The Man Next Door: Orchard Heights Book 2 - standalone

by Roya Carmen

  “You hated her, didn’t you?” Kelly smirked. “You’re probably glad she’s dead. You were always jealous of her.”

  What?

  Not only did I not want to believe Kelly’s words, I also couldn’t believe the way she had delivered them. She had feigned shock and sorrow, but hadn’t seemed upset at all. All this time, I thought they were friends. Kelly was just excited to be smack in the center of shocking events. Karla, on the other hand, seemed genuinely upset.

  I paid for my junk food, and stormed out of the store without a word. The doorbell clanged loudly behind me as I left. My heart hammered against my ribcage as I ran all the way to Gavin’s.

  I bursted through the door, and finally let myself cry. When Gavin caught sight of me, he fell to his knees at my feet. He grabbed the stuff from my hands, and threw it on the floor. Then he held me close as I sobbed into his chest. The softness of his shirt is one of those sensations that will stay with me forever. I felt safe in his arms, despite the chaos around me. I wanted to stay there forever.

  “What’s going on, Abigail?” he asked softly, in that sweet tone of his.

  “They… found Izzie,” I managed to tell him between sobs.

  He tore himself from me. “What? Where?”

  “Some kids found her in the woods,” I told him, relaying the only information I had. “Dead.”

  The word dropped a heavy weight at the pit of my stomach. Izzie was dead. She was gone forever. She’d never get married or have children. She’d never see the Eiffel tower like she dreamed of. She’d never become a hairdresser. She’d never leave this town.

  All her dreams were voided.

  Later in life, I would stare up at the Eiffel tower, thinking of her. This one’s for you, Izzie. And every time I get my hair styled, I picture her, hands dancing above my head, her infectious smile brightening up the whole salon, her witty chatter filling the air. Truth be told, I’ve thought about her every single day of my life.

  And that will never change.

  Gavin took me in his arms again. “Oh, Abigail,” was all he said.

  There was nothing more to say.

  My whole being swells when I see Noah’s message.

  Can we talk? Can I come over?

  Of course I envision a wonderful reunion and an amazing kiss and make-up session. I’m imagining his mouth on my skin as I reply.

  Sure. Now?

  —

  Coming right over.

  I scramble to make myself look good. I dab on some tinted lipgloss and tousle my hair. I gargle some mouthwash and wipe my armpits with Secret. There’s no time to change, but I don’t look too bad in my Lululemon yoga pants and tank top.

  When I swing the door open, I’m shocked by his haggard appearance. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, and seems completely wrecked.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Hi,” he replies, but it’s not a sexy hi. “Can I come in?”

  I close the door behind him, and we walk over to the living room. I can already feel something amiss. As soon as we both sit down, I ask him, “Have you been awake all night?”

  He nods at the floor. He can’t seem to make eye contact with me. After a long pause, he finally says, “I’ve been packing all night.”

  My heart sinks. He’s leaving.

  “You’re leaving? Where? You have months left on your lease,” I point out. “Your piano…” I know for a fact that it cost him a small fortune to move that thing. I finally ask him the question I really want to know. “Why?”

  He finally manages to look at me. “Because you and I aren’t meant to be. It would be too hard to be next to you every day.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “We had one little fight, Noah,” I argue. “Are you really going to break up with me over that?”

  “It’s more than that…” his words trail off. “I just need to go.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I can get in the building I was in before,” he tells me. “There’s an opening. Not the condo I was in before but—”

  “We can keep in touch then,” I point out. “You won’t be that far.”

  He shakes his head, and my heart crumbles. “We can’t, Abby. I’m sorry.”

  “I can change. I won’t be so nosy. I won’t ask any more questions, I swear.” I realize I’m begging, but I don’t care. “You need to give us another chance. I love you, Noah.”

  My breath hitches as I realize what I’ve just said.

  Pain is etched in every line of his face. He’s hurting as much as I am. “I love you too, Abby.”

