Round Three
MAGGIE
I stay hidden within the dusty, messy walls of my paternal grandmother’s house for days after my run-in with the yin and yang detectives Caster and Devereaux.
One is grumpy; the other is overly yappy and nice.
One glares; the other grins.
One strokes his gun for fun; the other allows his eyes to do all the stroking.
And isn’t ashamed of it.
One is my next-door neighbor, and the other drops by twice more in the days after our midnight rendezvous.
Cars pass my house on a near-constant rotation, townies desperate for a glimpse inside poor Mrs. Sava’s home now that her traitorous granddaughter has returned to enjoy the spoils of an uncontested will.
That gold-digging, ungrateful bitch… is probably what they’re saying.
I avoid Main Street like my life depends on it, electing to order the things I need online—small-town no-no number two—and since Ramone is so eager to assist, I talk him into helping me cart my new fridge inside, haul the old one out, and head on down to grab me some groceries.
You want sugar, Maggie? Well sure, it would be my pleasure!
What about a couple of steaks, too? I’ll get us a bag-o-salad, and a bottle of something in the ten-to-twenty-dollar range, then I’ll fire up the grill, and we can toast to old friendships. Maybe invite your new neighbors, since Billy is way too proud to ask for an invitation.
Pass.
I spend every spare moment I have going through my grandma’s things, combing through the house room by room, not to clear the place of valuables, but to clear it of clutter.
I counted seventy-something teapots before I gave up, wrapped each one in a tea towel, then packed them away for storage.
There were over three thousand books on shelves lining the walls, but almost every single one suffered some kind of weird spotting issue that looked terrifyingly like mold, so I pulled them down, packed them in plastic boxes, and stored them in the garage for later inspection.
My grandmother’s closet still had clothes from the turn of the century, and smelled stale, kinda like salt and vinegar chips, so that, too, was cleaned out, and when I pulled the old sheets off her bed and discovered sweat stains in the shape of her body, I carted that monstrosity down the stairs and all the way to the curb for collection.
Sorry, Grandma. But I won’t be holding on to that.
I work myself to exhaustion for days, humming to whatever music comes on my Spotify playlist, and fielding phone calls from prospective employers, because a gal needs to work to live.
But on my seventh day in town—eighth?—when the looky-loo drive-bys slow and the gossip mill has probably died off a little, I stare into my fridge, my stomach growling from hunger, and finally admit: I’ve run out of food.
I lived on Greek yogurt yesterday, which is high in protein and all, but eating it for three meals in a row gets old fast, and the day before that, I polished off the last of the carbs.
Exhaling a long sigh, I slam my fridge and spin on my heels. Snatching my phone off the charger, then my keys off the hook, I swing my front door wide, only to skitter to a stop when I almost trample a sweet little boy whose hand was—is—up, ready to knock.
“Oh my gosh!” I jump back a step and press my palm over my pounding chest. Panic floods my veins in an instant because I know this face.
Good Lord, I know who this kid is! Adrenaline attacks my stomach in waves as I poke my head through my front door and look to the right.
Then left. I search the street, and just to make doubly sure, I peek right again and study the side of Billy Caster’s house.
God forbid the grump accuse me of abducting his child or something.
“Uh…” My heart thrums out of control, racing faster than a hummingbird’s wings. Swallowing the sticky lump of nerves in my throat, I bring my eyes down to Billy Caster’s freakin’ twin.
I haven’t seen that man since I was eight years old, and I swear, this kid right in front of me, this green-eyed, gap-toothed, mud-smudged boy, is just Billy from twenty-five years ago.
It’s like they took him, froze him, and now here he is, reanimated and ready to continue life where he left off.
“H-hello.” I lower into a crouch and lock the groan of aching thighs deep inside my chest. Meeting his eyes, I offer a soft smile. “Hi. Are you okay?”
“My name is Jeremy.” He thrusts his hand between us. “I live next door.”
“O-okay.” I transfer my phone and keys to the left and accept his hand with my right. “I’m Maggie, and I live here.”
“My dad said your name is Magnolia.”
Warmth floods my cheeks, tickling and teasing enough to make my stomach flip. “My full name is Magnolia, but no one really calls me that. D-do you need something? Where’s your mom and dad?”
“My mom doesn’t live in that house anymore.”
“Oh…” I lick my dry lips. “Okay.”
