Chapter 2
two
Jane Bradshaw paced back and forth past her living room front window, biting her lower lip and twisting a dust cloth in her hands, trying to appear nonchalant as she peered outside to the chaos next door.
She hated it when Rob called her Mrs. Kravitz after the snoopy neighbor on the old Bewitched sitcom.
And she knew it was ridiculous, bordering on obsessive, to get this worked up over a silly birthday party.
But for some unexplainable reason, this felt like the proverbial writing on the wall. Things were not going to get better.
Her next-door neighbor and “friendly” nemesis, Cindy McEntire, was celebrating turning sixty today.
And good for her, but was that milestone really worthy of all this fuss?
But then Cindy had about a dozen grown children and probably twice as many grandchildren, and their property currently resembled a junkyard on steroids.
Besides the gaudy signs, streamers, and balloons littered recklessly about and getting soaked in the afternoon rain, cars in various conditions were crammed everywhere in the cul-de-sac, which was rather short on parking.
And like adding insult to injury, Rob had invited the guests to use the Bradshaw driveway for overflow parking.
And it had overflowed right into their planting strip.
“Rob!” she called out for the third time, ready to lash into her husband over his lapse in good sense. “Come here right this minute.”
Rob slowly ambled into the room with a small gift bag in hand. “What’s wrong?” he asked with a furrowed brow. “Is the house on fire? I don’t hear any alarms.”
“Look at that.” She pointed out the window to their driveway. “That vehicle’s tires are in our planting strip.”
“Yeah, I know. But it’s not on the shrubbery or hurting anything. Not that you should care since you’ve been nagging me to clear out that juniper anyway.”
“Not like that.” She frowned. “And what if I need to get my car out of the garage? I’m totally blocked in.”
“You said you didn’t feel well and didn’t plan on going anywhere today. Including Cindy’s birthday party.” He held the bag up. “I was about to go.”
“You are actually going over there?”
“Why not? Erik invited us last week. And they’re our neighbors. And they’re good people.”
“They’re a train wreck.”
His mouth twisted to one side. “We’re all entitled to our opinions.
And we’ve agreed to disagree on this.” He gave her his warning look, a signal that he was done with this conversation.
“And no worries, Jane, I made your excuses this morning. Not that Erik believed it when I said you have a headache.”
Jane touched her forehead. “Maybe I didn’t have one then, but I’m getting one now.” She stared at the cheerful bag he’d obviously snuck from her crafting room. “What’s in there?”
“Just something for Cindy’s birthday.”
She stepped closer, trying to peer into the bag. “What is it?”
He sheepishly removed a chunky coffee mug in garish colors, turning it toward her so she could see the words. “Found it at that little doodad shop next door to my office.”
“‘May your coffee kick in before reality does,’” she read aloud, then grimly shook her head. “I wish reality would kick in—and maybe kick her right in the—”
“Jane,” he chided, “that’s no way to love thy neighbor. And on her birthday too.”
She closed her eyes and blew out a sigh.
“I know, I know. I’m a terrible Christian.
But can I help it if Cindy McEntire drives me absolutely nuts?
I honestly thought with their menagerie of kids all grown, their house would quiet down some.
But now that they’re getting married and bearing offspring, that place is a three-ring circus. ”
“A circus is a happy place.” He attempted a smile.
“Not if the wild lions and tigers roam freely and do their business on your front lawn.”
“Oh, Jane.” He tucked the mug back in the bag, shoving some tissue paper on top. “Sure you don’t want to go over there with me and wish her happy birthday? Erik said Jocelyn made carrot cake.”
“No, thank you very much.”
With a glum expression, he reached for his fleece jacket that was hanging on the antique hall tree by the front door, probably still dripping wet from when he went out earlier in the rain. How many times had she told him to hang wet things in the laundry room?
“I’ll share your regards with Cindy,” he said.
“Don’t bother. I’m sure she wouldn’t believe you anyway.”
“Sure she would. Cindy has a very gracious spirit.”
“You mean unlike some people,” she said sharply.
