Chapter 5
“ H ow do you feel about pot roast?”
Those were his crazy neighbor’s greeting words to Dexter when he arrived home that night.
“I have no strong feelings about it one way or another,” he said. Her hair was back in the messy bun, but it looked tidier this time, straighter on top of her head and not slipped to the side like it was trying to escape the mess of her life.
She sighed, annoyed by his non-answer. “If a woman made you pot roast, how would you react? Would you think she was hitting on you?”
“I guess it depended on what she did with it. Like if she made it for me to eat, no. If she showed up at my house wearing only a pot roast, yes.”
She burst into what was an arguably adorable fit of giggles and disappeared back inside her house.
Later, while he was still puzzling over the strange encounter, there was a knock at his door. When he answered, a tiny bundle of pot roast and all the trimmings sat in front of his door. He took it inside and inspected it, in case she’d shoved in any needles or other crazy person paraphernalia.
Crazy neighbor lady sure can cook, he thought, sitting down to eat the warmed over leftovers.
The next morning, Saturday, he laid the clean dishes outside her door and knocked. When no one answered, he turned and headed back toward his half of the house when, suddenly, her door opened but she was nowhere in sight.
“Psst,” she whispered.
He froze and spun, facing her door and cocking his head. “Yes, disembodied voice, may I help you?”
“I said ‘psst’ and I stand by it.” Her hand poked through the door and motioned him closer. Checking both ways, in case a bus came out of nowhere, maybe?, he eased tentatively forward. When he was as close to her door as he dared, her hand shot out, grabbed his shirt, and yanked him inside her apartment.
“Um, are you kidnapping me?” Dexter asked, wrenching free of her grasp.
“No, I’m saving you,” she said. She looked rougher than usual, which was saying something. The messy bun had taken a dive completely off her head, dangling loosely by her left ear. She kept absently batting it away as if annoyed by the secrets it kept trying to whisper to her. Her eyes were hollow and dark-rimmed and on today’s cheek seemed to be a streak of…strawberry? Yes, strawberry. The entire place reeked of it.
“What are you saving me from?” he asked.
“What?” she asked, blinking sleepily up at him.
He reached for a nearby box of tissues and used one to wipe her cheek, resisting the urge to tuck her hair more securely somewhere. “Why did you pull me in here?”
“The box people.”
He stared at her, amusement morphing to genuine concern. “Are they with us here now?”
“What? No. They show up for deliveries and try to steal our packages. I have to keep a sharp eye out.”
“I don’t have any deliveries,” he informed her.
“Yes, but if you did, I would keep an eye on them. As such, it’s your job to help keep an eye on mine.”
“Duly noted, though, you know, I’m not here most of the time.” He took a step toward the door.
With a sigh, she pulled him back and, with another motion, herded him toward the couch. “I meant today. My tracking app says my package will be here any minute. I didn’t want them to see you and get spooked.”
“The delivery guy?”
“No, the box people.”
“I thought you wanted them to be scared off,” he said, thoroughly confused.
“Not like this,” she said. “It’s like you’ve never done package recon before. Rookie.” She reached for a sucker from a tray to the right of the couch and handed it to him. He stared at it with absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do with it.
“What,” he began but soon realized she was asleep. Worse, she had conked out against his shoulder, trapping him relentlessly in place. In his left hand he held a lollipop, in his right he held his weird little neighbor, and he wasn’t certain which was more unexpected. He stared at her, willing her to wake up. When she didn’t, he had the thought he should cover her with the afghan draped haphazardly over the arm of the couch. But if he moved, he might wake her or, worse, wake her in the act of covering her. There was something too disconcertingly intimate about being caught taking care of someone. So he remained frozen and watchful.
She was pretty, for a crazy person. Not insanely beautiful like Sonya, but it was Dexter’s experience that the beautiful never seemed to be without the insanely portion. Unlike Sonya’s glossy dark tresses, his neighbor’s hair was multihued streaks of blond, thick stripes that looked as it had been painted by a brush. There were dark streaks and light streaks and what he thought was a gray hair that turned out to be glitter. Not for the first time he wondered about her. Why was she so exhausted? What did she do all night? Why didn’t she go to work? Maybe she was a telemarketer who worked midnights. That would explain her odd hours, as well as her oddly persistent personality.
Her nose had a little swoop on the end, like a Dr. Seuss character. Dexter resisted the urge to touch it because worse than being caught taking care of someone would definitely be touching someone’s nose while they slept. But still, the urge was there, and that was surprising. Not that he was averse to women or wanting to touch one. But she was clearly on at least day three with that messy bun, rumpled, untidy almost beyond repair. Dexter didn’t like things that were messy, especially not women. He put out fires for a living; he didn’t want to have to do it in his private life.
The slamming of a door startled him out of his stare, focusing his attention back out the window in time to see the UPS driver arrive with the neighbor’s package. And, almost as soon as he pulled away, a car drove slowly in front of their house and paused.
“The box people,” Dexter hissed. Heart hammering with anxiety, he dodged off the couch and out the door to grab the package, bringing it inside with a triumphant slam of the door that did nothing to wake his sleeping neighbor.
In his absence she had curled into a tiny little ball on the couch, shivering like an abandoned kitten. This time he didn’t hesitate before covering her with the afghan. Then he set her box on the floor, lollipop on top, and eased out the door and to his own side of the house.