Ray Garton - The New Neighbor

It was three-forty.

Leaving her mess untouched and her bleeding thumb unbandaged, Karen got her coat from the hall closet and, trembling with anticipation, put it on over her baggy sweats and slipped on a pair of tennis shoes. As she passed the living room doorway, she saw Jen on the sofa, her knees curled up to her chest, hands tucked beneath her nightshirt, arms moving slightly. Karen started to tell Jen she was going across the street for a little while, but didn’t bother. The girl's eyes were closed anyway and she was oblivious even to the television.

Karen opened the front door and saw it. She frowned for a long moment, not sure what she was looking at, then realized it didn't matter what it was. Someone had defaced their front door, but it wasn’t important. She would clean it off when she got back. She wanted nothing to hold her up now. She stepped out onto the porch and started to pull the door shut when it was jerked from her hand.

“Where are you going?" Robby asked urgently. He stood in the doorway, eyes wide, leaning toward her as if he were about to tell her something horrible.

"Juh-just… I-I was just… " Think fast , Karen told herself. "I was just going across the street to get some seasonings from Lorelle. I'm making a stew."

George appeared behind him looking agitated, a little angry. "What now , Robby?" he grumbled.

"Don't go, Mom."

"Why?"

"Just don't go. You can get 'em at the store, can't you? You'll need more later anyway, won't you? Probably. I'll go with you."

Karen sighed, annoyed, and said, "I don't want to go to the store, Robby. That's why I'm getting some from her."

" Don't ."

"What's wrong with you?"

George gripped Robby's shoulder and spun him around. "That's what I want to know. What's wrong with you, what are you on? Drugs? Have you been doing drugs ?"

"No, Dad, really, I told you what's -"

"Okay, that's enough," George said in that tone he used when he was deciding how to discipline one of the kids. "Clean this shit off the door. Now . Then you and I are going to have a talk and this time you're going to listen."

"No, Dad, please don't -"

"You clean it off right now or there'll be hell to pay and you'll wish you'd -"

"No."

"What?" George's voice was soft, level. "What did you say?"

Robby looked and sounded near tears, his lips trembling as he whispered, "I won't clean it off."

Karen watched as George's face was overcome by a look of anger so powerful that it seemed to alter his features. He began shouting at Robby, using obscenities uncharacteristic of him, and Karen stepped toward them and snapped, "What is going on here?"

"Shut up!" George barked. "Just shut up and go get your fucking seasonings, okay, just go!" Then he turned to Robby again and continued shouting.

Karen imagined how they must look to the neighbors – the three of them shouting on their front porch on a damp cloudy day, George and Robby in their bathrobes, she in her sweats, all three of them looking deathly pale and exhausted; and for the first time that day she forgot about Lorelle and wanted to cry, wanted to scream .

"Stop it," she said tremulously, quietly at first, then louder. "Stop it." And louder still. "Please stop it!"

George stopped, glared at her, and started to speak, but someone from down the street spoke first.

"Take it inside, for crying out loud!" a voice called from across the street. "Somebody's trying to sleep!"

George looked down the street at the Weyland house. Paul Weyland's face was leaning close to the screen over the bedroom window.

"It's my fucking porch, Weyland," George roared, "and I'll yell on it if I want to! Keep your goddamned dog off my lawn and maybe I'll be quiet! How would you like it if I came over and shit in your yard"

The window slammed shut.

Karen began to feel nauseated and tears stung her eyes.

"George, please," she whispered, "Leave him alone and let's just go inside, okay? Let's go inside."

"What? You're not going over to Lorelle's?" George snapped. His mouth curled into a malignant grin. "According to Robby, here, you're going over there to fuck her. You want me to leave him alone? Fine. I will. I'll just let him go on thinking that you and I are fucking the neighbor. Okay? That’s okay with you?"

A clump of ice formed in Karen's gut, then shattered, its pieces tumbling through her veins.

They stood there for a small eternity, their eyes darting back and forth between one another. Then George's eyes held on her and he grinned.

"Welllll," he said, dragging the word out into a long whispery drawl, his head bobbing up and down slowly. "Maybe Robby's not on drugs after all. Are you? Fucking her?"

Karen tried to gather her thoughts but they only tumbled around noisily in her mind, words heaping one on top of another in an orgy of confusion.

This happened? How? Did? How happened this how did it my god how happened this Jesus Christ how did this happen my god Jesus Christ HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?

Her tears spilled and her throat felt thick, as if something were oozing up from her stomach. She knew that nothing she could say would make any difference. She saw in George's eyes an anger that had reached such a height even words meant to comfort him would only serve to feed his fury. She had seen that look before – only a couple of times, because George seldom got angry – but never like this, never so fiery and dangerous.

Karen turned and walked back into the house, her vision a kaleidoscope of tear-blurred colors, picking up her pace when she heard George's heavy footsteps following her.

"So is it true?" he snapped, and she could hear a cold smile in his voice.

Karen could not respond. She headed for the bathroom.

" Answer me."

As she opened the bathroom door, he clutched her elbow and spun her around. She stiffened and stared at the floor.

"What the hell's going on here?" he hissed through clenched teeth. "Robby's spouting some crap about demons and Jen's acting like-like-like I don't know what and now you're giving me this-this – what is this anyway, are you – is there something… going on… be… tween… "

She lifted her eyes to his and saw in his face – slack-jawed and drunk-looking – that he knew.

"Son of a bitch," he breathed, then laughed coldly, hatefully. "So… how did Robby know, do you think? Huh? Maybe -" Another laugh, louder this time. " – maybe he's fucking her, too." His laughter grew louder still and more rapid-fire, like a machine gun. A strip of sweat glowed on his upper lip and a bead of it rolled slowly down his cheek. "Wouldn't that be a hoot? Huh? Wouldn't it?" He leaned back against the wall and shook his head vigorously and his laughter faded to quiet hiccups, then he sucked in a deep breath and released another booming round of laughs trying to speak at the same time. "I-I-I ha-haven't… slept well… need some sluh-sleep I g-guess.”

Karen backed into the bathroom a step, frightened. George's sickly pale face was turning a rosy red and his cheeks seemed to swell as he kept laughing… laughing and laughing… until he leaned forward and put his face in his hands and was silent. His shoulders jerked slightly, but the loud belly laughs were gone. His fingers curled, their tips pressing into his face.

Frowning, Karen wiped her teary eyes with a knuckle and stepped toward him. She pressed a fist into her abdomen where she was feeling a heavy churning sickness – a combination of dread and guilt and pity – and reached her other hand out, slowly placing it on his shoulder.

"Don't," George mumbled into his palms, then straightened and lowered his hands. His face was deep red and puffy and the laughter was gone. "Don't… duh-don't -" His fist moved like a striking snake, slicing the air between them and hitting the wall with a thunderous whump , rattling a collage frame on the wall and sending it crashing to the floor. " – touch me!"