The Girl Next Door

by Lisa Aurello

  Then that first memory that returned to her—and it came hurtling out of nowhere when she smelled coffee that someone was carrying in the hall—was of Mel introducing herself by way of bringing Jane a Starbucks latte and the conversation they had on her first day at MT. It was the distinctive coffee aroma, Jane was sure, that triggered the recovery of the memory. She’d gasped aloud at the ferocity of its return.

  Jane liked the smell of coffee too. It reminded her of Sunday mornings when her both her parents would be in a good mood most of the time and the smell of coffee and bacon would waft through the house, sometimes even waking her up.

  And she began to remember when she started at MT. Oddly, though, the years before that time were still lost to her. Her memory had no chronological order to its recovery though there were sequential pieces coming back to her. Like with Mel.

  They were never meant to become friends—she and Mel—but opposites do attract and she and Mel couldn’t be more opposite if they tried. Meeting on Jane’s first day working at MT Systems, the two women’s personalities should have clashed: Melanie Bartholomew was bubbly and popular, a pretty woman who knew how to wear clothes and was fearless. She was also ultra slim. Somewhat incongruous with her girly appearance, Melanie was also IT, and was asked to mentor Jane.

  And Jane was Jane—lumpy and plain, but brilliant as all get out. She thought IT was a good fit for her but was surprised when she was introduced to the beautiful woman named Melanie who looked like she’d be in marketing or sales, not anything technical.

  At Jane’s first glance at Mel, her back went up as she identified the attractive, fashionable woman several years her senior as belonging to the tribe of people who tormented her in high school.

  But with Mel, kindness and beauty were not mutually exclusive. It was revelatory for Jane, a fact that spoke volumes about all the shitty people who surrounded her in childhood.

  After only a few hours together, both women realized that Jane could do Melanie’s job—and everyone else’s in the department—with her eyes closed. Always the pragmatist, Melanie probably decided it was in her best interests to befriend Jane and worked very hard to overcome Jane’s initial unfavorable impression of her. Somewhere in Mel’s process of ingratiating herself with Jane, they oddly became very close friends.

  Even a frumpy girl gets lots of attention, even adulation, when she makes boatloads of cash for a corporation. In much less than a year’s time, Jane became expert at streamlining IT systems, saving the firm substantial time, ergo, money, in diverse departments—everything from accounting to order fulfillment to human resources benefitting. Her skills, they all soon learned—including Jane—didn’t end there as she started tackling efficiency management. As soon as she identified a problem, she was able to find an immediate and genius solution to fix it.

  Jane was still sort of in disbelief at how things went down. Almost from the start, her work got noticed at the company, and her reputation as an efficiency expert grew. It felt strange and good to be appreciated. Offers from competitors began to come her way—her kind of skills were in high demand in the driven corporate environment—and the positive attention (not to mention the money) began to change her. Improve her, she hoped. Nothing radical. A few pounds lost. A few new edgier articles of clothing purchased. A little more confidence acquired.

  With that memory came another: her house. Her pretty little English-style house that Mel had told her all about, describing it to her in sparkling detail till Jane had a picture in her head. Then she sort of remembered it… Remembered the first time she’d seen it.

  It was the biggest change in her life, her leap into real estate. Her favorite relative, her mom’s aunt, had died and left Jane a hefty sum. Who knew Aunt Adele had so much money? She’d left the whole thing, nearly two million, to her grandniece, so Jane, after liquidating a huge chunk of it, purchased an expensive townhome—mostly in cash— a few months back. Her life, once so drab and pointless, became dynamic and even exciting.

  Until the car accident wiped it all away.

  Chapter 9

  Mel called her back about an hour later.

  “They’re springing me, Mel! Please, please come break me out before they change their mind.”

  Mel laughed. “Was it as bad as all that? Seems to me you got to sleep in every day and watch television the rest of the time. Doesn’t sound like prison to me, babycakes.”

  “Uh-huh. Try watching paint dry while you have a ferocious headache, and you’ll begin to get the picture. Do you think you’ll be able to pick me up?”

