2017 SmatchUp, “Four O'clock at the Dollar Store”
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“Abandonment” Starter: Nona Smith Finisher: Notty Bumbo
“A Sanctuary” Starter: Linda Perry Finisher: Priscilla Comen
“Dilemmas” Starter: Robyn Koski Finisher: Susan Lundgren
“Elves of Aisle Eight” Starter: Les Cizek Finisher: Notty Bumbo
“Four O'clock at the Dollar Store” Starter: Leslie Wahlquist Finisher: Amie McGee
“Greetings From a New Life” Starter: Sharon Bowers Finisher: Barry Bryan
“Growing Things” Starter: Donald Shephard Finisher: Sharon Gilligan
“Just a Word” Starter: Doug Fortier Finisher: Nona Smith
“Reality” Starter: Jasmine Norris Finisher: Kelly Daoust
“Saturday's Sundae” Starter: Patty Joslyn Finisher: Chrissy Sullivan
“A Sanctuary” Starter: Linda Perry Finisher: Priscilla Comen
“Dilemmas” Starter: Robyn Koski Finisher: Susan Lundgren
“Elves of Aisle Eight” Starter: Les Cizek Finisher: Notty Bumbo
“Four O'clock at the Dollar Store” Starter: Leslie Wahlquist Finisher: Amie McGee
“Greetings From a New Life” Starter: Sharon Bowers Finisher: Barry Bryan
“Growing Things” Starter: Donald Shephard Finisher: Sharon Gilligan
“Just a Word” Starter: Doug Fortier Finisher: Nona Smith
“Reality” Starter: Jasmine Norris Finisher: Kelly Daoust
“Saturday's Sundae” Starter: Patty Joslyn Finisher: Chrissy Sullivan
“Abandonment”
Starter: Nona Smith
Finisher: Notty Bumbo
Starter: Nona Smith
Finisher: Notty Bumbo
It wasn’t there…and then it was. By the time we returned from grocery shopping, buff-looking men were loading our neighbors’ household possessions into a moving van. Dean and I exchanged questioning glances.
“Do you know anything about this?”
I shrugged. “No more than you do.”
In the five years the Grants lived next door to us, we may have exchanged two hundred words. I could be exaggerating; it might have been less. Same with the neighbors who lived on their other side. To say they were “private people” would be understating the situation. What little we knew about the couple, we gleaned from observation.
Mr. Grant tinkered on weekends. Believing his open garage door an invitation to drop in, the men in the neighborhood did. He greeted them––if a curt nod could be considered that––with oblique answers to their questions about what he was working on. “Just tinkering,” he said, in that nasal voice that made it sound like he had a perpetual cold. The men didn’t return.
Mrs. Grant, an avid gardener specializing in cabbage roses, was no more cordial. We often observed her in their front yard, trowel in hand, knees cushioned on a kneeling pad, whispering to her pink beauties. At first, we called out, “Lovely roses you’ve grown there.”
“Yes,” she answered, not looking up and never once offering us a clipping or even a whiff.
We stood at our living room window and watched the Grants’ household possessions disappear inside the van. We weren’t saddened by their leave-taking so much as surprised and idly curious. Where were they going? And why?
After a while, Dean left the window to unpack the groceries. But I stayed behind, continuing my lookout until the truck pulled away from the curb, followed by the Grants in their late model Honda.
Then a thought struck and I cried out. “Oh, dear!” I felt genuinely dismayed.
Dean came to check on me. “What’s wrong?”
“She left her roses behind.” I felt close to tears.
Dean made a tsking noise and shook his head. “Well, what was she supposed to do, dig them up and take them with her?”
“No,” I admitted. “But she seemed so…attached to them.”
“They’re flowers.” Dean said. “It’s not like she abandoned children.”
Standing at our window and looking across at Mrs. Grant’s beautiful roses, we didn’t yet know how prophetic our conversation would be.
*
Several months went by before the For Sale signs appeared, though we found it strange the realty folks weren’t doing anything about the now-overgrown lawn and bushes. The house looked quite lovely otherwise, and the insides must have appealed, as the ultimate buyer closed on the deal in less than a month. We were the first neighbors to greet them on the day they moved in.
Bill and Mary had two grown children, with three grandkids in tow. We offered to help them get their landscaping squared away as a welcome gift. They were pleased at the offer, and the next week, we jumped right to work.
