empty house was a virtual
tomb: no laughter, no passion, no nothing. There was no way she could
stand it any longer. She needed a man, and needed one now.

Her thoughts shifted to Ben Jillipi, her ex. Was he single? Taken?
Available? There were worse men in the world, surely. Maybe he wasn't
the best, but finding the best took modes of action she didn't have,
like going out into the world, staying busy, meeting people—things
that were far from easy for her. Leaving the house wasn't ever easy,
not with a history of chronic anxiety and panic attacks. Besides, she
didn't really want to go through the long, protracted process of
dating. She had a history with Ben. He was a guy she knew.

But that was a decade ago...

He could have changed. He could have grown up. With age came
wisdom—isn't that what all the old geezers claimed?

I don't know his number! I don't even know if he still lives
around here anymore...

But she had a way to find out. His parents still lived in town, ten
blocks away up on Chester Avenue. They'd been in the paper
recently... something about domestic abuse allegations. So they still
had to be there. What could it hurt? Janna would get back with her
first love, and live the rest of her life happy.

***

The 2013 Denburg county phone book, which was the thickness of a
magazine, had their number in it: Susan and David Jillipi.
1-401-555-7784. They were a nice couple, always had been. Only
problem was that they couldn't get along with each
other.

She held the phone in her hand for several minutes, wanting to call,
wanting
to call, but found herself unable to. Her fingers
wouldn't push any buttons, and her body failed to comply with her
yearning will. Fear played the part, held her back.

I'm so confused, so frustrated.

Then, a memory, from out of nowhere, exploded in her mind: Janna, at
age nine or ten, danced in her backyard when she lived with her
parents out on Robin's Pike, before they'd died—mom from a
stroke, father from pneumonia. It was a clear, cloudless, sunny day,
and the girl, that precious little girl who would grow into a
damaged, dysfunctional woman—who could not even go to the
grocery store without feeling faint—pretended she was getting
married to a dashing, handsome prince. He slid a beautiful,
glimmering ring onto her finger, kissed her, and said
I do.
Then he said the four magic words: I love you, Janna.

If only life came with guarantees, with such effortless destinies,
she wouldn't be stuck in the rut she was in.

Suddenly she found her thumb pushing eleven buttons on the phone. It
was ringing seconds later...

Click!
“
Hello?” A
man's voice. David's. As overbearing and guttural as she remembered.
“Hello, David. I don't know if you even remember me, but this
is Janna Dellwood—“

“
Yes! I remember you well,
Janna. Whatever happened to you? Where'd you go?”

“
Oh, I'm still in town. Same
place, actually. How've you been?”

He coughed. It didn't sound good. “I'm all right. Ben still
thinks about you, I know. Says he misses you all the time. He says
letting you go was the worst mistake he ever made. Not to bring back
any bad memories on your part. Just saying. What's it been, nine, ten
years?”

“
Nine. Hey, you wouldn't
happen to have his number handy, would you?”

“
Sure. Gotta pen?”

She found one in a kitchen drawer. Found a piece of paper on the
table. “Okay.”

He told it to her. “He lives on Pierson's Street, you know, the
house down by the wharf?”

“
Thanks so much, David. I'll
give him a call.”

“
My pleasure. Hope you guys
can patch things up. Good-bye.”

She hung up.

Turned on the phone.

Dialed.

What am I doing?!

Waited while it rang.

Janna didn't think anyone was going to answer, when:

“
Hello?” He sounded
surprised, taken aback, his voice on the verge of frightful glee.

“
Ben?” There was no
vitality in hers.

“
Is this who I think it is?
Janna?”

“
It's me, believe it or not.”

“
Holy shit! I can't believe
this. How the hell have you been? Why did you wait a decade to call
me?”