“I’m not making this up!” Dylan protested. “Gary told me to call you!”
“Well, then you have your dad call me when he gets back,” I instructed. “He and I need to have a discussion.”
“Whatever.” Dylan hung up.
I stared at the phone and scoffed. I couldn’t believe that Gary would change the plan on me like that, and I certainly couldn’t believe that he would expect Dylan to be the one to pass along that information without consulting me first. I shook my head. Dylan probably just wanted to scheme his way into an easy summer, and was hoping to play his father and me against each other.
“Sorry, kiddo. Not today,” I muttered.
I walked out into my backyard, hoping to find something outside to distract me from the anticipation buzzing in my brain and my frustration with my son. I stood on the porch and breathed in deeply, appreciating how fresh and clean the air tasted on the bay.
“Hey, neighbor!” A cheery voice called. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that the neighbors to my left were also outside. A couple that looked straight out of a teeth whitening commercial waved at me from their outdoor table. They looked to be about in their fifties, and they looked, well…rich. They had fabulous tans and her hair was immaculate for being so damn early in the morning. I suddenly felt very schlumpy.
I waved back. “Morning!” I called, trying not to let my intimidation show. They waved me over, and I made triple sure my robe was tightly tied before I ventured over, again wetting my bare feet in the grass. As I approached, I saw their table had an impressive spread of pastries and fresh fruits, along with a French press filled with steaming coffee. I gaped. No way could two such fit people eat all that food.
“Hi,” I smiled and hoped they couldn’t smell my morning breath from where they sat. “I’m Sarah Waters, I just bought the house next door.”
“So nice to meet you, Sarah,” the woman exclaimed, beaming a brilliant smile at me and offering me an impossibly soft, perfectly manicured hand. “I’m Maxine DeVoit, and this is my husband, Henry.”
“How do you do?” Henry shook with me next, and gestured to an empty chair. “Please, have a seat.”
I did, and I accepted the Danish they offered me.
“So, what made you choose Isla Vida for your summer home?” Maxine asked, immediately after I took the first admittedly huge bite of the pastry. She and Henry stared at me while I chewed, and the silence stretched until I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Oh, well,” I swallowed, my eyes tearing a little as the doughy lump lodged itself in my throat. I gave a small cough, trying to move it. “Um, I’ve always loved Isla Vida. My aunt used to work at the snack shack on the beach, and my parents would bring us here in the summer to visit her. It’s just such a beautiful place, and I’ve always wanted to live here. Childhood dream, you know?” The last bit came out in a wheeze as the last of my air ran out. That Danish was really lodged in there.
Henry nodded. “Oh, absolutely. We love that snack shack,” he added.
“Sarah, what does your husband do?” Maxine inquired.
I held up one finger and thumped myself a good one right in the chest, trying to speed up my upper digestive tract. “I’m actually divorced,” I gave her a smile, to let her know she didn’t need to feel awkward about asking the question.
“Oh, really? That’s too bad,” Maxine pouted. “We’re always looking for new partners.”
I froze, smile still in place. “You’re swingers?”
I have no idea what on God’s green earth possessed me to ask that question. Honestly, it just came out, without any go-ahead from my brain. It was the first thing my mind jumped to, and I just blurted it out. Maxine’s eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. A heavy silence again stretched out around us, but this one was so much worse than the Danish pause. Maxine stared at me like I had just grown another head. Henry cleared his throat.
“Ah, no, dear,” he chuckled. “Partners for tennis.”
“Oh,” I said lamely. “Right. Uh, I don’t play tennis. And you don’t swing, so…”
They did not respond to my attempt at wit. We stared at each other, each one of us deeply uncomfortable.
“So,” I ventured, attempting to right the ship. “Do you know who lives in the house on the other side of mine?”
Maxine seemed to snap out of her shock, and grasped on to the new conversation topic. “Oh, yes. That’s Mr. Porter’s house. He’s not well, poor thing. I heard from his daughter that he isn’t expected to make it through the summer. Terribly sad, he was such a nice man. Eccentric, but nice.”
Henry nodded. “Shame.”
“Oh. I was hoping to have a conversation with him about that light in his backyard, but if he isn’t well…” I grimaced, unsure what the etiquette was for approaching a neighborly conflict with a dying man.
“Oh, no, dear. He isn’t living in La Bella now,” Maxine clarified. “La Bella is the house, you see. Many of the summer houses have names,” she explained to me, as if I were simple. Maybe after the swinger misunderstanding, she didn’t want to leave anything to chance. I nodded, embracing my role as the village idiot of Neverland Lane.
“Mr. Porter is still in his home down state,” Maxine continued. “But isn’t that light just the most awful thing? It’s very bright from over here, I can’t even imagine how blinding it must be from right next door.”
I nodded emphatically. “Yeah, it’s really annoying. Do you think Mr. Porter would mind if I disabled it or something?”
Maxine scoffed and waved a hand. “I don’t think he would approve of that light at all. But he hired a handyman to fix up the house a bit and prepare it for sale. I believe Mr. Porter’s children plan to put it on the market as soon as he passes. I wouldn’t mind Julie and Roger taking over, but you know, they don’t really have the funds.” She said that last part in a faux whisper, as if Julie and Roger were nearby and might overhear her shit talking.
“So, what, the handyman put up the light?” I asked.
“Yes he did,” Henry nodded. “He’s staying in that house all summer while he fixes her up, and he’s got some little helper there with him.” Henry’s eyebrows rose when he mentioned the “little helper,” and I understood that he meant “little harlot.”
Maxine sniffed. “He must be twice her age. It’s obscene.”
“Maybe I should talk to him about the light,” I offered.
“I wouldn’t bother, dear,” Maxine waved the idea off. “He’s a crude man, you don’t want to bother with him. And I’m sure you don’t want to get on his bad side.”
“Yeah,” I smiled tightly. “I definitely don’t want to make a bad impression on the neighbors!”
The Book Critic's Bodyguard Page 17