Dean handled the lawn, and the shrub pruning, and I went to work on the roses. I was a bit shocked at first at the size of the flowers, I had never seen roses quite so – formidable. And their musty smell was not the usual rose smell my own produced. I had to approach their pruning with care – they seemed almost hungry for attention. Dean scoffed at this when I mentioned it to him, but I showed him how much water they took up, as though they were growing atop a cavern impossible to fill.
Dean attempted to cut a couple of stems, to take into the new owner’s house, he said. It was as though the roses were a living animal. An adjoining stem suddenly whipped down and sliced multiple deep scratches in Dean’s arm! He jumped back, grabbing at his wounds with a cry. And as he fell backwards to the lawn, I saw the entire bush as well as the immediately adjoin bushes begin to writhe in a sort of aggressive agitation.
“What the hell was that”, Dean squawked?
“I have no idea! What, why…”? Suddenly, I recalled our conversation about the roses just after the Grant’s had driven away. “You don’t think…” I began.
“You mean that comparison to … children?
“Of course. But these roses must be some type of hybrid, I don’t remember seeing this variety in any of the books.”
“Well, I can tell you there is no type of rose anywhere that actually attacks someone!”
Then, we both felt the vibration at the same time, seeming to come from directly beneath our feet. It caused us to jump backwards, both fear and amazement mingling on our faces.
“Now what” Dean shouted?
“Look,” I yelled, pointing at the earth directly in front of the roses.
The ground began to fissure and open. One of the rose bushes began writhing again, and while we watched, began to slip into the ground! Within minutes, the entire area encompassing the roses had collapsed inward, forcing us to move further back. The collapse continued for several minutes, until there was a wide hole about six or seven feet deep and nearly fifteen feet across. All of the roses and several other bushes were tangled in the bottom, water swirling the muddy soil. At their center, thrown atop one another in a tumble, lay six medium wood boxes, all cracking open and rotting. One had broken fully open, and we stepped forward to peer into the hole, trying to see what lay within. Dean let out a gasp.
“Are those…?” He choked, unable to continue his question.
But I saw them, too, and I began to laugh. The laugh became a roar, and soon, we were both on the ground, unable to contain the screams of hilarity. The new owners came out to learn what the commotion was, and after we pointed out the boxes lying in the hole, they were laughing as hard as we were.
Mary finally calmed down enough to make the pronouncement. “Who would be crazy enough to bury boxes of Cabbage Patch Kids under their roses?”
Not one of us had an answer.
“Do you know anything about this?”
I shrugged. “No more than you do.”
In the five years the Grants lived next door to us, we may have exchanged two hundred words. I could be exaggerating; it might have been less. Same with the neighbors who lived on their other side. To say they were “private people” would be understating the situation. What little we knew about the couple, we gleaned from observation.
Mr. Grant tinkered on weekends. Believing his open garage door an invitation to drop in, the men in the neighborhood did. He greeted them––if a curt nod could be considered that––with oblique answers to their questions about what he was working on. “Just tinkering,” he said, in that nasal voice that made it sound like he had a perpetual cold. The men didn’t return.
Mrs. Grant, an avid gardener specializing in cabbage roses, was no more cordial. We often observed her in their front yard, trowel in hand, knees cushioned on a kneeling pad, whispering to her pink beauties. At first, we called out, “Lovely roses you’ve grown there.”
“Yes,” she answered, not looking up and never once offering us a clipping or even a whiff.
We stood at our living room window and watched the Grants’ household possessions disappear inside the van. We weren’t saddened by their leave-taking so much as surprised and idly curious. Where were they going? And why?
After a while, Dean left the window to unpack the groceries. But I stayed behind, continuing my lookout until the truck pulled away from the curb, followed by the Grants in their late model Honda.
Then a thought struck and I cried out. “Oh, dear!” I felt genuinely dismayed.
Dean came to check on me. “What’s wrong?”
“She left her roses behind.” I felt close to tears.
Dean made a tsking noise and shook his head. “Well, what was she supposed to do, dig them up and take them with her?”
“No,” I admitted. “But she seemed so…attached to them.”
“They’re flowers.” Dean said. “It’s not like she abandoned children.”
