Won't You Be My Neighbor?

by Vanessa Gray Bartal

  To distract herself from her embarrassing thoughts, she picked up the phone and called Tanya.

  “It’s me, Blair.”

  “Blair,” Tanya repeated the name as if hearing it for the first time. Blair could picture her pulling the phone away from her face to look at it in surprise. “What’s wrong? Are you sick? Are you dying?”

  Tanya was serious; Blair could tell by her tone. Did she really think Blair would only call if the news was bad? Since she had never called her before, that was probably a safe assumption. “Nothing is wrong. I was calling to talk.”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone, which was odd. Tanya was one of those people who could have a conversation all by herself.

  “So, how are you?” Blair prompted. That was all it took, and Tanya was once again herself, chatting like a magpie about the mundane events in her life. Either she ran out of things to say or she realized she was monopolizing the conversation because after a long stream of conversation she turned the tables.

  “How are you? What’s new?”

  I went to therapy because I don’t want to die alone and be eaten by cats. Oh, and my therapist is beautiful; I think I’m in love. “Nothing.”

  There was another pause and Blair began to wonder how best to end the conversation now that her mission was complete. Tanya beat her to the punch, however.

  “I should go. The baby is crying, and I need to put him to bed. Thanks for calling, Blair. I really…” Her voice broke. She cleared her throat and tried again. “You have no idea what this means to me to know you care.”

  They hung up soon after that, but Tanya’s words echoed in Blair’s head. Why had the call meant so much? They hadn’t talked about anything more than they usually talked about. Tanya had sounded like her usual bubbly self, overflowing with chatter about her two children while Blair listened with feigned interest. Blair had always thought Tanya transparent, but maybe that wasn’t the case. Was it possible that there was more going on beneath the surface of her friend’s life? If so, what? Was Tanya unhappy?

  Blair had the urge to call her back and find out, but the impulse was gone as quickly as it came. She had no idea how to ferret out such information. If Tanya wanted to tell her something, then she would. Wouldn’t she?

  For the remainder of her evening, Blair read a book. At exactly ten PM, she went to bed, just as she did every night. Her life was regimented, but she found security and comfort in structure, and she wouldn’t want it any other way.

  Once she was in bed, however, she couldn’t sleep. Like an idiot, she kept picturing herself in various romantic scenes with Tristan. They never talked, most likely because she had no idea what to say to him, even in her imagination, but he was always besotted with her, nonetheless.

  She had just drifted off when she heard it. The ominous sound of shattering glass sent her bolt upright in bed. Had something somehow shifted and fallen in the kitchen? But, no, the glass sound was followed by the unmistakable squeak of the front door. A shoe crunched on the broken glass, and Blair knew someone was in her house.

  For a few breathtaking seconds, she remained frozen in her bed, torn between the urge to call out and scare the intruder away and the urge to hide under the covers and wait for everything to be over. Maybe he would take what he wanted and go away.

  Then a new, more horrifying thought occurred to her. What if what he wanted was her? What if the intruder wasn’t a thief? What if he was after something much worse than money?

  She jumped out of bed and sped noiselessly to her bedroom door. Silently, she closed and locked it and then reached for the phone from her nightstand, but it was lifeless. Either there was a coincidental phone outage, or her intruder had cut the line. Thankfully Blair was meticulous about charging her cell phone every night, and she always charged it on her nightstand in easy reach of her bed.

  She dialed 911 and whispered her address, cupping her hand around the phone to muffle the sound.

  “Stay on the line,” the dispatcher instructed. “My officers are enroute and should be there shortly.”

  Blair shook her head, even though the woman couldn’t see her. “I’m going out through the window.”

  “Ma’am, it’s best if you remain in the home. Hide in a closet and stay on the phone with me.”

  Blair knew what the dispatcher said was probably true, but the thought of being cornered in her closet like a sitting duck was too terrifying. “No, I’m going out my window. I’ll call you back.” She hung up on the woman, closing the phone on her protests.

  In the living room, the intruder was making a lot of noise, too much to notice the silent lifting of the window sash. Blair shimmied outside, forcing herself to pause and lower the window once again. In case the man reached her room, he wouldn’t notice the open window and immediately search outside for her.

  She plastered herself against the side of the house, contemplating her next move. Should she wait there? She wanted to; she didn’t want to move in the darkness, but the officer might mistake her for one of the intruders. He could shoot her. She would ask the dispatcher what to do. When she reached for her phone, however, she realized she had left it inside. No way was she going back in.

  As she frantically scanned the horizon, her neighbor’s house caught her attention and stood out like a beacon of safety and security. All she had to do was make it there, and she would be okay.

  Taking one last frantic look around the dark night, she peeled herself from the wall and sprinted toward her neighbor’s house. After what felt like a very long time, she reached the front porch and stuck out a shaking finger to ring the bell.

  Chapter 2

  Sully was jarred from a deep sleep by the frantic jangling of his doorbell. Throwing on a pair of pants, he sprinted down the hall and skidded to a stop by the door. When he flipped on the porch light, he had to do a double take. It was his neighbor, Miss Prim.