  If that’s the case, why is he doing this? It doesn’t make sense.

  “Are you married?” I ask. I have no other explanation.

  He shakes his head. “No,” he tells me. “You know me… I’m an artist, a wanderer, a modern gypsy… never in the same place too long.” And then, almost as an afterthought, he adds, “I do love you… always…”

  Then why are you breaking me?

  He rises and kneels in front of me. He takes my hand tenderly and it hurts. It hurts because I know this will be the last time I will feel his skin on mine. “I love you, Abby. Don’t ever think I didn’t love you.”

  My eyes well up, and despite the fact that I rarely cry in front of others, a tear curves around my cheek and finds its way to my lips. I taste my own pain as he presses a goodbye kiss on my forehead. When he rises slowly and turns from me, my whole body aches. I watch him, completely numb, as he walks slowly out of my loft. And out of my life.

  Hours later, I’m still numb. I haven’t moved from my sofa for hours. I’m not hungry, not tired… just confused and completely wrecked. I’ve gone through four of the five stages of grief in a matter of hours. First there was denial. This isn’t happening? We’ll get back together. There must be an explanation. Then came anger. How dare him just break it off like that with no proper explanation, leaving me to wonder what the hell I did wrong. Then came bargaining when I considered rushing to his place and throwing myself at him, begging him to take me back. But I was much too proud for that.

  Now I’m at depression and nostalgia. I don’t want to say goodbye. I know I’ll miss him too much. I can’t imagine my life without him.

  I’ll miss everything about him, from his sweet playful smile to the delicious peanut butter and banana sandwiches he used to make me. I’ll miss the way he always played with a strand of my hair when we watched The Walking Dead. I think it comforted him in some way. I smile at the memory of him covering his eyes at the gory scenes. He was so sensitive.

  I thought I’d finally found my soulmate. Not since Gavin, have I felt this connected to another human being, felt as though we belonged together.

  And I’ll definitely miss the way my body responded to his, the way it lit up at the feel of his touch. He burned a fire in me like no one ever has, no one since Gavin. And I’ll miss the sound of his music, always present, the songs on his lips, the sound of his beautiful soft voice.

  He was always smiling, always singing. I desperately needed that in my life. How could I ever replace him? He says that I’ll find someone to love me soon enough, but I know I won’t. I loved everything about him, everything but the parts he hid from me… the secrets.

  The secrets he couldn’t share.

  I hate those secrets with a passion I didn’t even know I possessed.

  I hate them because they broke us.

  33

  In the days and weeks following the discovery of Izzie’s body, I became obsessed with her murder. I devoured the local newspaper and news. I asked questions to anyone who would listen. I not only inhaled the gossip, I sought it out.

  I would learn the details, in fits and starts, over the next weeks and months. With every discovery I made, I became aware that there had been clues all along. Unfortunately, I hadn’t noticed them. I hadn’t listened well enough. I’d been too preoccupied with my own life, my own problems, with Gavin. I wished I’d been more present for Izzie. If I ha
d, perhaps she’d still be alive. I dug obsessively into every conversation we’d ever had for hints of who could have possibly done this. I desperately wanted to help with the investigation.

  Izzie was found by a group of three young girls exploring the woods. Apparently they were blueberry picking. She’d been dead for a while, and the discovery was a gruesome one. Rumor was that the girls would need therapy to deal with the aftermath. The body was badly decomposed and Izzie was apparently identified through dental records.

  Detectives were called in to gather evidence and interview witnesses; family and friends of Izzie’s. A post-mortem examination by a medical pathologist indicated that Izzie died of strangulation. Her body had been found about three kilometers from her home near the abandoned treehouse. Years ago, when the treehouse was first discovered, it had been a popular hangout for us kids. No one knew how it came to be, who it belonged to. But in recent years, it had become a much less popular place since it was so far, hidden deep in the woods. Apparently, the police discovered two sleeping bags, a flashlight and a cooler of food in the treehouse, a half-eaten tin of Pringles and an almost empty large bottle of orange Crush, Izzie’s favorite. The tree house was taped off to the public and investigated thoroughly.

