A High-End Finish(32)
“Yeah, that’s the one I go to.”
“I just joined last week and I thought I saw you driving out of the parking lot a few nights ago.”
“Probably so,” I said. “It’s a nice facility.”
“Do you want to meet there sometime and work out together? We can spot each other.”
I thought about it. I could never get my friends to go with me. Penny was new in town and probably didn’t know a lot of people, so I was happy to say yes. “That sounds great.”
“I usually go after work on Tuesdays and Thursdays and Sunday mornings.”
“Okay, I’ll try to be there Tuesday afternoon. About five?”
“Wonderful,” she said. “I’ll see you there.”
? ? ?
When I arrived home, Wendell Jarvick’s car was parked in my driveway. For the fourth day in a row! My shoulders stiffened instantly. I was so sick of him and there was nothing I could do to get rid of him. At least I wasn’t alone in my feelings. There wasn’t a hotel in town that would give him a room.
He had complained about Robbie barking at him, but who could blame the little dog? I’d seen Wendell glaring at poor Robbie and I wouldn’t put it past Mr. Dog Hater to try to kick my little guy when I wasn’t around.
I’d had to laugh, though, when I saw Tiger approach Wendell and start winding her way around his ankles, tripping him up as he was walking to the stairs. Wendell began to swear at the cat, who dashed away. By the time Wendell reached the top of the stairs, he was sneezing loudly. My Tiger knew exactly whom she was dealing with.
Maybe on a world-hunger scale, it was no big deal that Wendell’s car was blocking my access to the garage. But in my little world, he was a major pain, deliberately obtuse and disrespectful. Not only to me, but to my father. And my animals. And half the people in town. I thought back to that scene with Whitney and wondered what would’ve happened if Tommy hadn’t stopped her from strangling the man.
Before I lost my nerve, I decided to confront the passive-aggressive jerk.
I just wished Dad hadn’t left to go fishing with Uncle Pete, so he could park his gigantic RV right behind Wendell’s car, blocking him in. That would get Wendell’s shorts in a twist.
I ran upstairs and knocked on his door, but there was no answer. It was early afternoon, so he was probably out having lunch somewhere. Or perhaps he was off annoying some shopkeeper in town. I decided to watch and wait until I saw him arrive. I’d forgotten to check the mail the day before, so I walked out to the mailbox and that’s when I saw him strolling up the sidewalk without a care in the world.
“Hello, Wendell,” I said with forced cheerfulness. “Now that you’re home, you can move your car.”
His face scrunched up and I could tell he was insulted by the demand. “I refuse to allow you to treat me this way. It’s not right to ask a guest in your home to park on the street.”
Aggravated, I clamped my teeth together so tightly, I had to wonder if I was wearing out the enamel. “Technically, you’re not a guest—you’re a tenant. You’re renting a room from me for two weeks and you’re bound by the contract you signed when you first made the arrangements.”
He sniffed at me. “There was nothing about assigned parking space in the contract.”
“Exactly my point. You’re not assigned a parking place so you can’t park here.”
“That’s a stupid argument.”
“This is private property.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my next-door neighbor Jesse walk out to check his mailbox. From twenty feet away, he asked, “Everything okay here, Shannon?”
“Everything’s just great, Jesse.”
Then Mrs. Higgins from across the street toddled down her walkway and stood at her picket fence to watch. Mrs. Higgins was in her late seventies and hardly ever left her property, yet she always seemed to know everything that was going on in town. By osmosis, maybe?
The two senior citizens had the biggest ears in Lighthouse Cove. I should’ve lowered my voice, but I was so angry, I no longer cared who heard me.
I turned back to Wendell. “I’m asking you nicely to move your car, so please do it now or leave my premises.”
“I don’t know why you’re complaining,” he said, shifting his shoulders for emphasis. “At least my car looks good. Better than that hideous truck you drive.”
Okay, now he was just being nasty. My truck was in perfect condition, and I washed it regularly.
I could feel my nostrils flaring like those of a bull about to attack. “I don’t care what you think of my truck. It’s my truck and I’ll park it in my driveway whenever I want to.”
“Whatever.” He brushed me off with a sweep of his hand. “I’m going to go take a nap.”
“Don’t you walk away from me.” I could feel my blood pressure spike and I shouted, “You are not authorized to park on my property. If you don’t move your car this instant, I’ll have it towed.”
He whipped around. “You tow it and I’ll sue you.”
He would sue me? He couldn’t sue me, could he? Did I care?
He reached the garage and walked haughtily up the stairs. His chin was stuck up in the air like that of some pissy six-year-old pretending to ignore me.