6. Gretchen
Gretchen
Three weeks later…
I was rinsing the dishes in the kitchen sink when I saw movement next door. Someone was in the back yard. Narrowing my eyes, I studied the space between my house and Jan’s, trying to see what was happening. Someone was definitely there.
The figure was slight. A teen. Or a skinny woman.
I watched as the person looked around on the back deck, squatting down and disappearing from view for a minute or two before popping up again.
They approached the back door, looking over their shoulder first, then slipped into the house like the thief they probably were.
Damn it.
I should have called the cops, but if it was a teenager an arrest would go on their record and follow them around for years.
I didn’t want that to happen, I had a soft spot for kids in trouble.
I’d go investigate first. If it was just some scared kid who’d figured out that Jan’s house was empty, I’d try to roust them out first. If they were violent or on drugs or something, then I’d call the cops.
Grabbing the Swiffer sweeper from the corner of the kitchen where I’d left it, I removed the attachment and took the pole part with me to use as a weapon.
As I walked through my house I unlocked my phone and pressed the number nine.
I’d press the ‘one one’ to complete the emergency call if I ran into trouble.
I jogged out of my house, trying to gauge where the intruder was.
A light went on in the kitchen, telling me that’s where they were, so I headed for the front door, hoping to sneak up on them.
Holding my breath, I slid my key in the lock and eased the heavy door open, looking around.
Everything in the living room looked just like I’d left it earlier today when I’d stopped by to water the plants.
Brandishing the broom handle in front of me, I tiptoed through the dining room to the kitchen. The intruder was standing in front of the refrigerator, head stuck inside as they looked for something. Interesting place to start. Most people didn’t keep their valuables in the fridge.
I glanced around the kitchen, noting that none of the windows were broken and the door looked untampered with. Whoever this was, they must have found the key that Jan kept underneath the flower pot on the back porch. I’d told her a million times that it wasn’t a safe hiding place.
“Stop right where you are!” I said in my most authoritative voice. “The police are on their way!”
The person stiffened, then straightened up, revealing long, curly dark hair and a slim shapely figure.
She – I could see the intruder was a woman now -- lifted her hands up and turned around slowly, brown eyes wary.
She was a few inches taller than me, with slim hips, a narrow waist, and breasts that were full and lush against the black tank top she wore.
Her clothes looked a little loose, hanging on her frame as if she’d recently lost weight and hadn’t sized down yet.
The woman was beautiful. Younger than me, probably mid to late twenties, with sharp cheekbones, striking eyebrows, and a pronounced jaw.
She reminded me of Julianna Margulies, I realized, back when she was on ER and in love with George Clooney.
Something about the intruder called to me, though I couldn’t say why.
Maybe it was the vulnerability I saw on her face.
“Are you going to beat me with that stick?” she asked, her voice a little rough like she hadn’t used it in a while.
I frowned and waved the Swiffer at her.
“This is a private residence. You’re trespassing.”
“This is my grandmother’s house,” she said, putting her arms down and relaxing. “You’re the one who’s trespassing.”
She had lady balls, this one.
“Jan doesn’t have a granddaughter,” I said. “Which is what I’ll tell the police when they get here.”
“Let’s start over,” she suggested. “Hi, my name is Zoe Boynton. And you are?”
“Gretchen Langley,” I responded automatically. “The woman who lives here is not named Boynton. Who are you really?”
“Who are you really?” she shot back.
We stood there staring at each other, both of us agitated. Zoe relented first.
“My mother’s maiden name is Peters, Connie Peters. Jan Peters is her mother, my grandmother. Do you know when she’ll be back?”
“Jan’s never mentioned a granddaughter,” I said suspiciously. “Or a daughter, for that matter.”
“That’s probably because she didn’t know I existed until a couple of months ago,” Zoe said.
Suddenly I remembered the picture on the mantle of Jan and her husband flanking a young girl. Could this woman be telling the truth?
“My grandmother and my mother were estranged. My mom always told me we didn’t have any family, that everyone was dead, but after she died I found out she’d been lying. Not only about the existence of my grandmother, but also about my father, who coincidentally was also not dead.”
I blinked. What kind of crazy story was this? I pressed the button on my phone, which had gone to sleep.
“I’m going to text Jan.” Then I remembered I couldn’t text her. “Damn it.”
“What?”
“I need to email her, she’s out of the country and she didn’t want to add international service to her phone plan.”
“It’s ridiculously expensive,” Zoe said, “those damned billionaires overcharge us for everything.”
In that moment she sounded exactly like her grandmother.
We stared at each other for a few seconds, and the hostility faded into something that felt almost electric.
“Look, whoever you are, I’m glad to answer your questions but I haven’t eaten since this morning and I’m pretty sure my stomach acid is trying to dissolve me from the inside. Do you mind if I get a snack before we talk?”
When I just blinked at her, she opened the refrigerator again, sticking her head in and coming back out with a can of root beer and an unopened package of cheese. She opened the closest cabinet, glancing at the contents before moving onto the next one.
“Yes!”
I’d never seen anyone so happy to find saltines.
Grabbing a knife from the drawer, she skirted around me to sit at the kitchen table, immediately going to work opening the cheese.
With a sigh I went to the cabinet and brought out a plate, then grabbed a paper towel for her to use as a napkin.
She shoved a cracker with cheese into her mouth whole, chewing rapidly while I watched her like she was some weird animal at the zoo.
Neither of us said a word while she inhaled four crackers with cheese in record time.
I couldn’t help but flash back to the days when I’d been that hungry.
Zoe sucked down a long drink of root beer before turning her attention back to me.
In the light I could see the resemblance to Jan.
It was in the eyes and the facial structure, although Jan was more petite.
“Okay Gretchen Langley, who are you to my grandmother? And why are you in her house?”
“I live next door,” I said after a short debate with myself about whether I should answer. “We’re neighbors and friends. I’m watching Jan’s house for her while she’s gone.”
“She’s out of town?” Zoe frowned. “Damn it. I thought she was just out grocery shopping or something.”
“She’s in Europe for a month.”
She glanced down at the table, whispering “What am I going to do now?” so softly that I was pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to hear it.
“Are you in trouble or something?” I asked, surprised by how much I was drawn to this stranger.
She cut another slice of cheese and set it on top of a saltine before answering me. “Not exactly. But kind of.”
“Well, that explains everything.”