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t need to.” She felt guilty now. Why was she such a wet blanket? “I’m sorry, Rob. I don’t mean to be so negative. But all those cars and those soggy birthday decorations, well, I guess they just put me on edge.”
“They’ll be gone soon enough. I’ll help Erik take them down.”
“Yeah, then they’ll be replaced with their usual tacky Christmas decorations. I’m surprised they’re not already up.” She felt a twinge of hope. “Maybe they’ll back off this year.”
“Erik said they both were down with the flu right after Thanksgiving.” He reached for the door.
“Probably one of their lovely grandchildren shared a bug with them,” she said. “You be careful over there, Rob. It might still be going around.” She followed him to the door. “And be sure to wash your hands. And for heaven’s sake, don’t eat anything. I’ve been in that woman’s kitchen.”
He just laughed. “Yeah, yeah, you’ve mentioned that before. But everyone knows you’re a germaphobe, Jane. No one’s housekeeping will ever measure up to yours.” He pecked her on the cheek. “Have a nice afternoon.”
She refrained from a juvenile eye roll. But honestly, did he really expect her to have a nice afternoon with that chaotic, noisy mob next door?
She closed and locked the door behind him and let out an involuntary shudder.
Turning to the hall, she stared at her image in the oval mirror.
The old beveled looking glass was somewhat fogged with age, and the overcast skies outside made the foyer seem dimmer, but her image seemed extra dark.
Was it her imagination? Or did she really look that dark and gloomy?
She’d always been considered an attractive person.
Even though her hair had turned prematurely white in her early forties, it had remained thick, and she kept it cut in a youthful bob.
Although it did seem limp and dull today.
Probably time to put the special blue rinse on it to give it the sparkle and shine that always gained her compliments.
And Rob used to say her eyes were as blue as the ocean on a clear day, but they looked pale and rather grayish today.
And were those new wrinkles? She leaned closer to see.
Was it just her imagination? Or was she turning into an ugly old woman with a truly bad disposition? And if so, how did it happen?
Jane kept staring at the grumpy woman in the mirror, scowling and making ugly faces, wondering if this was how she appeared to others.
She didn’t want to be like this. Besides being unbecoming, her grisly expression seemed to accentuate the wrinkles that had shown up uninvited lately.
Was it already time for Botox again? She attempted a smile, hoping to appear more youthful, but it simply looked phony.
Like her. She knew she was a phony, always trying to appear to have it together, wearing the perfect clothes, living in the perfect home, saying the perfect things .
. . when she was really crumbling on the inside.
And yet she felt helpless, trapped in the prison she’d built for herself.
Besides being a killjoy and wet blanket to people like the McEntires, she was also turning into a cranky old fishwife. Amazing that Rob could even stand her.
She turned away from the mirror and looked around her house.
As usual, it was all perfection, and, in its perfection, it was soothing.
She walked through the living room, straightening a pale blue pillow on the sofa, picking a fading leaf from her philodendron, refolding a cream-colored chenille afghan, laying it perfectly over the cream-colored ottoman that matched the sofa.
This room, all in pale blues and shades of white, was relatively easy to keep perfect since Rob rarely came in here.
His domain was his man cave–like den, which probably needed her touch right now.
She headed in that direction. It always got away from her a bit on the weekends since Rob used it more, but to her surprise, it was fairly neat.
She straightened his stack of golf and fitness magazines before picking up his slippers and carrying them to their bedroom, where she put them in his closet.
As usual, his walk-in closet was a bit chaotic, but after too many arguments over her “infringing on his territory,” she had learned to kick a path on the cluttered floor, hang up his clean, pressed shirts, close the door, and look the other way.
She was halfway tempted to straighten it all up now—just out of spite.
But she didn’t think it would be worth the fight.
You’d think a man with his own accounting firm would want to keep things at home as neat and tidy as he kept the books for the biggest businesses in town.
But left to his own ways, Rob would be a total mess.
Would he be happier in his filth? Perhaps.
But she couldn’t go there. She didn’t even know the way.