  Tentatively, he opened the door and poked his head outside, but her response was anything but timid. She shoved the door with both hands and skirted inside.

  “There’s someone in my house,” she announced. “May I wait here until the police arrive?”

  If Sully wasn’t seeing it with his own eyes, he would never believe how far she was willing to go. How could anyone be so desperate to gain a man’s attention, and especially the skittish Miss Prim? Yet there she stood in his entryway wearing nothing more than a pretty white nightie that only reached mid-thigh. Her hair was perfectly in place, her makeup flawless, and her expression the perfect mix of vulnerability and fear. Help me, big strong man. She couldn’t make her position any clearer unless she actually said the words. To top it all off, she was standing directly in the beam of the hall light which did little to hide what was underneath her gown. Sully forced his eyes to focus above her head and remain there while he spoke.

  “No.”

  She blinked at him, her eyes widening in surprise.

  “I don’t know what game you’re playing here,” he continued, his righteous indignation gaining steam, “but I’m not interested. I’m not interested in you or anyone else, and I don’t appreciate being woken out of a dead sleep for this kind of idiocy. What happened? Did you and your boyfriend have a fight and you’re hoping to use me to make him jealous?” He allowed his gaze to settle on her face then, noting the tremor of her lip with disgust. Oh she was good, she was very, very good.

  Now her eyes weren’t just surprised, they were wounded. He waited for her to respond, to deny his accusation, but she didn’t. She simply stood there blinking and trembling like a baby bird who had just been rescued from the snow. It wasn’t snowing outside, but it was chilly for someone dressed as scantily as she.

  “And the next time I see you, you’d better be wearing clothes,” he added for good measure. He opened the door and ushered her outside, slamming the door and flipping off the light. Chivalry, and maybe curiosity, compelled him to wait and watch while she walked home.

  She didn’t walk hom
e, though. In fact she didn’t move. She leaned back against his door, plastering herself against the frame while her fingertips hugged the bricks. What was she doing? Sully frowned and tipped his head to the side as he studied her latest behavior. Surely she wasn’t stubborn or clueless enough to try another ploy, was she? Was she re-strategizing out there?

  Before he could open the door and allay his curiosity, a car slowly drove past his house and came to rest in front of hers. Sully pressed his face to the window and watched as two officers stepped out, their uniforms barely visible in the inky blackness.

  Miss Prim took a tentative step away from the door. She must have called to them because they looked in her direction, and then she took off running from the porch, not stopping until she reached them, her arms crossed over her chest as she shivered in the chill night air.

  One officer left to go toward her house, his hand resting on his weapon, his face intent.

  Sully sighed and swiped his hand wearily over his face. Either she really went all out in her attempts to snag a man, or he had just made a complete and utter fool of himself. He was pretty certain it was the latter. Add to that the fact that he had probably just kicked a helpless female and a victim of a home invasion outside in nothing but her lingerie, and his guilt knew no bounds.

  There wasn’t much he could do to make amends tonight, but there was one thing. He retrieved his robe from his bedroom and stepped outside. Miss Prim didn’t notice him until he was right beside her, but the officer did. He frowned as Sully left his house and headed their way. When Sully was up close, he discovered why the man was frowning; the officer was young, and if the way he was looking at Miss Prim was any indication, he wasn’t in any hurry to have her covered by a robe. His irritation with the officer’s unprofessional behavior made Sully forget to announce his presence. Instead he unceremoniously dumped his robe on Miss Prim’s shoulders, causing her to yelp as she spun toward him in surprise.

  Her surprise quickly changed to recrimination, however. Her hands reached for the robe—most likely to rip it off and throw it in his face—but she was shivering and clearly needed it.

  “Keep it,” he said, giving her a look that told her the statement was a command and not a request. If possible, she looked even angrier, but she did as he suggested and snugged the robe further around her body, slipping her arms into the too-long sleeves and cinching it closed at the waist.

  “All clear.” This came from the other officer, the one who had checked out the house. The officer and Miss Prim turned and walked toward the house. Sully followed without being invited. Miss Prim didn’t realize he was following until they reached the house, and then she stopped short, turning to stare at him in question. He knew she was waiting for him to explain himself, but he had no explanation to give. Was it morbid curiosity that compelled him to see the damage to her house, or a desire to help? Although that made no sense because he really didn’t want to be involved in this situation. He wanted to go home and fall asleep to try and salvage what was left of his night. Maybe guilt held him back, or maybe it was the sight of Miss Prim, still trembling in his bathrobe that swallowed her whole. Whatever the reason, he wasn’t yet ready to leave.

  He held the door for her, his eyebrow arched as if daring her to comment, but she didn’t. Instead she pressed her lips together and resumed her usual determined expression as she stepped into the house and immediately cut her foot on a piece of broken glass.

  The young officer beside her swore before quickly apologizing and then all three men stood around staring at her, not knowing what to do. Miss Prim stared at her foot the same way. At first Sully thought she was alarmed by the small trickle of blood, and then he realized she was standing barefoot on a pile of broken glass and incapable of taking a step unassisted. When it became obvious to him that she wasn’t going to ask for help, he simply picked her up and lifted her free of the glass before kneeling to inspect her foot.