  “Mmm, maybe. You’ll have to promise to take me to that little café again—the one with the great omelets—when you’re better. Your treat, of course.”

  Jane chuckled. “You got it. You’ve earned a lot more than a stupid omelet.”

  “Hey, I love omelets. Anyway, I was glad to do it for you. So… give me deets.”

  “Anytime is OK. Oh, don’t forget to bring me clothes, Mel. I have nothing to wear but the backless hospital gown.”

  “Yeah, the hospital is going to want that beauty back. Too bad ‘cause it would be sure to bring you some attention on the streets of New York.”

  A loud laugh came through the line. “Not the kind of attention I desire. Besides, New York is the one place where something like that would go pretty much unnoticed. Asses hanging out are business as usual. Just please bring me jeans and a tee?”

  “OK. Do I have to go by your house or can I just pick up some new things?”

  “Whichever you prefer, but I’d rather have my own clothes if I have a choice.”

  “You do. I’m borrowing my brother’s car anyway, so it’s no big deal. So… what time do you need me there?”

  “The doctor already signed my discharge papers, so I could leave first thing in the morning if you could go in to work late. Is that doable?”

  “I think so. You know MT management adores you. I’ll be there probably around eight or nine. I’m psyched to see you, Jane. Sorry that I haven’t been there more often these past days but our fiscal year is ending and there have been problems as usual so it’s been all-hands-on-deck—especially with you out of commission. I didn’t get home before eight a single night last week.”

  “Oh, right. No, I understand. And Mel, thanks… for everything. Really. See you tomorrow?”

  “Count on it, Lady Jane.”

  ******

  As Mel strolled up the herringbone brick path of Jane’s new home, she recalled the last time she’d been here, almost three months before. Jane had begged her to photograph her newly painted vintage townhouse for a local artist to turn into a digitized painting, and Mel had gone in the morning, just after sunrise as Jane had specifically asked, insisting the house looked best at first light. For Mel to get up that early on a Sunday morning was a true test of her friendship, but she did it, armed with her new fifteen-hundred-dollar camera, and Jane had rewarded her with a big hug, hot coffee, and a couple of hours later, an incredibly good brunch at the tiny café a couple of streets down that made a mouthwatering grilled vegetable and Jarlsberg frittata.

  The 1927 attached brick-and-stucco was a charmer. As Mel fumbled with the key ring, she heard someone shout to her and looked up. The sight that greeted her made Mel’s mouth go dry and her ovaries begin a lively merengue.

  “Hey. Are you my new neighbor?” the man called out from just outside his front door. He was over six feet of toned male anatomy.

  No, but I want to be. “No. My friend lives here.” She hesitated on elaborating, unsure how much Jane would want her to share.

  “Right, right. Jane. How is she doing? We heard she was in a serious car crash. Is she all right?” Coming closer, he extended his hand. “Oh, by the way, I’m Mace. Well, Mason, actually. Caldwell.” He shrugged his shoulders, dragging her attention from his twinkling blue eyes right to his buff physique. “People call me Mace.”

  Well, hello, Mace. Mel could feel heat in her face and her heartbeat take flight. Ja
ne had a gorgeous mofo for a next-door neighbor. Plus, he had a deep, sexy voice, the kind that is hard to resist even if a woman really and truly wants to ignore it. She sucked in a breath and used it to power a great big smile, trying to be cool despite the fact that all her female parts were tingling. “Hi, Mace,” she drawled. “I’m Melanie. Nice to meet you.”

  Omigod, obscenely handsome up close. She could wax poetic with adjectives about him, but even a plain description would be enough: clear blue eyes, rich brown hair, skin the color of a man of the fields but the texture of one who sits at a desk, and a ripped body—at least as much as she could see busting out of his T-shirt and jeans. Love at first fucking gasp, Mel thought.

  “Same here. So… Jane?”

  His question snapped her attention back to the conversation. “Oh, um, yeah, she’s good. Fine. Coming home today, in fact.”