Standing at our window and looking across at Mrs. Grant’s beautiful roses, we didn’t yet know how prophetic our conversation would be.
*
Several months went by before the For Sale signs appeared, though we found it strange the realty folks weren’t doing anything about the now-overgrown lawn and bushes. The house looked quite lovely otherwise, and the insides must have appealed, as the ultimate buyer closed on the deal in less than a month. We were the first neighbors to greet them on the day they moved in.
Bill and Mary had two grown children, with three grandkids in tow. We offered to help them get their landscaping squared away as a welcome gift. They were pleased at the offer, and the next week, we jumped right to work.
Dean handled the lawn, and the shrub pruning, and I went to work on the roses. I was a bit shocked at first at the size of the flowers, I had never seen roses quite so – formidable. And their musty smell was not the usual rose smell my own produced. I had to approach their pruning with care – they seemed almost hungry for attention. Dean scoffed at this when I mentioned it to him, but I showed him how much water they took up, as though they were growing atop a cavern impossible to fill.
Dean attempted to cut a couple of stems, to take into the new owner’s house, he said. It was as though the roses were a living animal. An adjoining stem suddenly whipped down and sliced multiple deep scratches in Dean’s arm! He jumped back, grabbing at his wounds with a cry. And as he fell backwards to the lawn, I saw the entire bush as well as the immediately adjoin bushes begin to writhe in a sort of aggressive agitation.
“What the hell was that”, Dean squawked?
“I have no idea! What, why…”? Suddenly, I recalled our conversation about the roses just after the Grant’s had driven away. “You don’t think…” I began.
“You mean that comparison to … children?
“Of course. But these roses must be some type of hybrid, I don’t remember seeing this variety in any of the books.”
“Well, I can tell you there is no type of rose anywhere that actually attacks someone!”
Then, we both felt the vibration at the same time, seeming to come from directly beneath our feet. It caused us to jump backwards, both fear and amazement mingling on our faces.
“Now what” Dean shouted?
“Look,” I yelled, pointing at the earth directly in front of the roses.
The ground began to fissure and open. One of the rose bushes began writhing again, and while we watched, began to slip into the ground! Within minutes, the entire area encompassing the roses had collapsed inward, forcing us to move further back. The collapse continued for several minutes, until there was a wide hole about six or seven feet deep and nearly fifteen feet across. All of the roses and several other bushes were tangled in the bottom, water swirling the muddy soil. At their center, thrown atop one another in a tumble, lay six medium wood boxes, all cracking open and rotting. One had broken fully open, and we stepped forward to peer into the hole, trying to see what lay within. Dean let out a gasp.
“Are those…?” He choked, unable to continue his question.
But I saw them, too, and I began to laugh. The laugh became a roar, and soon, we were both on the ground, unable to contain the screams of hilarity. The new owners came out to learn what the commotion was, and after we pointed out the boxes lying in the hole, they were laughing as hard as we were.
Mary finally calmed down enough to make the pronouncement. “Who would be crazy enough to bury boxes of Cabbage Patch Kids under their roses?”
Not one of us had an answer.
“All The World is Crazy Except Me and Thee and I Have My Doubts About Thee”
Starter: Harriet Gleeson
Finisher: Donald Shephard
Starter: Harriet Gleeson
Finisher: Donald Shephard
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The woman next door and I
were neighbor-friendly our over-the-back-fence talk peaceful I could listen polite but non-committal to concerns about threatening aliens government conspiracies deadly contrails then a community wireless network was installed and announced nearby and the woman next door developed symptoms related she said to the network thinking to ease her fears I told her we have had a home network for two years right next door to you I should not have said that to the woman next door * she raised the fence and bolted the gate on her side no more neighborly chats to listen to her rants liberals taking over our country flooding it with immigrants I am one and suffer from invisible rays penetrating my head my network therapist tells me my symptoms are real issues real to me so really real and have been for two years ever since the woman next door moved in gossiped and disturbed my peace of mind the last piece of my mind to go I should have told her not to get me started on tourists flashing knobby knees invading our space from outer space or conspiracy theories about coffee shade grown, fair traded gluten free picked by cat-loving left handed redheads oh sure that’s real my network Swami asked yesterday why I live so far off the grid off the beaten track with no neighbors or woman next door for at least five miles |
“At Least for Tonight”
Starter: Kelly Daoust
Finisher: Nancy Wallace Nelson
Starter: Kelly Daoust
Finisher: Nancy Wallace Nelson
I’m a couple beers into this decision as I walk up to the neighbor’s front door. My lightly coiled fist pauses, as if it has a mind of its own, but I force it the rest of the way and lightly rap on the leaded glass of the door.