  There were several slivers of glass on her soles, but only one of them had broken the skin. He gently brushed the bottoms of her feet, noting as he did so the perfection of her pedicure. It was an odd thing to think about just then, but he wondered if she had them done or did them herself. He never saw her go out, but he had no idea how she was able to paint them so perfectly herself. She could have been a professional foot model, so pretty were her feet, and that was possibly the weirdest thing he had ever thought about a woman.

  Nice feet. He stopped himself from blurting it just in time. She would no doubt give him the look she had already been giving him for the past twenty minutes, a mix of irritation and disbelief. And then he would lie awake for half the night, wondering why he had complimented a woman on her feet like some sort of weirdo with a fetish. What he really needed was sleep, but still he didn’t leave.

  “Where’s your bathroom?” he heard himself asking. “We should get that foot cleaned up.”

  “I’ll do it later,” Miss Prim said, her voice soft and timid.

  “You’ll get blood on your carpet,” he pointed out, and that seemed to be her deciding factor. She glanced down the hall, biting her lip in repressed frustration. “It’ll only take a minute.”

  She nodded and stood upright. When she took a hobbling step toward the bathroom, he realized she intended to go there on her own. Sully sighed and slipped his arm around her, ignoring the way she shrank away from him. “I’m helping you to the bathroom,” he explained. There was a crazy part of him that had the sudden urge to sweep her into his arms and carry her down the hall, but he refrained. This wasn’t a scene from a movie, and he wasn’t the romantic hero. He was a disgruntled neighbor, trying to make amends for his own stupidity.

  He fought the urge to sigh again. If only he hadn’t jumped down her throat and tossed her from his house. He could have waited patiently for the police to arrive and then handed her off and gone back to bed. Now he was going to be stuck here until his guilt was assuaged. And if the tremulous expression on her pretty face was any indication, he was going to be here a while before he felt comfortable enough to leave her alone. Curse women everywhere and their irritating vulnerability. If his neighbor was a man, Sully would be sleeping peacefully right now.

  “First aid kit?” he asked as they reached the bathroom. She stood on one foot and arched over the sink. He sighed again and shoved her into a sitting position on the toilet before arching over the sink. He blinked in surprise at the orderliness of her cabinet. When he had asked for a first aid kit, he had actually meant a bandage, maybe some antibacterial ointment. What he found was a literal first aid kit—a small blue box full of everything one might need in an emergency situation. There was nothing funny about that, but he still found himself almost smiling as he opened the kit and knelt before her.

  “I can do this, really,” she said. She attempted to reach for the kit, but he snatched it out of her grasp. He wasn’t quire sure why it was suddenly of vital importance that he was the one to doctor her foot. Perhaps it was his warped way of making amends. Apologizing had never come easily. Still, he owed her some word of penance.

  “Sorry,” he muttered as he bent over her foot. “About before.”

  “There really was someone in my house,” she said. Her tone was affronted. Apparently it was as difficult for her to accept an apology as it was for him to give one.

  “I believe you,” he said. She jerked her foot out of his grasp as he started to clean it. Was she that angry? He glanced appraisingly at her face.

  “That tickles,” she muttered. Her expression belied the words because she was frowning. Miss Prim was ticklish and didn’t want to be. Duly noted.

  “I’ll try to hurry,” he said. He grabbed her foot and clamped it in an iron grip that wouldn’t allow her to wriggle free as he wiped her foot with an antiseptic cloth. He dabbed antibiotic ointment, applied a bandage, and he was done. “There.”

  She grabbed her foot as he let go, bending it to make her inspection. She frowned and held it out to him. “It’s crooked. C
ould you fix it, please?”

  Was she serious? It was one in the morning and she was worried about whether or not her bandage was at a perfect ninety degree angle? A quick glance at her perfectly aligned towels and toiletries told him that yes, she was serious. “What happens if I say no?” he asked.

  Instead of answering, she quirked her leg again and started to fix the bandage herself. With another sigh, he grabbed her foot and ripped off the bandage. She didn’t wince.

  “You sigh a lot,” she noted.

  “Not usually,” he said. He took meticulous care this time to make sure the bandage was straight. There was a part of him that was tempted to run home and grab his laser level, but she probably wouldn’t see the joke in that—she might appreciate the extra effort. “There.”

  Her head bent as she inspected his handiwork again. As before, several strands of her hair slipped forward. On anyone else, their hair might be messy when they straightened again. Miss Prim’s hair jumped back into place as if in fear of a reprimand. Sully fought the urge to tousle her hair just to see what would happen. What would it take to mess up her perfect appearance? A tornado? If she was caught in a whirlwind like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, would her hair remain intact like a helmet as the wind swirled around her?

  “Ma’am? We’re finished looking around out here,” one of the officers said from somewhere in the hallway.

  Miss Prim dropped her foot and stood to attention, wincing when she put weight on the bandage. Sully watched as she eased her foot to the back of her knee and balanced on one leg. “Okay,” she said, her voice a breathless whisper. The officer must have taken the word as an invitation because he moved closer and hovered in the doorway. It was the young officer, the one who had turned rueful at Sully’s timely appearance.