Page 33 of The Neighbor
Caroline bought rope and hooks to hang something from the ceiling? That’s odd. She doesn’t strike me as a do-it-yourself kind of person.
“What kind of rope? Maybe she was planning on hanging plants,” I suggest.
Sara shakes her head. “Nope. Big fat rope. There’s no way she’d use that for hanging plants. The only time I’ve ever seen rope like that was when the next door neighbor kid hanged himself when I was a teenager. Unless she’s planning to tow a car, there’s no good use for rope like that.”
Odd. Is Caroline unhappy and suicidal? I’ve never gotten that feeling from her.
As unusual as it is for me to be concerned about someone, I find myself hoping she isn’t planning on taking her own life. Suicide is so useless.
But Sara isn’t worried about that. She’s more fixated on why Caroline seemed to be watching her down at the salon yesterday.
“And what’s with practically stalking me? I bet that Suzanne put her up to it. She probably paid her to follow me to see if her precious Jared is still seeing me. She didn’t have to bother. Maybe she should pay attention to his other girlfriend and leave me alone.”
I nod as a dozen thoughts as to why Caroline would be so interested in Sara race through my head. It’s got nothing to do with Suzanne paying her to do it. I’m not even sure Caroline and Suzanne have ever had a single conversation. Even if they have, I don’t believe either woman is that focused on Sara.
As I ponder what the reason could be, happy to have something to think about other than my aching muscles, Sara suddenly trips over a branch and tumbles onto the pavement. Hitting hard, she cries out in pain, grabbing her right foot.
“Ow! My ankle!”
Instantly, I stop and crouch down to see her ankle swelling right before my eyes. She’s not bleeding, but it looks like at least a bad sprain.
Sara rocks back and forth, moaning, “Oh, God. How bad is it? Tell me. I can handle it. How bad does it look?”
“It’s definitely not good. We need to get you to your house. Can you stand on the other foot?” I ask as I walk behind her to help her up.
She nods and pushes herself up onto her left foot while I pull her up with my hands underneath her armpits. Although she’s clearly in pain, she stands up on her own before she begins hobbling to keep her balance.
“I’m so stupid. I always feel like I want to talk face-to-face with people. This is what I get for being too polite.”
“We need to get you home. Some ice to take the swelling down and something for the pain is about all you’re going to be doing today.”
Sara throws her arm around me and starts walking toward her house. “This is going to kill my running for at least a week, if not more. Damnit! I’m going to have to miss work too.”
As we slowly walk down the street back toward her road, I try to be supportive. “Maybe only for a few days. It might not be too bad. You’re in very good shape. I bet you heal pretty quickly.”
Turning her head to face me, her mouth is only inches away and she smiles. “That’s very nice of you to say. I hope you’re right. Today, though, I’m going to be out of commission. Thank God my air conditioning is working because if I had to stay in on a day like this without it, I’d die.”
And right there as she leans against me and I feel how frail she is without the use of her right leg, that’s when I decide today is the day Sara dies.
“Thank God for that is right. Nothing like being immobilized and boiling in a hot house. Are you sure you can walk? I can carry you, if you like.”
I can tell by the look in her eyes that she thinks I’m hitting on her. That’s the last thing on my mind right now. Seeing how much she weighs so I can figure out if her injured right ankle will be enough to make it possible for me to do what I want is all I care about.
“I’m good, but thanks, Adam. You’re a real lifesaver, you know that?”
If she only knew.
13
After gettingSara all settled on her couch with a large glass of iced tea and her remote for the TV, I make my way back to my neighborhood, happy to be done with my experiment with running. Now I know I’m not an athlete.
Not that I didn’t grasp that before this, but now it’s for sure.
As I approach my house, Aaron walks out his front door and stops dead when he sees me. What is with this guy? I get the whole mourning widower act, but why does he have to behave like he’s a man possessed?
I give him a slight nod to be polite and hurry up my sidewalk to my front door, hoping to avoid any conversation with him today. I’m aching from head to toe. The last thing I need this morning is some creepy chat with my weird next-door-neighbor.
Unfortunately, I’m not fast enough, and he catches up to me just as I jam my key into the doorknob. I sense him standing behind me, so I turn my head and force a smile, hoping that will be enough.