Chapter 11 #2
My mouth falls open, because my house is decorated. Like, full-on Christmas Vacation decorated. Over the years I’ve acquired more decorations than I’ve ever managed to put up at once, and now, matching or not, they’re all adorning my house.
It starts slowly, a simmering annoyance in my gut, and then builds as I realize what all this entails.
Again, Tom has come to my house unasked, unwanted, and while I was unconscious.
Again, he’s violated the one place I feel safe.
Again, I realize that I have to talk to him, the last thing on earth I want to do.
Fuck.
My hands shake as I pull the phone out of my pocket, and my fingers fly across the keys. I have trouble reading what I’m writing because I’m tearing up—I’m an angry crier—but he doesn’t deserve good grammar or spelling, he deserves whatever bullshit autocorrect decides to spit out at him.
A: Tom, i don’t know what the fuck is setting with you, but you can’t just come to my house and do this shit. I isn’t ask you to get my lives and honestly it’s none of your ducking business of I deviate or not!!!! Stay off my property, I’ll get my own damn groceries from now on.
I hit send and dash the tears out of my eyes. Oof, that was a rough one, but he deserves every second of attempting to figure out what I meant.
Take that, asshole.
“Come on, Henry.” I wave at him and head toward the treeline. Of course now, when I have a ton of pissed off energy to burn, I don’t even have any physical labor to burn it off with.
The woods are still and quiet, my feet crunching in the snow and occasionally snapping twigs beneath them. It makes me think of my sexy dream the other night, but even that doesn’t distract me.
I can’t leave my house because the world feels unsafe.
But now, even my house feels unsafe.
Sure, Tom always kinda gave off the “don’t you worry, little lady” vibe even when I didn’t want it, but this has gone too far. As soon as that fucker texts me back, I’m gonna give him another piece of my mind.
I angrily stomp around the forest for a while. Henry must pick up on the vibe, because he’s acting the closest to being possessive and protective I’ve ever seen.
Actually, come to think of it, he’s never really liked Tom.
He always barks at him when he comes round, though I guess he must have slept through the two nights he was moving my shit.
“Good boy, Henry,” I croon, even if he has no idea why he’s a good boy, he deserves to know.
It’s not his fault he’s a hard sleeper. He’s the goodest boy, because obviously he’s known Tom is a creeper and I’m simply late to the party.
Time drags on, and I get some work done on my phone during the walk. My anger has nearly cooled when I hear the sound of a chainsaw. I walk to the edge of my property, nearing Tom’s land, though why he’d be out at the edge of his acreage clearing trees is beyond me.
Hearing him so close to where the stone fence that separates our land is only riles me up again, and I growl in frustration. He’d better not be cutting any of my trees. If he’s laid his hand on one single tree, he’ll face my wrath.
I stomp over there, sniffing when I see that at least he is on his side of the fence. He seems to be clearing a path through the woods, though thankfully it seems to turn and run parallel to my property line a hundred feet or so away.
When he sees me, he powers down the chainsaw and waves, like nothing is wrong. He pops earplugs out, but still yells too loud when he greets me.
“Well hello, sweetheart!” he says, putting his safety goggles up onto the brim of his hat. “Take a walk just to come see me?”
I recoil. “What the fuck is wrong with you, dude?” I spit.
“You can’t just come to my house unannounced, and news flash, buddy, tell people when you get a new fucking phone number.
And another thing, it’s none of your goddamn business if I put my lights up or not.
Stay off my property, or I’ll call the police. ”
Yes, that sounds sufficiently threatening. I may not feel it, but it was a pretty good bluff.
The problem is, though, that Tom looks generally taken aback. He shakes his head and drops the chainsaw so he can hold his hands up in front of him. By the time I finish speaking, he looks almost pissed.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, sweetheart. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve just gotten back from seeing my sister out of town. Hell, I’ll show you the plane ticket if you like.”
“What?”
Wow, what a stunning response, Ada. Really smart and inquisitive.
“I’ve been out of town.” Eyes squinted, he looks around.
Tom is honestly just the most normal guy ever.
Dark brown hair, moderately tall, and definitely has some French-Canadian heritage judging by his face shape.
He looks like every fourth guy in New Hampshire.
Today, he’s wearing a flannel shirt and jeans, Timberland boots, and the faded Red Sox baseball cap that must be issued as uniform around here.