  “Is she? That’s great.” He smiled broadly, revealing a mouthful of teeth to make a dentist swoon. Just fucking naturally. “Is she… uh, you know… the same? I mean, I heard she sustained a traumatic brain injury?”

  Mel nodded. It wasn’t her place to divulge private information. How to be diplomatic? “Um, yes, she still has some healing to do. She’s doing well, though.”

  “Good, good. I’m looking forward to getting to know all of our neighbors.”

  Uh-huh. How well? And who’s our?

  He angled his head back toward the semi-attached and nearly identical townhome next door and jerked his chin in that direction. “My wife and I just moved into our house two months ago.”

  That single word was like a pin in a balloon, deflating Mel’s good mood instantly. Wife. That sucks balls. “Oh? It’s a beautiful area and the architecture is amazing,” she responded smoothly.

  “Exactly. That’s basically why we’re here. My wife fell in love with the mews-style homes. Loves anything British,” he chuckled. “Clotted cream, Jane Austen, BBC, you name it. Plus, the schools are excellent… for down the road when we have kids.”

  “It seems like your wife found her niche then. Looks totally like an English village. And yes,” she agreed, bobbing her head, “the schools. That’s important.”

  Those blue eyes of his were scrutinizing her as he cocked his head like a dumb puppy. “Have we met before? You look so familiar.”

  Mel shook her head. “Mmm, no, don’t think so.”

  “Maybe not,” he said easily. “They say we all have a doppelgänger, right? Or maybe I met a relative who resembles you. A sister maybe?”

  Scowling, Mel joked, “God, I hope I don’t look like my sister.”

  He laughed and wagged his finger at her. “It’ll come to me.”

  Well, that was fun, Mel thought, and started to back away. “I should go. So… good luck in your new home, Mace.” She waved and turned, walking briskly up the path. Her interest had plummeted the instant he uttered the hated W word. Mel did not poach. Right before she gained the front entrance, she swiveled her head around for one last furtive glance back.

  He’d been watching her progress, and upon getting caught staring, gave her a brief military salute and only turned away once she was inside.

  Fearing oddly jumpy, Mel closed and locked the door behind her and then looked around. The house was still in some disarray from Jane’s recent move-in before the accident, and Mel wished she had more time to put it to rights as much as possible before Jane came home.

  OK, Melanie, focus on the task, not on the hot next-door neighbor and stop pondering how big his dick is. It’s probably big though.

  Walking into the bedroom was disconcerting since it was the only room in the house that held any furniture. Jane had told her she couldn’t stand her old stuff—hand-me-downs from her parents and relatives. “They’re not even good enough for the landfill,” she’d protested. “Poor homeless people having to sit on that puke-colored furniture—it’s cruel and unusual.”

  “At least Jane isn’t a neat fanatic,” she muttered, taking stock of the master suite that had clothing strewn at every spot that wasn’t occupied by a big cardboard box. “Let’s see. Everything will be loose on her,” she continued, “but baggy would be good with her medical paraphernalia.” Having gathered a T-shirt, jeans, and running shoes, she was stuffing them all in her knapsack when she heard a dog bark and a woman’s voice yell sharply.

  Curious, Mel stepped over to the tall windows, noticing one had been left slightly open, allowing ambient noise inside. Peering out she saw her new pal Mace talking with a thin female with blond hair and elegant posture—must be the wife—and she had a big dog on a leash. The dog was tall and thin with long blond hair too. What Mel noticed most of all, was that Jane’s rear-facing bedroom window had a perfect view of the Caldwells’ patio and small backyard.

  That led Mel to wonder if Jane found the married couple to be interesting theatre. If she lived here, she’d totally take a peek now and then—the architecture of these homes practically encouraged it, being in such close proximity but each house of varied dimension in the rear, creating views into each other’s homes and lives.

  Standing at the casement window, she studied the two carefully. The woman held her body stiffly, as if she was massively pissed. Her hunky husband was more relaxed but had a guarded look on his face.

  Mel couldn’t be positive, but their body language suggested they might not be exactly enjoying one another’s company. To put it mildly.

  Then again, they could be talking about something unpleasant, like unpaid bills or mothers-in-law.

