The Good Neighbor - Bettes Kimberley A. - Страница 7

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I stopped myself before that line of thought went too far.

I decided to turn in for the night. I didn’t figure sleep would come easily, but I was prepared to try. I made my way upstairs slowly, preoccupied with thoughts of the single mother. I brushed my teeth, wondering if she was doing the same. I used the restroom and washed my hands. I stripped down to my underwear, wondering what she wore to bed. Then, I slid under the covers, trying to guess what side of the bed she slept on.

I lay awake, thinking. Carla and Jill were both right. I had to move on. It was time. I took my wedding ring off and laid it on my nightstand. I knew it was only a figment of my imagination, but my hand felt lighter. I flexed the fingers of my left hand to determine if taking off the ring really had made such a difference. I couldn’t be sure.

I touched the groove the ring left behind with the fingers of my right hand and wondered if there would ever again be a ring there. It was hard to imagine anyone else ever placing a ring on my finger while the memory of Holly doing so was deeply engraved on my mind.

I pushed thoughts of Holly from my head. The time for thinking of her was over. She’d had her time in my life. She’d thrown it away. It was time to think of someone else, someone with whom I could have a future, not a past.

I fell asleep thinking of Carla.

The next morning, I awoke with more energy than I had in a while. I felt younger, more alive. I knew there were only two reasons for this change. The first reason was my decision to push forward with my life. I had turned the last page on the final chapter in the book that was my life with Holly. That story had ended. Now I was turning the first page of the first chapter in a story that would hopefully have a happy ending. It was the story of my life with Carla, the reason for my newfound energy and youthful feeling. It truly did feel like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I didn’t feel as though I were walking down the stairs, but floating down them.

I whistled while I made toast. After breakfast, I headed to the porch. It was no longer because I hated being inside my house, trapped with the memories of Holly. It was out of habit more than anything. Also, from my porch, I could see Carla’s house.

I sat in my chair just as Andy was pulling in his driveway. I knew there would be no escaping a visit from him this morning. He’d had all night to come up more questions.

As I’d predicted, he came over and plopped in the chair beside me.

“Clouds are bright this morning, huh?” I asked, indicating the dark shades he wore in spite of the heavy clouds that hung low in the sky.

He took them off, folded them, and hooked them in the neck of his t-shirt where they hung down his chest. He laughed. “I forgot I had those on.”

I looked at him, clearly puzzled. “But why did you put them on at all? It’s been cloudy all morning.”

Without looking at me, he said, “I had a headache. The light made it worse. Has Jenson been out this morning?”

“I haven’t seen him.”

We both sat staring at Jenson’s house without speaking. I didn’t know what was going on in his head, but in mine, I kept thinking of how weird it was to see someone wearing sunglasses on a cloudy day. It was as weird as wearing them at night.

The sound of children playing caused me to turn my attention to Carla’s house, which Andy didn’t fail to notice.

“You going to her place later?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. If she wants me to.”

He laughed. “Of course she wants you to, man.”

“You don’t know that. Besides, I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

“Well, if you don’t get in there, Bernie will. And he’ll wear out more than just his welcome, if you know what I mean.”

“God, Andy. You kiss your wife with that mouth?” I teased.

“Yeah, and she begs me for more.” He laughed, heartily. I shook my head, embarrassed.

It was then that Jenson came outside, again dragging an apparently heavy large, black trash bag. We watched him in silence for a while. He seemed to not notice he was being watched. Or he simply didn’t care that he had an audience.

He wore a dark brown cardigan and tan slacks, cuffed above a pair of worn brown loafers. His wispy white hair blew in the breeze as he slowly made his way down the steps and across the lawn to his car. One hand still holding onto the bag, he fished a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocked the trunk. It was all he could do to hoist the bag off the ground and wrestle it into the trunk. Once the bag was safely inside and the lid closed, he rested his hands on the back of the car, clearly taking a moment to catch his breath. He then shuffled his way to the front of the car. He got in the driver’s seat and moments later, he slowly backed out of the driveway and drove away.

Andy and I looked at each other.

“What the hell is in those bags?” Andy asked. I could only shake my head. “They’re always heavy. How can one old man have such heavy trash?”

“Maybe it’s not that the trash is heavy,” I suggested.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s old. Maybe he’s just weak.”

Andy thought about that for a moment. “Why doesn’t he use smaller bags so he won’t have to struggle so much? He doesn’t struggle with his white bags.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe his trash won’t fit in a smaller bag.”

“He’s a little old man who lives alone. How much trash could he possibly accumulate in one week? What could he have over there – some soup cans, maybe some bread wrappers or something? Light stuff. But he’s always carrying out these enormous bags, filled with something so heavy, it’s a struggle for him. I don’t get it.”

We paused to ponder the mystery.

“How often does he take out a bag?” I asked, trying to solve the puzzle.

Andy snorted, “You know more than I do. You’re out here all the time.”

That was true. I tried to remember if I’d noticed a pattern in the days Jenson took the bags to wherever he took them. I was coming up empty. After a year of sitting on a porch directly across the street, a year of watching him, I hadn’t really paid any attention to him. Sure, I’d seen him. I’d noticed him enough at the time to talk to Andy about it. But I hadn’t noticed enough to recollect anything. No patterns were clear in my mind. I only knew a lot of heavy black bags had came out of his house, been put in his trunk, and been driven away.

We sat on the porch for another hour or so before Jenson came back. We watched in silence again as he made his way out of the car and into the house.

“I’m dying to know what he’s doing,” Andy said in frustration. “We need to keep track of what days he does this, see if we can figure out a pattern or a schedule.” He stood to leave. “And, hey, think about what I said before about us following him once. I’m starting to lose sleep wondering what’s going on.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Yeah, that’s what Dahmer’s neighbors thought too.”

Andy wasn’t going to let this rest until we knew what Jenson was doing. As I realized this, I sighed deeply and went in to mark the calendar that hung in the kitchen. I simply put the letter j on today’s square. I wondered how long I’d have to do this, how many j’s would be on this calendar before a pattern emerged. What if a pattern never emerged? What if it was all random? Well, I knew the answer to that. Andy would make me follow Jenson one day. I shuddered at the thought of stalking an old man.

After grabbing a soda from the refrigerator, I returned to the porch, where I quickly saw I wasn’t alone.

6 Owen

“Were you two watching Mr. Jenson?” she asked, occupying the seat Andy had just vacated.

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