“And my dad is in the kitchen fixing the dishwasher, cos it keeps clogging up and making a mess.” Jeremy’s eyes grow wider, his missing front teeth glittering behind a mischievous grin.
“He was cussin’, cos he banged his elbow when I kept asking what he was doing too many times, then he told me to get the hell outside and play. ”
My eyes narrow to unhappy slits. “Do you think he meant you should play in your backyard?” I glance past him and notice the lack of fences between our front yards, and the cars that cruise past just a little too fast for comfort. “I don’t think it’s very safe out here. Anyone could take you.”
“Nobody would take me.” He moves his right foot back, leaves his left foot exactly where it is, and lifts both hands. “I do karate. Nobody would dare take me.”
“Oh, well…” I choke out a laugh that bubbles all the way from my belly. “Alrighty, then. I’m sorry I questioned you.” But then I hook my finger in the front of his shirt and give it the tiniest tug. “But now you’re at my front door, and I could’ve grabbed you and put you in a soup pot already.”
His eyes flare wide.
“Safety is important, Jeremy Caster, which means you shouldn’t play in your front yard without an adult watching, and you definitely shouldn’t knock on a stranger’s front door.
Even if you know karate.” I release his shirt and straighten my legs before the overtired muscles explode.
“Did you need something in particular, or just to say hello?”
“M-my ball went into your backyard.” He smooths his shirt over a slightly rounded belly, his chin doubling as he glances down at his hands. “I accidentally kicked it over the fence. I was gonna ask my dad to help me talk to you, but he told me he was busy and to stop bothering him.”
My temper sizzles and sparks in the back of my skull, licks of anger washing through my limbs and down to my balled fists.
My hunger goes forgotten, replaced by a need to rip a jerky dad a new asshole.
Pasting on my kindest smile, I raise a single finger.
“Wait here a sec, okay? I’ll go get your ball. ”
“Kay.” He backs up with a grin, completely oblivious to the edge of my porch and the pain he’ll feel if he stumbles.
Instead, he practices his karate, hissing and kicking the air.
He throws a wild jab and giggles as long brown hair drops into his eyes.
“You want me to come into your house, Maggie? I could walk with you into your yard.”
“I thought we already discussed stranger danger and my soup pot?” I cast one last wary glance toward the street, then across to Billy’s house. “Don’t go near the road, okay? And don’t lean on the porch rails. They’re not very sturdy.”
Like he doesn’t believe me, he strides to the railing and gives it a shake. “Sheesh. That’s not sturdy at all.”
That’s what I just said!
“Wait here.” I leave my door wide open and spin on my heels, dashing through the house and dodging packed boxes as I go. I duck under a stuffed cat mounted to the wall—what the hell, Grandma?—then crash through my back door.
I stop for a beat and scour the overgrown yard, the unruly garden beds overflowing with struggling weeds, and around an array—like, two hundred of them—garden things; whirlybirds, bird baths, shiny hanging things, lawn ornaments, pots stacked inside pots, and at least seven different-sized and shaped fire pits.
I spy a dark brown football sitting by a bone-dry fountain halfway across the yard, so I dash off the back porch and scoop it up. Only to pause and catch sight of a soccer ball ten feet away… so I grab that, too. Then I spot a basketball, and right beside that, another football.
I grab as many as I can carry, slipping my phone and keys into my pockets to free my hands, then juggling the lot, I head back inside, duck under the creepy cat, and emerge at my front door to find the little boy using my porch railing as a balance beam.
“Jeremy!” I toss the balls so they bounce in a dozen different directions, then I charge across the porch and scoop him off the railing before he falls and breaks a bone. “That’s so dangerous!”
He wraps his arms around my neck and points his toes to the sky, like I’m his Prince Charming come to woo the beautiful princess. Smiling bright, he shows off several missing teeth and promises trouble.
So much trouble!
“I told you to wait here, silly.”
“I did wait here.” He leaps out of my arms and chases bouncing balls. “I waited exactly where you told me to wait.”
“I told you to wait on my porch.”
“I was waiting on your porch. I didn’t go near the road or anythin’.
” He spins, hugging the football and two basketballs to his chest, but then he drops the lot, stuffs a soccer ball under his shirt, then collects his cache again and beams. “I didn’t even remember I lost these!
My dad said Mrs. Sava wasn’t gonna be home for a while, cos she got sick, so I wasn’t allowed to knock and ask. ”
Sick… dead. Almost the same thing.