  It took them a while to interview me because Izzie and I hadn’t been friends for a long time. I assumed they were busy interviewing immediate family and closer friends such as Kelly and Karla. I was nervous when the two detectives settled in at our small kitchen table. The taller man was dark and went by the name of Thompson, and the other was portly and redheaded. He went by MacMillan, and I assumed he was of Irish descent. My brothers were asked to leave the room, and only my father stayed. These investigators were not the original officers I’d met. These ones were dressed in suits and were more intimating, a little more clever. I had absolutely nothing to hide, but that didn’t keep my legs from trembling under the table.

  Standard questions were asked, such as the nature of our friendship and the reason for our breakup. The latter part made me very nervous. I was careful not to mention a certain solitary strange man, also known as the love of my life. Then, as I feared and expected, our memorable scuffle on the bus was mentioned, and questions about Gavin Foster were asked.

  “Multiple witnesses mentioned the altercation you had with Izzie Reed on the school bus back in June of last year,” Detective Thompson said, and my breath hitched.

  I feigned ignorance. “Altercation?”

  He smiled kindly. “Or fight, if you prefer. You and Izzie had a fight on the bus, right? You remember?”

  “Yes.” Of course I remembered. It was the day my relationship with one of the two most important people in my life ended.

  “In said fight… or conversation,” he went on. “Izzie mentioned Gavin Foster.”

  My heart was in my throat. I waited eagerly for his next words.

  “She implied that she was having a sexual relationship—”

  “She wasn’t,” I was quick to say.

  “How do you know that, Miss Griffin?” Detective Thompson asked, flipping through his notebook. “You apparently said that she was jealous because Gavin Foster liked you more than her, and then she replied that she’d been with him too. Her exact words were ‘Been there, done that. He wasn’t even good,’ according to witnesses.”

  “I just know. She was trying to get a rise out of me, to make me jealous. I… I…” I was at a loss. Of course I didn’t know it for a fact. But I knew it in my heart. How could I have I possibly explained this to the detectives. “She lied.”

  Both detectives nodded. “Uh-huh…” Detective Thompson muttered. “I see.” He scribbled some notes in his notepad, and Detective MacMillan fetched a folder from his briefcase. My heart hammered, threatening to burst out of my ribcage. I didn’t like this line of questioning at all. I knew exactly where it was heading.

  “What is the nature of your relationship with Gavin Foster, Miss Griffin?” he asked, and the expression he wore told me he suspected the truth.

  “I… we… we’re friends,” I replied. It wasn’t a straight-out lie. We were friends.

  “Are you more than friends?” he asked.

  I knew it would be wrong to lie, especially to police officers. I reluctantly told the truth. “We were only friends until recently,” I told them. “On my eighteenth birthday, we became more than friends. We’re now in a serious relationship.”

  They both nodded, and Detective Thompson scribbled again in his notebook.

  “He was never in a relationship of any kind with Izzie,” I added. “They barely knew each other. She had a crush on him when she first met him, but he wasn’t interested.”

  They both studied me for a beat, and I knew exactly what they were thinking. Why would a healthy hot-blooded man be into little old me and not the gorgeous Izzie Reed? I knew they’d seen a photo of her. That picture was everywhere when she was missing, her eleventh grade photo; shiny blonde hair tossed over her perky bosom, blue eyes shining, and a flirtatious playful smile. They probably suspected that Gavin dipped his pen in both of our inks.

  But I knew I was the only bottle he ever opened.

  They left me with a smile. As soon as they were gone, my dad was in my face. “I knew it,” he scoffed. “I knew it!”

  I sat still, readying myself for the onslaught. He had had a beer or two and he wasn’t quite drunk yet, but I knew it was coming regardless.

  “I knew you were fucking the pervert,” he went on. “I bet you lied too, not until your eighteenth birthday, my ass.”