  She finished up her task but when she reached the stairs, she realized she forgot to pack underwear and a bra. Jane had nothing in the hospital except the few toiletries that Mel had brought her in the days following the accident. When she re-entered the bedroom, she could still hear the couple next door conversing in loud tones.

  Conversing? More like arguing. Was all not peachy with the pretty Ken-and-Barbie Caldwells?

  Walking to the window Mel could hear the man say something, finishing with “your fucking dog.” Hmm. So Mace doesn’t like the pup? He dropped down a notch in her opinion just for that. She cranked the window closed and locked it so the chilly autumn weather couldn’t make the house cold, and the Caldwells couldn’t make it unpleasant.

  Back to her task, she rummaged through Jane’s underwear drawer to find a comfortable pair of cotton panties and bra in the top dresser drawer, noting all the pretty lingerie Jane had in there. She grinned—not so plain-Jane underneath those demure clothes. It made Mel wonder if Jane had a lover. A few days after the accident, Mel had tried calling that guy—Ed Jensen, no relation to Jane—several times but no one answered or returned her voicemail messages.

  Before leaving the bedroom, she detoured to the closet to get a light jacket. Stepping into the huge walk-in—it must have been a small bedroom converted to a closet since old houses tended to have tiny closets, if any at all—she flipped on the light and looked around. Something in the back caught her eye, surprising her. Getting closer, she spotted a pair of fuck-me stilettos tucked into a corner. They were almost hidden from view, but Mel had expensive-shoe radar and her eyes homed right in on them. Her breath hitched when she saw the red soles. Whoa. Five hundred at the very least, she thought, recognizing the signature of the designer.

  As she left, she chewed it over. The shoes were unlike anything Jane had ever worn—very much out of character. Maybe they weren’t even Jane’s? One thing Mel knew for sure: regardless of whose they were, Mel wanted to borrow them, and since possession was nine-tenths of the law, she figured Jane would be the one to loan them out. Score. Before exiting the closet, she’d checked the size: 37. What was that in US sizes? A 7, if memory served her correctly. Mel wore a US 8 so generally a 39 in European size. But what’s a little pain along with a few bloody blisters for the privilege of wearing such beautiful shoes?

  As her gaze passed the wall clock at the head of the stairs, her breath hitched. “Shit, it’s late.” She sprinted downstairs to lock
up the house. Getting in her borrowed VW, she steered the car toward the hospital.

  The past few days at work had been so hectic that Mel hadn’t been able to visit Jane for almost a week so when she waltzed into the hospital room, she got a surprise when she saw her friend.

  “Good God, Jane, I know you’ve just been through the mill, but I have to say, you look just, like, fantastic. Damn, girl, you must have lost twenty-plus pounds since your accident.”

  “Uh… thanks?” Jane laughed. “Probably there are easier ways to diet? But yeah, I feel much better today.”

  Mel couldn’t drag her eyes off Jane, suddenly seeing her in a brand-new light. It took Mel aback. She’d always thought Jane had a pretty face but it was a little hard to see past the outer defenses Jane had so carefully erected. She’d always dressed in a way that would keep her from being noticed, a leftover habit—no, a honed skill—from her days of being the fat, smart girl in high school, desperate not to attract attention for it was always of the negative variety… Jane had told her a few stories about her teenage years over a couple of glasses of wine. Mel had been slowly building up Jane’s tolerance to alcohol.

  Lately, though, Jane’s style of dress had begun to change—a little bit, anyway. In the days before her accident, Jane had begun to wear dresses that showed a peek of cleavage and maybe a hint of thigh, and even once or twice had styled her hair. Mel had also noticed Jane lately wearing a smidgen of makeup—nothing drastic, just lip-gloss and mascara.

  Now, though, Mel was gaping at her with new eyes. Jane had a beautiful face and it was enhanced by the dramatic weight loss. Once the bandage came off her nose and her bruising cleared up completely… with the right clothes and makeup, and a cool new haircut, Jane would be a total babe. Did she even recognize that about herself?