“Hi,” Her brow creased for a second and she turned to silence the dogs, “Tyrian, Daenerys, Floki, quiet please.”
I commented over the din, “I think you got your shows mixed up,” I winked at her with a sly grin.
The stumpy corgi dogs didn’t give her request a second thought. She gave me a frustrated expression, “Sorry, just a second, I gotta enforce some discipline.” She began shushing them with a butt spank to enforce. Her back was to me, and I could tell she was trying for levity, “Yeah, Floki is mine, but I love their names.” She scurried after one of them, and called over her shoulder, “This one is officially named, Daenerys Storm born Queen of Corgans,” and her infectious laugh rang out from around the corner. She returned with a frustrated huff, but they’d all finally stopped. All three peered at me from behind her legs. One of them gave a pretend bark.
“I guess he’s getting in the last word,” I joked.
She rolled her eyes, “Yeah, that’s Floki. He’s all Viking for sure. Stubborn little boy.” She wrinkled her nose, “I’m so sorry. What can I help you with? I am just the pet-sitter, which you must know,” and she again apologized.
“Um,” my words caught in my throat, and she patiently blinked, “Yeah, party on Friday. My place. Inviting the entire neighborhood,” I internally cringed at my staccato delivery.
She shrugged, “That’s nice of you to include me. I will be here through the weekend. Which house is yours?”
I pointed to the one directly north, and next door. Hopefully she didn’t notice me dry my palm on my jeans.
She shrugged again, but I thought it was cute, “Yeah sure, I might pop over. Can I bring something? BYOB? What time?”
“No, everything will be provided. Even live music. Gonna Barbeque some burgers. Plenty of beer. Smoke and edibles if you wanna partake.”
She cracked a half smile, “That sounds awesome. I rarely say no to free food and um,” Her cheeks tinted, “Yeah, I will partake, sounds really fun.” She fluttered her lashes and added, “Especially since I won’t have to drive.” She changed the weight on her feet and stretched out her hand, “I’m Kimberly by the way.”
“I’ll make sure you can make it home, even if it’s sketchy.” I met her outstretched hand with mine, and a shiver ran through me at first contact, “Joe.”
She smiled again, “Well Joe from next door, nice to meet you! See you in a couple days.”
I nodded, still at a loss for words. Clearing my throat, “It all starts at six by the way.”
“Barring an apocalyptic event, I’ll be there. Thanks again.” She gently closed the door and I could hear her thanking the dogs for being so good.
I couldn’t stop smiling as I strolled home. I was giddy with anticipation. After all this time, I finally met her. The mysterious red-headed, pet-sitter next door. My neighbors had traveled more-often since hiring her, which delighted me. I’d watched her whenever I could. She intrigued me to no end, and I’d grown desperate to meet her. When I’d seen her pull in this morning, my heart had thumped, and my entire body tingled.
I’d tempted myself a million times before, just go meet her, be neighborly, but I’d never grown the legs to make the journey.