  “I was telling the truth,” I insisted. “Gavin wouldn’t touch me until I was eighteen.”

  He snickered. “Yeah… right. He was probably afraid of me. Well, I’m sure he got his dick wet in that little sleazy friend of yours. No wonder she’s dead.”

  I shook my head. I wasn’t going to argue because he wasn’t worth the effort.

  “The guy is guilty as fuck. Everyone’s been talking about him. He’s a fucking weirdo pervert. Never talks to anyone except young girls. He killed a girl a while ago. Did you know that? He hit her with his car, and then he raped her when she was dying on the ground.”

  “What?!” This is how it was at the park, like a game of telephone gone wrong. Like scary monsters, rumors grew ugly tentacles of horrible untruths. And people believed them.

  I shot up and ran to my room. I couldn’t take him anymore. I couldn’t take anyone. I just wanted Gavin. I wanted the both of us to run far away.

  And looking back, I wish we had.

  In a feeble attempt to cheer me up, the girls take me to Bucktown for a little shopping. On the plus side, I haven’t been out in a while, and need to buy some new boots. On the down side, I really just want to stay home, in my bed, and sleep forever.

  It’s all very Sex and the City as we stroll in and out of shops, chatting and drooling over window displays. I feign a smile because they’re trying so hard. They don’t tiptoe around me which I appreciate. They have a lot of advice and opinions to offer which I take with a grain of salt.

  Claudia is trying a long peasant skirt as we all look on. It looks fabulous on her. She twirls for us, and we all give her a thumbs up.

  “Seriously, if he’s so sketchy, he’s probably not the right guy for you,” Mischa is saying.

  “I think they should just talk,” Gretchen chimes in. “The main problem in relationships is lack of communication.”

  Claudia laughs. “I thought it was sex and money.”

  Gretchen grins. “Well, that too.” She turns to me. “What I’m trying to say, Abby, is… the kind of connection you have with Noah is not something to be taken for granted. It’s a once in a lifetime kind of thing.”

  I nod, thinking, twice in a lifetime for me.

  “I had that with Donavan, and there’s not a single day that I don’t miss it,” she goes on. “I took it for granted. Now, I’d give anything to get it back.”

  Claudia is still completely preoccupied with her refl
ection. “I think I’ll get it.”

  “You should,” Mischa says. “It looks fantastic on you.”

  It’s the kind of skirt Mischa would never wear, but it suits Claudia perfectly. I still haven’t bought my boots, and am wondering if I’ll take anything home. I’ve tried on a skirt and a blouse, and they both made me look dowdy. The girls insisted I looked great but I couldn’t be convinced. I feel as attractive as a middle aged goat, and that has a lot to do with Noah. I know it wasn’t his intention, but he’s made me feel undesirable and hopeless.

  “Abby… stop thinking about him,” Claudia scolds.

  I stand to attention. “I wasn’t.”

  “You totally were, you little liar. Knock it off.”

  Easier said than done.

  “I know what could cheer you up,” Gretchen pipes up, all smiles. “Bubble tea!”

  I laugh for the first time today. Gretchen is like a kid sometimes. She has that sweet innocent quality, always excited by the little things, much like a child.”

  “Seriously, I know a place around the corner.”

  She looks so excited, I don’t want to disappoint her. “Sure… sounds fun. I’ve never had one.”

  Her eyes grow wide. “Really? You’ve been missing out.”

  I smirk. “Well, they say one should try at least one new thing a day.”

  “Really? Who says that?” Mischa, the queen of routine, asks.

  I shrug. “No clue.”

  Claudia cashes out, and shopping bags in hand, we stroll over to the little Asian restaurant. Gretchen and I order the strawberry, and Mischa and Claudia order the mango.

  I’m delighted by the taste, and fascinated by the texture of the weird tapioca balls sliding down my throat. “Why have I never tried this before?”

  Gretchen laughs. “I knew you’d like it.”