Page 25 of The Neighbor
The moment I step outside, the heat hits me like a brick wall. It’s got to be ninety-five degrees out today. Talk about the dog days of summer. I saw someone online claim it would hit the century mark today and dismissed them as ridiculous. As I wipe the beads of sweat already forming along my hairline, I might have to admit that may have been a hasty judgment.
Not a single noise comes from any of the yards. No children in front of Kimmy and Tim’s house running around like banshees. No lawn mower churning up the grass at Marilyn and Harold’s. In fact, as I walk past their house, I see no one out and Harold’s truck still in the driveway. Too hot to fish, I guess.
More like too hot to sit out in a boat with the sun blazing down on him and drink all day.
In fact, the only sound I hear other than that of cars a few blocks over where it’s always busier is the hum of air conditioners. All the houses in this neighborhood are new, so they all have central air and heat, but if I listen very carefully, the quiet purr of the machines pumping cold air into them is clear as a bell, the only sound not swallowed up by the stifling heat and humidity.
By the time I reach Caroline’s green house, sweat drips down the sides of my face and onto my neck. This weather is going to kill someone. If the air wasn’t so thick or if there was a breeze, it wouldn’t be so bad. Even a tiny gust of air from time to time would help.
But that isn’t to be found on this sunny August day. The sky is a pristine blue without a cloud to mar the beautiful color. There will be no relieving breeze today.
Perhaps Caroline’s house will offer some much-needed cool air. I stop at the bottom of her steps and look around, not really for any particular reason but knowing there are always eyes watching in this neighborhood. I see no one, but then again, do they ever see me watching them?
I’m sure Kimmy and Marilyn will be gossiping about my coming to visit Caroline seconds from now. One or both of them saw me walk here, so it’s only a matter of time. They’ll probably be burning up their phones chatting about it. A single man visiting a single woman in a neighborhood such as this is bound to get tongues wagging.
If they had any idea of the real reason for my visit, they wouldn’t be wasting their time whispering about whether I like her or she likes me. If they knew the truth about my interest in her, they’d hide her away and never let me get close to her again.
Each step up to her porch is an effort, like each of my legs has a twenty-pound weight strapped to it and lifting my foot takes all the energy I have. I should have waited until the sun went down to come see her. At least then I wouldn’t look like a drowned rat when she opens the door.
My heart begins to beat wildly as I make my way across her farmhouse style porch. You’d swear I’m a man suffering from infatuation or puppy love. I take a breath of thick air into my lungs to calm myself down. I’m merely here to have a conversation with a neighbor. Nothing more.
At least that’s what I want her to think.
A quick rap of my knuckles on her front door and then I wait for her to answer. Unlike me yesterday, she won’t ignore me standing here. Friendly people always answer the door when someone comes calling.
It’s what gets many of them killed.
I hear her footsteps as she walks toward the door, and I smile when she looks out at me through the tiny square window I know forces her to stand on her tiptoes to see out. I want her to think this is a nice, friendly visit. That way she’ll reveal more.
As she opens the door, I feel a gust of cool air hit my wrists and legs through the screen door separating me from her. Shesmiles when we’re face to face, but I sense she’s unsure why I’m standing here right now.
“Hey, Adam…” she says before her voice trails off to silence.
“Hi, Caroline. I wanted to come down to apologize for not being able to answer the door yesterday. You see, I was doing laundry which was long overdue, and I wasn’t dressed to see anyone. If I’m being honest, I wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing, so you can understand why I couldn’t do the polite thing and answer when you knocked.”
Every word of that is a lie, but I see it has the desired effect on her as she blushes at my mention of being naked when she came by yesterday. If she didn’t get so lost in all those words, she might realize I don’t look anything like the type of man who would hang around his house in his birthday suit. Who does that anyway? This isn’t some kind of hippie commune or nudist colony, for Christ’s sake.
Yet she believes my lie and nods, smiling through her embarrassment. “Oh, that’s okay. It wasn’t anything important. Kimmy had just mentioned that she saw Aaron walking around the neighborhood after the party, so I wanted to see if you had run into him at all.”
I can’t decide if she’s lying or telling the truth, but her concern for our grieving neighbor seems genuine, so I give a sympathetic nod at the mention of him and say, “Oh, yes. I thought I saw him when I was walking home that night, but we didn’t talk. He looked very sad. You have to feel for him losing everything like he has.”
With each word, I wonder why she hasn’t invited me inside to enjoy some cool air. It’s almost as if she’s forgotten her manners, which is very unlike everyone in this neighborhood.
Finally, she opens the screen door and walks out to join me, crushing my hopes for any relief from the heat. Looking freshand relaxed, she motions toward the chairs on her porch and says, “Why don’t we sit down so we can talk?”
I force a smile through my disappointment and follow her to the two wicker chairs with forest green cushions to match the color of her house. As we sit down, I pay attention to her expression and see she’s already suffering from the stifling heat. I wait for her to suggest we go inside, but she simply crosses her legs and turns to look at me with a smile I know isn’t genuine.
Why isn’t she inviting me inside her home? What’s in there that she’s hiding?
Forced to stay out here and endure these temperatures, I wipe my brow and say, “Looks like it’s going to be another scorcher today. I’m wondering when this heat wave is going to break.”
“The longest heatwave in history for this area was in the nineties, I think. Harold mentioned it the other day. He said it lasted for seventeen days. Since we’re only on day three of ninety degree or better temperatures, let’s hope it doesn’t last for another two weeks.”
Two weeks in this heat? I might not leave my house the entire time if that’s the case.
I nod as she gives me her mini history lesson, dreading the idea that this year might break the record. “Seventeen days? I wonder how many people didn’t make it through that one. Every time there’s a heatwave, people drop like flies. It’s all over the news.”
As I speak, I see the horror fill Caroline’s eyes, so I quickly add, “It’s all very ghoulish the way they talk about it, if you ask me.”