*
Visualizing Kimberly at my party, the distance home was short and sweet. When I walked up into my sun porch, I saw things through HER eyes, and made notes for improvement. Move the rattan furniture to more relaxed angles, brighten the pillows, and definitely get some new leafy plants. As I stood on the porch hidden from the street, I heard a car door, and looked out to see Kimberly in yoga clothes getting into her car. “Damn, do all women in their 50’s do yoga these days?” I muttered. Yoga is what Alicia got into as she left me for younger, yoga dude Bill, and then divorced me a year and a half ago. I know I’ve regressed to the bookish geek I was when Alicia was my student nine years ago, and we rescued each other – from my sexless isolation and her abusive first marriage. I’ve had only two disastrous “dates” since the divorce, but now I have hopes for sweet, dog-loving Kimberley, with her cute behind. The next two days passed in a happy blur, as I shopped and cleaned and decided what jeans looked best. True to his word, my neighbor and golfing buddy Sam arrived first to help me with nerves and last-minute prep. “I still say not to get your hopes up, Joe. We don’t know much about good ol’ Kim yet.” Wise words, but I was soaring with juicy anticipation when she finally came to the door. “I know you said not to bring anything, but I love to cook, so I made a lemon bundt cake in case anyone needs sweets after the, you know, ‘edibles.’” “Thanks, Kimberley,” I said, “let’s put it over here,” as I ushered her back to the food table. “And tell me what I can get you to drink.” Just as she was starting to say “Vodka and….” I heard my ex. “Kimberley, my fabulous yoga teacher. What on earth brings you here?” “Oh, Ali, I could ask the same of you. I’m dog sitting for the Davidsons next door, and Joe invited me over.” “Well, I’m Joe’s ex. I know he thought I’d be coming with Bill, but you know he’s moved on to a younger yoga model. Third time was NOT the charm, and I’m done with men.” Oh, God, I thought, what in the hell do I respond to that. I’d only invited Ali, because I thought by now I’d get to see troubles with Bill, but I’d had no idea the troubles were that bad. “Well, Alicia, I’m sure the neighbors would love to talk to you,” I said, and I almost shoved her toward the MacDonalds out on the lawn. I turned to finish Kimberley’s drink. “It seems you still have lots of hostility toward Ali,” she said. “Maybe it would be more peaceful if I just went home.” DAMN I wanted to scream. “Oh no,” I said. “I’m just surprised. When I invited them, she didn’t tell me she wasn’t with Bill anymore. Please let’s forget them. I’d enjoy it if you would stay longer, eat something, and maybe dance and partake. I can walk you home anytime you’re ready.” So Kimberley agreed to a plate of food, and several drinks, and then a few puffs. But before I could get into a cozy dance, damn it if Alicia didn’t reappear. “So, Kimberley, I want you to know I acted on your suggestion to take Jennifer’s women’s studies class over at the JC. You’re right, it’s fantastic, especially on the heels of this break-up with Bill. My eyes are opening, as they say.” “I’m glad, Ali, and I have several books I can lend you. In fact, I may have two of them with me here at the Davidsons’, replied Kimberly.” “Great, replied Alicia, “I could walk home with you and get them tonight.” And damn, if within minutes, both women had not started out the door. “Thank you, Joe,” said Kimberley. “I’m sure I’ll see you before I leave.” I couldn’t help it, I stood transfixed and numb on the sun porch, as they walked next door, and Kimberley put her arm around Alicia as they neared the front door. Sam moved toward me, and said, “Sorry, dude, I know you had hopes for sweet Ms. Kimberly, but it just doesn’t seem women need us much anymore.” “Well, at least you still have Janet,“ I said. “For tonight anyway, though probably not for much action,” Sam muttered. “I just learned she’s also enrolled in that women’s studies class. And last Monday she signed up for Kimberley’s yoga class.”
“Hi,” Her brow creased for a second and she turned to silence the dogs, “Tyrian, Daenerys, Floki, quiet please.”
I commented over the din, “I think you got your shows mixed up,” I winked at her with a sly grin.
The stumpy corgi dogs didn’t give her request a second thought. She gave me a frustrated expression, “Sorry, just a second, I gotta enforce some discipline.” She began shushing them with a butt spank to enforce. Her back was to me, and I could tell she was trying for levity, “Yeah, Floki is mine, but I love their names.” She scurried after one of them, and called over her shoulder, “This one is officially named, Daenerys Storm born Queen of Corgans,” and her infectious laugh rang out from around the corner. She returned with a frustrated huff, but they’d all finally stopped. All three peered at me from behind her legs. One of them gave a pretend bark.
“I guess he’s getting in the last word,” I joked.
She rolled her eyes, “Yeah, that’s Floki. He’s all Viking for sure. Stubborn little boy.” She wrinkled her nose, “I’m so sorry. What can I help you with? I am just the pet-sitter, which you must know,” and she again apologized.
“Um,” my words caught in my throat, and she patiently blinked, “Yeah, party on Friday. My place. Inviting the entire neighborhood,” I internally cringed at my staccato delivery.
She shrugged, “That’s nice of you to include me. I will be here through the weekend. Which house is yours?”
I pointed to the one directly north, and next door. Hopefully she didn’t notice me dry my palm on my jeans.
She shrugged again, but I thought it was cute, “Yeah sure, I might pop over. Can I bring something? BYOB? What time?”
“No, everything will be provided. Even live music. Gonna Barbeque some burgers. Plenty of beer. Smoke and edibles if you wanna partake.”
She cracked a half smile, “That sounds awesome. I rarely say no to free food and um,” Her cheeks tinted, “Yeah, I will partake, sounds really fun.” She fluttered her lashes and added, “Especially since I won’t have to drive.” She changed the weight on her feet and stretched out her hand, “I’m Kimberly by the way.”
“I’ll make sure you can make it home, even if it’s sketchy.” I met her outstretched hand with mine, and a shiver ran through me at first contact, “Joe.”
She smiled again, “Well Joe from next door, nice to meet you! See you in a couple days.”
I nodded, still at a loss for words. Clearing my throat, “It all starts at six by the way.”
“Barring an apocalyptic event, I’ll be there. Thanks again.” She gently closed the door and I could hear her thanking the dogs for being so good.
I couldn’t stop smiling as I strolled home. I was giddy with anticipation. After all this time, I finally met her. The mysterious red-headed, pet-sitter next door. My neighbors had traveled more-often since hiring her, which delighted me. I’d watched her whenever I could. She intrigued me to no end, and I’d grown desperate to meet her. When I’d seen her pull in this morning, my heart had thumped, and my entire body tingled.
I’d tempted myself a million times before, just go meet her, be neighborly, but I’d never grown the legs to make the journey.
*
Visualizing Kimberly at my party, the distance home was short and sweet. When I walked up into my sun porch, I saw things through HER eyes, and made notes for improvement. Move the rattan furniture to more relaxed angles, brighten the pillows, and definitely get some new leafy plants. As I stood on the porch hidden from the street, I heard a car door, and looked out to see Kimberly in yoga clothes getting into her car. “Damn, do all women in their 50’s do yoga these days?” I muttered. Yoga is what Alicia got into as she left me for younger, yoga dude Bill, and then divorced me a year and a half ago. I know I’ve regressed to the bookish geek I was when Alicia was my student nine years ago, and we rescued each other – from my sexless isolation and her abusive first marriage. I’ve had only two disastrous “dates” since the divorce, but now I have hopes for sweet, dog-loving Kimberley, with her cute behind. The next two days passed in a happy blur, as I shopped and cleaned and decided what jeans looked best. True to his word, my neighbor and golfing buddy Sam arrived first to help me with nerves and last-minute prep. “I still say not to get your hopes up, Joe. We don’t know much about good ol’ Kim yet.” Wise words, but I was soaring with juicy anticipation when she finally came to the door. “I know you said not to bring anything, but I love to cook, so I made a lemon bundt cake in case anyone needs sweets after the, you know, ‘edibles.’” “Thanks, Kimberley,” I said, “let’s put it over here,” as I ushered her back to the food table. “And tell me what I can get you to drink.” Just as she was starting to say “Vodka and….” I heard my ex. “Kimberley, my fabulous yoga teacher. What on earth brings you here?” “Oh, Ali, I could ask the same of you. I’m dog sitting for the Davidsons next door, and Joe invited me over.” “Well, I’m Joe’s ex. I know he thought I’d be coming with Bill, but you know he’s moved on to a younger yoga model. Third time was NOT the charm, and I’m done with men.” Oh, God, I thought, what in the hell do I respond to that. I’d only invited Ali, because I thought by now I’d get to see troubles with Bill, but I’d had no idea the troubles were that bad. “Well, Alicia, I’m sure the neighbors would love to talk to you,” I said, and I almost shoved her toward the MacDonalds out on the lawn. I turned to finish Kimberley’s drink. “It seems you still have lots of hostility toward Ali,” she said. “Maybe it would be more peaceful if I just went home.” DAMN I wanted to scream. “Oh no,” I said. “I’m just surprised. When I invited them, she didn’t tell me she wasn’t with Bill anymore. Please let’s forget them. I’d enjoy it if you would stay longer, eat something, and maybe dance and partake. I can walk you home anytime you’re ready.” So Kimberley agreed to a plate of food, and several drinks, and then a few puffs. But before I could get into a cozy dance, damn it if Alicia didn’t reappear. “So, Kimberley, I want you to know I acted on your suggestion to take Jennifer’s women’s studies class over at the JC. You’re right, it’s fantastic, especially on the heels of this break-up with Bill. My eyes are opening, as they say.” “I’m glad, Ali, and I have several books I can lend you. In fact, I may have two of them with me here at the Davidsons’, replied Kimberly.” “Great, replied Alicia, “I could walk home with you and get them tonight.” And damn, if within minutes, both women had not started out the door. “Thank you, Joe,” said Kimberley. “I’m sure I’ll see you before I leave.” I couldn’t help it, I stood transfixed and numb on the sun porch, as they walked next door, and Kimberley put her arm around Alicia as they neared the front door. Sam moved toward me, and said, “Sorry, dude, I know you had hopes for sweet Ms. Kimberly, but it just doesn’t seem women need us much anymore.” “Well, at least you still have Janet,“ I said. “For tonight anyway, though probably not for much action,” Sam muttered. “I just learned she’s also enrolled in that women’s studies class. And last Monday she signed up for Kimberley’s yoga class.”