Although overly nosy and protective, he’s never been threatening, I suppose…
“Out of town? As in… not here?”
“Yes.” He hands me his phone as his other hovers toward the back of his jeans.
It’s open to an airline app, showing a boarding pass that was used earlier today. If this is right, he could have only been home a few hours… and he definitely didn’t put lights up on my house.
Turning to me, his face hard, I yelp when I see the small gun clutched in his hand.
“Ada, sweetheart, did someone come to your house?”
I fucking hate that he calls me sweetheart, because I’m not, but now doesn’t exactly feel like the time to address it. Between the gun and the terror creeping up my spine like a choking black fog, I’m barely holding back a scream.
Because if Tom didn’t put up my lights… who the fuck did?
Hardly anyone knows I live here. Certainly no one has my old number.
I can’t make sense of it anymore, and I indisputably can’t do this right now.
“No! So sorry, actually it was a joke!” I laugh, hoping it’s convincing.
He furrows his brow, indicating behind him to his house. “Are you sure? Why don’t you come inside, sweetheart? I’ll make some coffee, and we can figure all this out.”
“Oh gosh, no, I don’t want to take up your time. I’m sorry again about the joke. It wasn’t very funny, was it?”
“No… but that’s—”
“Anyways, I forgot I have a meeting I need to get to, my clients need me so much, you know!” I’m babbling, backing up into my portion of the woods.
I don’t even really know what I am saying, I just know that I can’t have this next breakdown in front of my neighbor.
My neighbor who is so kind and helpful to me that I just accused of trespassing.
“Thanks, Tom, bye!” I call over my shoulder before turning and walking backward toward my house. I try to be nonchalant, but as soon as I am out of sight, I’m running.
It’s one thing if it’s Tom, I know how to deal with Tom… but a random person is another story.
I’m done with this shit. I feel safe in only one place in the entire world, and now someone is making my own house scary? No way.
Maybe I should be freaking out, but now? I’m pissed. As soon as I’m close to my house, I whip out my phone and hit the number for the local police department. It only rings twice before Myrna, the daytime dispatcher, answers.
“Hill PD, this is Myrna, how can I help you?”
“Hey Myrna, Ada Kimball here. I’d like you to send out a couple officers, I’ve had an issue with…” I pause because trespassing sounds too mild. “Someone breaking and entering.”
“Breaking and entering?” she pauses. “Ada, dear, are you sure? I know you had that scare last year and—”
That scare. She calls me getting fucking mugged a “scare.”
“Yes, Myrna, I’m sure. Please send someone down.”
“Okay, okay, I just don’t want us to waste your time coming down there and all…”
Really, she doesn’t want me to waste their time.
But this is Hill, there isn’t anything else going on, I’d bet that whoever is on duty is parked down in the grocery store parking lot, drinking a Dunkies, and listening to Bob and Tom unless there’s a Pats game on, that is.
They can take ten seconds to do their job.
“Thanks, Myrna.” I hang up the phone and take Henry back inside. He’s shivering a little bit. I’ve had him out in the cold for too long. Calling for help has really got me feeling a lot calmer. I’m doing something about my problems now, and it’s not all on me.
Maybe I rub Henry down with the towel a bit more vigorously than usual, but I can’t help it, and his old bones seem to enjoy it, anyhow. His tongue lolls out of his mouth, and his tail keeps batting against my legs. Yeah, he loves it. I guess I need to give him vigorous pets like this more often.
It’ll take the cops at least ten minutes to get here, unless they’re sitting right around the corner, so I put my shoes away and put the kettle on. Since they are tired of me calling all the time, it’s the least I can do. I need them to take me seriously, so I want them happy as clams.
I pace across my living room while I wait, running through every single person I know in town and if they’d have reason to do this to me.
Most folks I don’t even know by name, and I can’t think of anyone, outside of Tom and package delivery drivers and the cops, who knows where I live.
Well, probably the paramedics, too. All right, maybe the town clerk, if you want to get real specific, but to most people I’m just another friendly face at the grocery store, maybe even one that smiles a bit too much… if they remember me at all.
When I first moved here, I tried to talk to the grocery checkout people like we do back home, but I learned quickly that the expected conversation is a quick, cursory exchange of hello, how are you, and have a nice day.
Nothing deep, no real answers. I think I’ve made far too many poor teenage checkers at the Market Basket panic by trying to make actual conversation than I can count.