This week, however, was unusually active. It happens, especially with mostly elderly full-time residents. We had three calls to the assisted living facility, a fire at the Redding farm, and, weirdly, five separate calls for animals getting out of their paddocks. Twice cows, once goats, once chickens, and once the exotic peacocks that Mrs. Crayborne breeds. That falls in ourjurisdiction only because we don’t have much of a police force here, either. We all work together to take care of the community however we can. Including finding wayward animals because teenagers think it’s funny to let them loose. Or that’s what we assume is happening, anyway.
Out on the back deck, I check to make sure the barbecue is at temperature, then throw the patties on, satisfied with the audible sizzle. Popping the cap on a bottle of beer, I take a seat at one of the chairs around the outdoor dining set. I bought this before the dining room table when I moved out here after the divorce.
Truth be told, I’d rather do everything outside. Eat, sleep, whatever. Paige is the same way; she inherited that trait from me. Her mother, my ex-wife, considers staying in a three-star hotel too primitive for her. She’d never dare sleep outside.
Brenda wasn’t always that way. I don’t know exactly when the change happened, but somewhere along the way, her personality shifted. Mom thinks this is who Brenda always was, and that she pretended to like the things I did to get close to me. It seems like that could be the case, but I’ll never understand why.
It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway. I forgive her for all her faults for the sake of our daughter. I didn’t always, but life is short, and I don’t want to waste any more of it by being angry at her.
If only she felt the same.
The ocean is a slow rumble, even though the house is set far back on the beach. It’s almost a half mile of gently sloped dunes between my back door and the waves. Yet, it’s not loud enough to hide the unusual voice from next door. A woman’s voice barely carries over the fence line that separates the two homes.It’s not loud enough for me to understand. Just enough of an intrusion of what my normal evening soundtrack is.
My curiosity tries to tempt me closer to it to get a peek at this stranger in my childhood friend’s house. I want to interrogate the woman like I’m some dominant alpha ready to piss all over his property.
Except that’s not my property, and she obviously had a way into the house.
Strange that Juliet didn’t let me know to expect someone, though. She has always told me if she or a friend was coming to stay in the house before.
The voice quiets, and I hear the back door shut moments before my cell vibrates in my pocket.
Juliet:
Hey, yeah, sorry. Everything happened very quickly, but my friend, Lou, will be staying there. Indefinitely. Not my story to tell, but please keep an eye on her.
Me:
Will do. Should I go over and introduce myself?
Juliet:
Probably not a good idea. I did tell her to ask you if she needs help with anything, though.
Me:
That’s fine. You can give her my number, too. Just in case I’m not around.
Juliet:
Thanks, Grady. I appreciate you!
Me:
Anytime, Jules.
I flip my burgers and run her texts on repeat in my head. The stranger’s story isn’t my business, but Juliet asking me to keep an eye on her sets alarms off. Jules knows me well enough to know that what little information she gave me would be enough to have my guard up for the woman next door. And I know Juliet Jackson well enough to know that if a woman needs a place to hide, she’d be the first to help.
Assumptions aren’t my favorite thing, but it’s probably a safe bet that Lou is in a tough spot.
I’m halfway through my first burger when my phone notifies me of another text.
Juliet:
Do you have food? Lou wasn’t able to stop for groceries and there’s nothing in the house.
I eye the second burger on my plate with some sadness.
Me:
