Ray Garton - The New Neighbor

Troubled she went to her room and dropped her books on the bed.

Something moved. Somewhere.

She listened at her bedroom doorway.

It came from the next room. Robby's room.

He’s never home this early , she thought.

Standing in the hall outside Robby's closed bedroom door, she muttered, "Mom?"

More faint sounds of movement.

"Mom?" she called, a little louder. Then, in a voice filled with the panic that had clogged her throat, she shouted, " Muh-therrr ?"

An angry voice… the squeak of bedsprings.

Jen pressed her back against the hallway wall and held her breath.

"What?" Robby barked as he opened the door.

She stared at him as she emptied her lungs, relieved, and snapped, "What're you doing home?"

"I was sick."

"You look sick."

He was pale and slump-shouldered and his ribs seemed to stick out a little more than usual.

"Where's Mom?" she asked.

"I don't know. She wasn't here when I got home."

"Well, I thought I heard her scream."

"What? You're high."

"I am not ! I heard her! At least… it sounded like her."

"Well, she's probably down at the Cranes'. Now shut up." He slammed the door and Jen heard his bedsprings squeak as he went back to bed.

Still not rid of her fear, she went to the telephone in the kitchen and called the Cranes, but her mom was not there. Neither was she at the LaBianco's house.

Jen flicked on the television in the living room and tried to preoccupy herself with it, but she couldn't. Maybe she hadn't heard her mom scream, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, something was different about today.

She sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the television and chewed her fingernails until the front door opened. She heard her mom's familiar sigh and dashed out to meet her.

Jen caught up with her in the kitchen and started to ask where she'd been, but only stared at her as she poured a glass of orange juice.

Mom did not look well. Her pretty blond hair was a sad mess and her face looked long and weary, almost as pale as Robby's.

"Mommy?" Jen asked, surprising herself, because she usually didn't call her that. She thought “Mommy” sounded childish.

“ What, honey?" She didn't look at Jen, just rinsed her glass in the sink and put the carton of orange juice back in the refrigerator.

"Where you been?"

"Huh? Oh, just… I was visiting with Miss Dupree. Our new neighbor. She invited me over to look at her jewelry. She's an artist.”

Frowning, Jen said, "I… I thought I… well, when I got off the bus, I thought I heard you scream. Dana laughed at me, but I, uh… I thought I heard you scream."

Mom’s head snapped around toward Jen and, just for a second, she looked as if she were about to become angry. Then she blinked, smiled falteringly, and said, "Oh, I'm fine, honey. Really. It was nothing. Maybe a cat."

"That's what Tara said."

"Well, that's probably what it was." She went to Jen and gave her a hug.

Jen felt her mom's hands tremble as they pressed to her back and her breath seemed to be coming faster than usual, rumbling in Jen's ear.

"I'm fine." Karen said. "Really."

"You… look sick."

Her smile crumbled. "I do?"

"Uh-huh. Like Robby. He came home from school early."

"I knew he shouldn't have gone," she muttered distractedly, touching her face. "Probably the flu. It's going around. You'd better take some vitamin C, honey. Go watch TV, okay? I'm gonna… take a hot bath."

Jen watched her mom walk slowly from the kitchen and disappear down the hall, shaking her head as if mumbling to herself. The bathroom door closed and locked and water began running in the bathtub. Back in the living room, Jen plopped in front of the television again, but she paid little attention to

Something’s different , she thought, chewing another fingernail – chewing it all the way into the pink bloody quick. Something's wrong .

A Stranger

George was exhausted when he drove the car into the garage that evening. The radio station had recently undergone a change of ownership and, although he was immensely relieved to still have his job, he had the unpleasant task of firing some of the talent at the request of his new boss. He'd informed three disc jockeys of their termination that afternoon, as well as the sales manager, and it hadn't been easy. They were the best group he'd ever worked with, not a single rotten apple in the whole barrel, and he hated to see them split up. He felt worn and achy and wanted nothing more than to sit down in front of the television with a beer – maybe a screwdriver, or even a straight scotch – and get a little numb.

He knew something was different the moment he walked into the laundry room and couldn't hear a sound in the house. Even the washer and dryer were silent, and they were usually thumping with a load each evening. Dirty laundry was one of Karen's pet peeves and she washed something almost every day after work. And even if something wasn't in the wash, someone was usually knocking around in the kitchen or talking on the telephone or watching the television with the volume at full blast.

Tonight there was only silence.

He slipped his coat off as he walked through the kitchen and hung it on the coat rack in the hall. He could hear the television in the living room, the volume unusually low, and he stepped in to find Jen stretched out on the floor, sound asleep in front of a Cosby rerun. Kneeling beside her, he woke her gently and she smiled up at him.

"Hi, Dad."

"Hey, kiddo. Where is everybody."

"Sick."

"What?"

"Mom and Robby. I think they've got the flu. They're both in bed asleep."

"Have you eaten?"

"I made a sandwich. How was your day?"

"Not so good. Things are kind of tense at work right now. How about you?"

"Oh – “ She shrugged. " – same as usual."

"Do you have any homework?"

"I always have homework."

"Well, if you want any help, let me know." He started building a fire in the fireplace. "You sure you don't want anything more to eat, Jen?"

"Nope. I'm not hungry."

It was not like Karen to go to bed without feeding anyone. She must have felt pretty bad.

Once he had the fire burning, George went to the bedroom to check on Karen. She was curled up in bed. The closet light was on, but the door was only open a crack. Light fell on her puffy face and gave her skin a white pallor.

No, she did not look well at all.

George turned off the light and closed the door on his way out, then went to Robby's room.

"Hey, Dad," Robby croaked. He was just waking up, sitting on the edge of his bed with his face in his hands.

"How're you feeling?" George sat beside him and put his arm around the boy.

"Better. I think."

"You look better. You were pretty ugly this morning. Think it was the flu?"

"Prob'ly."

"Or did you just wear yourself out at Miss Dupree's last night?" He laughed and squeezed Robby's shoulder.

A look fell over Robby's face for an instant, then was gone – a look of slack-jawed horror so strong that, although brief, it made George flinch inwardly.

“Uh, we just, y’know, moved furniture, and stuff," Robby said. "She made dinner, but I wasn't very hungry. Guess it was the flu coming on."

"Yeah. Probably." George watched him a moment, waiting for another sign of that fearful look -

– Guilt , he thought, that's what it looked like -

– but it never came. "Must be the flu," he said, "because your mom's got it, now. She's in bed."

Robby rubbed his stomach and said, "I'm hungry. Anything for dinner?"