Page 48 of Cackle

I shake my head.

“I want you to know that my door is always open,” she says. “Always.”

“Thanks,” I say, standing. “Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome,” she says. “Any fun plans for the weekend?”

“Yeah, actually,” I say. “My friend is coming over tonight for dinner.”

“Ooh, fun!”

I suppose I should ask her what she’s doing, but I don’t want to hear about her and her husband going apple picking or kayaking or whatever. Typically, I’d ask anyway because it’s the polite thing to do, but there’s a little voice in my head that says, Don’t bother. Spare yourself.

The voice sounds a lot like Sophie’s.

“Bye,” I say.

“Bye now!”

I let the door slam behind me.

HONESTY

I pull into the driveway, and as I step out of my car, I hear my name being called.

Sophie walks toward me. She wears a long emerald green dress with a square neckline and puffy sleeves. Her hair is down, and it blows back even though the air is completely still. Not even a hint of breeze.

She carries a large wicker picnic basket.

“Am I too early?” she asks. “Perhaps I should let you settle.”

“No,” I say. “I’m happy to see you.”

It’s true. I might have my misgivings, but she’s been nothing but good to me. I can dismiss my suspicions in exchange for some company.

I mean, they’re ridiculous anyway. Curses? Really?

She sets the basket down and reaches for me, giving me the sweet hug that I desperately need.

“Pet,” she says, stroking my hair, “you’re sad.”

“It’s been a long, weird week,” I say.

“You can tell me all about it,” she says. “Or not. We can forget it ever happened. Poof. Gone.”

I realize something, and as the words form in my head, they simultaneously blurt out of my mouth. “Wait. How did you know where I live?”

“Oh, I’m here all the time. Watching you while you sleep,” she says, picking up the basket. “No, darling. Lynn mentioned she was getting an upstairs neighbor. Have you met her yet?”

“No.” I’m beginning to think she doesn’t exist.

“She’s a photographer, so she travels a lot for work. She’s lovely, a bit shy, though I suppose that might be ideal for a neighbor,” she says. “Anyway, we don’t get many new residents in town. Hardly ever. Ever, ever. But here you are, and here I am.”

“Sorry. I just was like ‘Wait a second.’ ” I open the door and we start up the stairs. My footsteps are loud and graceless, clunk clunk clunk. Sophie’s are orderly, deliberate. Almost musical.

I pause with my key in the door. I haven’t cleaned. There are dirty dishes in the sink. Multiple wine bottles empty on the kitchen counter, awaiting recycling.

It’s embarrassing.