Neighborly(39)

CHAPTER 13

“Maybe you could just put up the spice rack?” I say to Doug with a weary hope. If our house is more in order, literally, everything will feel manageable again. Once the spice rack is affixed to the wall, I’ll be able to at least put the spices in their proper place. That’s one more box I can break down, albeit a small one, and it’ll be easier to start cooking again. Cooking is a baby step toward making a house a home.

The kitchen is small and the oak cabinetry is dated, but it gets good light. Someday, I’d like to add a backsplash in a bright color, something befitting Crayola. But today, I’ll settle for the spice rack. And then tomorrow, Doug can build the kitchen cart to house our pots and pans. One foot in front of the other, one box at a time. Everything’s going to be fine. Sure, one person doesn’t seem to want me in the AV, but I’m wanted by everyone else. I’ve been invited to my second girls’ night out, and not just by one person. They’ve all texted me to make sure I’m coming. That means I’m going to be a regular at girls’ night. Andie never pulled that off.

And sure, Part C is missing. But that could be because the driver made a mistake and then lied to cover it up, like Doug said, or, if it was stolen, that only renders the whole note thing juvenile and harmless. Someone who steals particleboard is not someone to fear. It probably is Hope and her teenage friends. It could be some Goth initiation ritual, for all I know.

Doug is dancing around with Sadie, and she’s rewarding him with giggles. This is what I should focus on. This is real life.

“It’s the weekend,” I say. “Let’s make some progress on the house, and then we can go have fun.”

Doug does a little soft-shoe. “I’ve been cooped up all week in a cube. I need a break. I need to get out in the sunshine, pronto.”

“We’ll get out. But do one thing first.” I’m practically begging. “Just the spice rack or the bookshelf.”

“I’m the one who watched Sadie while you were out partying with your new friends last week. Doesn’t that count for anything? I mean, I did everything for her. You wouldn’t believe the size of her poop. I should be nominated for Father of the Year after cleaning that up.”

I know he’s kidding—he’s not one of those guys who’s never changed a diaper—but it rankles anyway. He watches Sadie by himself for one night and changes a poopy diaper, and he’s Father of the Year?

“Please, Doug,” I implore.

He stops moving and cocks his head. “Then we stroll Main Street? And for the rest of the day, not another word about building or installing or, heaven forbid, affixing?”

It’s the best deal I’m going to get.

A half hour later, the spice rack is up and we’re headed out with Sadie in her stroller. Doug is in high spirits. “I wish there was a boys’ night out,” he says. “Maybe I should start one myself. Vic seems cool. Oliver. Definitely Nolan.”

I wince. It’s visceral, my response to that name. Doug might as well be saying Layton. It’s a good thing that Andie doesn’t bring him up much. Come to think of it, open as she appears, she doesn’t actually share that much personal information about her home life at all.

“And Wyatt, for sure,” Doug says. “He’s awesome.”

Doug had been true to his word, knocking on Wyatt’s door and disappearing inside for more than an hour. Yet when Doug returned home, he was unusually succinct in describing their talk: yes, Wyatt was going to keep things confidential; no, he didn’t have any idea who the writer could be; yes, Wyatt would keep more of an eye on our house; no, there was no need to call the police.

“The thing is,” Doug told me, “the department wouldn’t do much in a case like this. There’s no one to issue a restraining order against, and they’re not really going to take a bunch of anonymous notes seriously.”

“The notes are threatening.”

“There’s no explicit threat. You wouldn’t believe how overt it has to be before the police will do anything. Wyatt told me some stories—” Seeing my face, he clams up. Then he says, “It’s going to be OK. Wyatt says whoever’s doing this will get tired. They’ll run out of steam.”

I hesitate. I want to believe that so badly, but then I remember Note #3: You thought we were done here?

“Wyatt knows how these kinds of people operate, Kat. He knows common harassment patterns. And an increased police presence as soon as the new neighbors arrive won’t exactly endear us to the block. He’s looking out for us, Kat. He’s a good person.”

“You’re sure he’s not going to tell anyone?”

“Positive. He said he won’t even mention it to Yolanda.”

If Wyatt thinks it’s no big deal, if the police see far worse all the time, then I should try to accept his assessment.

It suddenly strikes me that Wyatt’s wife is the only one who hasn’t texted me about girls’ night out. Yolanda is the only one who hasn’t regularly made it clear that she wants my friendship.

Now, as we stroll past the park en route to Main Street, the first people I see are Wyatt and Yolanda. It’s like when you’ve had a dream about someone and then you open your eyes and there they are. There’s a sense of unreality to the whole scene.