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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Dear Lord,” Carine snapped as she made her way up Heidi’s walkway. “Y’all certainly gawk a lot for folks who don’t have a lick of familiarity with the real world.”
She couldn’t have been snarlier if a hornet had bit her on the ass cheek while she was being dragged kicking and screaming into the underworld. Possibly, the fish from dinner wasn’t sitting right, or she hadn’t had enough wine. More likely: she was tired of defending herself and just wasn’t feeling collegial.
The male half of Heidi’s neighbor duo flinched in their doorway. He actually shifted his weight onto his back foot as though he were going to retreat back to from whence he came, but the female half nudged him outside.
They closed the door. Clearing his throat, he put the key into the deadbolt and locked it using far more concentration than the task required.
“You see, it’s just…” the lady started. “First, it was you, and then the folks on the other side later on, and it just felt like folks were about to snap and had never said anything.”
Carine closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.
Oh, God, they’re from the Midwest.
She could probably guess where they’d hailed from and be within a hundred miles of accuracy.
They were probably used to welcoming committees baking them chocolate-chip cookies or hot casseroles when they moved. Possibly, they’d been twiddling their thumbs for months, waiting for someone else to make the first friendly move. She almost wanted to blame herself for not counseling them before.
Part of Carine’s job at Shora was ensuring that the families from other states understood the exact culture of the place they were moving to. The Eastern North Carolina learning curve was a humid, swampy one strewn with sand, speckled with water bugs, and easily derailed by the slow pace of things, backhanded bless-your-hearts, and sabotaging thoughts of “The way things were back home.”
“Here’s the thing about Southerners,” Carine said as she dropped her hand.
Heidi chose that precise moment to open the front door.
Ever the optimist, Carine sent up another earnest prayer that her mouth wouldn’t get her into trouble, either with the skittish CrossFit starter-homeowners or the woman whose thoughts she was trying to live in.
“We all like to assume most folks are at least a little bit psychic,” Carine said. “We expect you to know the ways of things beforehand, so we don’t have to waste time catching you up on what we think is polite. Mind you, if you bumble around and haplessly insult us, we may not tell you why we’re peeved and will leave you to figure things out on your own because that’s how the Good Lord intended things to be, right? Whether or not that’s logical or reasonable isn’t the point. That’s just the way it is.”
“We’re gonna use the grass like you said,” the feminine half said. “When it’s too cold out, we’ll have to figure out something else, but I guess we’ve got a little time before we need to worry. We thought there’d be a gym here, though, and that’s where the trouble comes from.”
“Well, there are gyms.” Carine snorted and took a few ambling steps toward Heidi’s door. “Not the kinds you’re probably used to, though. If you want something with specialized equipment, you’ll need to head into Elizabeth City or up into Suffolk. Doing all that driving, you’d be better off bank-account-wise building your own gym.”
“Or buying a new house closer to a gym,” Heidi muttered.
Carine didnothear the sounds of cash registers makingca-ching!sales sounds in her head.
She didnotpull a Shora brochure out of her tote and slide it onto the lady’s palm.
She did, however, offer the fit duo an apologetic smile and a wave goodbye because they obviously had someplace to be, and so did she.
“I’ve lived here all my life,” Heidi called over the hedge. “I can tell you everything you need to know in fifteen minutes. If you want the slideshow presentation, that’ll take twenty. Just tuck a note into my mailbox and let me know when. I’m Heidi, by the way. Heidi Dowd.”
“Dowd.Dowd.” The man’s elbow collided with his wife’s bicep. “This is where they build those boats. You know, the ones we keep seeing out on the sound and at the piers.”
“Yes, this is where,” Heidi said drolly. Staring at her nails, she added, “And to think, when Tim was a teenager, he thought one day he might be famous for being a competent golfer, but here he is, building yachts.”
“So, you know him?” he asked.
“Better than most. I was the first Mrs. Dowd.”
The guy had stars in his eyes of thegonna-spend-all-our-savingssort, and evidently, his wife knew that constellation all too well because she nudged him onto the path and said, “Let’s get to the store before they close, Pete. Remember what happened last time. You didn’t have your chia seeds for breakfast.” She was a mighty little thing and kept him moving toward their vehicle despite his frequent turnarounds to try to add something to the conversation.
Once they were safely settled into their SUV, Heidi stood aside and gestured to the inside of her home.
Carine crossed the threshold and set her bag at the base of the empty coatrack. “Keep on like that, and the ecstasy will make him nut his pants.”
“That’s his wife’s problem. Not mine. Lately, my problems come with red hair.” Heidi locked the door and turned off the lamp near the front window. “Or a distinct lack of it.”