“Curiosity Kils...Almost”
Starter: Cathy Hollenback
Finisher: Priscilla Comen
Starter: Cathy Hollenback
Finisher: Priscilla Comen
Jessie stood on the wooden bridge over the small babbling creek and listened to the hiss of water traveling over the rocks. She looked up at the two story narrow wood and stone house at the end of the long driveway. As always, it filled her with pleasure and childhood memories of growing up with her grandmother. The cows mooing in the pasture was her wake-up call in early mornings, the fragrant smell of roses, peony, lavender, and hyacinth that filled the house from the crystal vase on the Wedgewood table.
True, the place needed work and tender loving care: the porch boards needed replacing, the roof was a big problem, and not to mention the cleaning and restoration demanding attention. The house was nestled comfortably by rolling hills, thick woods, and the Blue Mountains. It was hers--all of it--with the passing of her grandmother.
Jessie walked towards the house; the morning sun cast shafts of light through the trees with hints of red and gold in the green leaves. She was home in Cedarville. It had been over five years. She left for the big city of New York to teach inner city kids but it hadn’t turned out the way she had wanted. There were too many rules, regulations, in addition to becoming the parent and counselor.
The next morning she drove into town and parked in front of the Sunbeam Country Store to pick up a few necessities. She burst through the door with bells jingling behind her.
“Hi!” The woman behind the counter grinned with recognition.
“Hi, Cassie, how are you?”
“I own the store now.” She swept her hand. “Do you like the changes?”
“Yes, I was just admiring the rustic decorations, and you have an expresso machine?”
“I’ll fix you one. It’s on the house.” She gestured at a seat. “Sit and we can catch up.”
Jessie sat down on the wooden bar stool next to the counter and waited. Cassie placed the latte in front of her in a mug and took the seat next to her.
“Are you back for good?”
“I am. There’s a lot of work to be done. I was thinking of redoing one of the barns and turning it into an antique shop and starting my own business.”
“How’s the latte?”
Jessie took a sip. “It’s good.”
“Well, speaking of antiques and money, do you remember the woman next door to your grandmother’s property?”
“Yes. Charlotte. Wealthy and travels a lot. I always loved her Colonial.”
“Well, here it is.” Cassie leaned in closer. “She disappeared a few years back, and no one knows what happened to her. It’s the talk of the town.” She studied Jessie’s face. “Aren’t you curious? You always did love a good mystery.”
*
“Of course I’m curious,” Jessie said. “And so are you, I know. Come on, let’s go check out that house and see if we can find any clues. I’ve been practicing my magic, and am anxious to try it.”
She didn’t have to say it twice. Cassie locked the store and put a note on the door. “back in ten minutes.” The two women grabbed hands and dashed across the field that separated the building from the mansion, as gleeful as when they were children. When they got to the house, they tip-toed around the outside, and found a window that was partially open, pushed it all the way, and climbed in. Jessie’s eyes widened. “Look at all the antiques,” she said. “This could be my shop.” Her fingers brushed away cobwebs and piles of beetle dust. The smell was awful. But possibilities were there.
A door opened in front of them. A man stood in the dining room. He was fuzzy around the edges and his features were unclear. He shimmered in the dark. “Come with me, my lovelies,” he said in a whisper. “I will fix you a delicious meal that will fill your stomachs and thrill your taste buds. First, you must rest.”
“Er, I’m not hungry, thank you.” Jessie was polite, not wanting to upset this proper man. He wore a black tuxedo, a bow tie, and stood straight as a statue. His eyes did not blink; one was glass, Jessie thought. Maybe both.
Cassie whispered to her friend. “He’s not real; he’s made of cloth, or something artificial.” As she spoke, the figure reached out his strong hands and dragged them into a bedroom filled with a dozen beds—or more—with women lying on each. The recognized Charlotte, the house’s owner, and others who had disappeared over the years. Jessie screamed. “It’s not our time yet.” She grabbed Cassie’s hand, muttered a few magic words, and floated with her out the open window. At the store again, Jessie said, “Curiosity almost killed us, but levitation brought us back.”
True, the place needed work and tender loving care: the porch boards needed replacing, the roof was a big problem, and not to mention the cleaning and restoration demanding attention. The house was nestled comfortably by rolling hills, thick woods, and the Blue Mountains. It was hers--all of it--with the passing of her grandmother.
Jessie walked towards the house; the morning sun cast shafts of light through the trees with hints of red and gold in the green leaves. She was home in Cedarville. It had been over five years. She left for the big city of New York to teach inner city kids but it hadn’t turned out the way she had wanted. There were too many rules, regulations, in addition to becoming the parent and counselor.
The next morning she drove into town and parked in front of the Sunbeam Country Store to pick up a few necessities. She burst through the door with bells jingling behind her.
“Hi!” The woman behind the counter grinned with recognition.
“Hi, Cassie, how are you?”
“I own the store now.” She swept her hand. “Do you like the changes?”
“Yes, I was just admiring the rustic decorations, and you have an expresso machine?”
“I’ll fix you one. It’s on the house.” She gestured at a seat. “Sit and we can catch up.”
Jessie sat down on the wooden bar stool next to the counter and waited. Cassie placed the latte in front of her in a mug and took the seat next to her.
“Are you back for good?”
“I am. There’s a lot of work to be done. I was thinking of redoing one of the barns and turning it into an antique shop and starting my own business.”
“How’s the latte?”
Jessie took a sip. “It’s good.”
“Well, speaking of antiques and money, do you remember the woman next door to your grandmother’s property?”
“Yes. Charlotte. Wealthy and travels a lot. I always loved her Colonial.”
“Well, here it is.” Cassie leaned in closer. “She disappeared a few years back, and no one knows what happened to her. It’s the talk of the town.” She studied Jessie’s face. “Aren’t you curious? You always did love a good mystery.”
*
“Of course I’m curious,” Jessie said. “And so are you, I know. Come on, let’s go check out that house and see if we can find any clues. I’ve been practicing my magic, and am anxious to try it.”
She didn’t have to say it twice. Cassie locked the store and put a note on the door. “back in ten minutes.” The two women grabbed hands and dashed across the field that separated the building from the mansion, as gleeful as when they were children. When they got to the house, they tip-toed around the outside, and found a window that was partially open, pushed it all the way, and climbed in. Jessie’s eyes widened. “Look at all the antiques,” she said. “This could be my shop.” Her fingers brushed away cobwebs and piles of beetle dust. The smell was awful. But possibilities were there.
A door opened in front of them. A man stood in the dining room. He was fuzzy around the edges and his features were unclear. He shimmered in the dark. “Come with me, my lovelies,” he said in a whisper. “I will fix you a delicious meal that will fill your stomachs and thrill your taste buds. First, you must rest.”
“Er, I’m not hungry, thank you.” Jessie was polite, not wanting to upset this proper man. He wore a black tuxedo, a bow tie, and stood straight as a statue. His eyes did not blink; one was glass, Jessie thought. Maybe both.
Cassie whispered to her friend. “He’s not real; he’s made of cloth, or something artificial.” As she spoke, the figure reached out his strong hands and dragged them into a bedroom filled with a dozen beds—or more—with women lying on each. The recognized Charlotte, the house’s owner, and others who had disappeared over the years. Jessie screamed. “It’s not our time yet.” She grabbed Cassie’s hand, muttered a few magic words, and floated with her out the open window. At the store again, Jessie said, “Curiosity almost killed us, but levitation brought us back.”
