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Rude is the very indecent thoughts I’m having about my new neighbor and what I’d like to do to her without that tiny robe on. The way I talk is the last thing that she needs to be concerned with.
Stopping, I turn and glare at her one last time and then drop my eyes to her feet. Her feet that look damn near perfect with their red-painted toenails. She bunches them under my scrutiny and digs them into the dirt.
“Goldie, don’t forget to check for ticks.”
And with that, I’m gone.
4
CORA
Could last night have possibly been any more humiliating?
I know I’m new to this home owning, live in the mountains, and fend-for-myself lifestyle, but I certainly didn’t expect to meet my new neighbor under such horrible circumstances.
At least, I’m assuming he’s my neighbor. He didn’t answer my question, but only one other person lives up here on the mountainside. I also remember Ash and Clay talking about a guy named Briggs, so that must be him, the one they’re friends with. They seem to think he’s a stand-up guy, and while I can appreciate how he came over here with guns blazing, literally, to help someone he doesn’t know, his personality and his manners are severely lacking.
I can’t believe the way he spoke to me.
Someone he doesn’t know yet but ultimately will, considering we’re neighbors. And that question about where’s my husband, he has some nerve. Just replaying that conversation in my mind has my hackles rising.
And as it is, I’ve been waiting all morning for my friends to call and laugh. After all, if the situation had been reversed, I would have been on the phone with them immediately and told them about what had happened, just like I expected him to, but my phone hasn’t rung. Yet.
I mean, who does that guy think he is?
While I really do appreciate him racing over here to help me if I had needed it, the second he opened his mouth, he was either swearing at me or talking down to me as if I’m some idiot. I’m sorry, but no one talks to me this way and gets away with it.
And what is with calling me Goldie?
I’ll admit, I might have overreacted about the raccoons, but at the time, I didn’t know they were raccoons. It could have been a wild boar or a wolf. I also didn’t know about the ticks. Of all the times we’ve stayed at Emma’s, she’s never mentioned ticks, but you’d better believe the first thing I did last night was hit up the internet for research.
It turns out that ticks live in North Carolina year-round and are most prevalent now during late summer. Rashes, pain, fatigue, trouble thinking, Lyme disease—getting bit sounds horrible, and now I can’t help but wonder what else he knows that I don’t. Immediately, I ordered some permethrin spray for my clothes. I’m not going to be afraid of going outside. I just need to have my yard treated and have a set of standard outside clothes and boots that I slip on when heading out.
The question I have to ask myself now is do I do the right thing and go over there and thank him, or do I pretend last night never happened and ignore him?
Looking around my house, I settle on a recent ZZ plant that I propagated and potted. The plant is small, and the pot is white. It makes a perfect thank-you gift, as well as a perfect “hello, I’m your new neighbor” gift.
A lot of people don’t understand my love of plants, but that’s okay. They don’t need to.
When I was eight, my nanny and I were walking through the city when we came upon a farmers’ market. My mother never walked anywhere. We always took the car, even if we were only going a few blocks.
Both entrances of the block were closed, and there were so many people shopping that it was hard to see the white tents that lined both sides of the road. Of course I’d seen a market before, from the back seat of the car, but this was the first time I had ever visited one. There were vendors with produce, soaps, honey, artwork, jewelry, bread, orchids, and plants.
I don’t know why, but I was called to the plants. They were so pretty, and there were so many kinds, most of which were meant for city living. There were big plants, small plants, ones with big leaves, and others with leaves so small they were smaller than my fingernails. Some needed to be on a balcony or in a window with light, but others didn’t. Some let off herbaceous smells, while others would have flowers bloom. I was obsessed and wanted to touch every one.
The plant vendor was a nice young lady, younger than my nanny, but she told me the ZZ plant was the perfect first plant for me. We talked about how it is a succulent, and I needed to put an alarm on my phone to remind me to water it on the first of each month. That was the only day I was to water it, and if my plant got too much water, I would know because the leaves would droop and turn yellow. Also, this plant could not sit in direct sunlight, so it was perfect for anywhere in my room.
When we got home, I put my new plant on my desk and just stared at it. I wasn’t allowed to have pets, so this was the first time I felt the pull of responsibility to care for something. I had a beautiful, live green plant in my room.
After this, plants became an obsession.
Begrudgingly, I suck up my pride. I know what I have to do. I was raised to do the right thing and I plan on living here for a long time, so I need to be the bigger person. It’s now lunchtime, and I’ve waited long enough. I shove my feet into a pair of tall rubber rain boots to keep the ticks off, and I grab the small plant.
Making my way down my gravel driveway, I pause for a minute when I pop out onto the road to take in his house.
It’s similar to mine in style, with the white siding, the brick fireplace, and the wraparound porch. However, it’s larger and has a massive oak tree sitting next to it. I don’t know why he would need a house this big. Then again, maybe he’s married and has a wife who knows how to control him.
Taking a deep breath, I trudge up the front steps and knock on the door. A loud bark booms from inside the house. Of course this man would have a large, scary dog. That cliché fits him perfectly.
