AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Forty-five minutes later, I’m still wondering how the chaos next door is going. Not out of curiosity, of course. Out of stress over whatever it’s going to do to disturb the peace.Mypeace.
I force myself through the remainder of my grading but leave next week’s lesson prep for tomorrow. I’ve been disciplined enough for one day. It’s time to go home and unwind a bit, maybe with the new documentary on Standing Rock. I did my dissertation on the conflict between indigenous communities and energy companies in Ecuador, but I wouldn’t mind a relaxing deep dive look at the domestic angles of the problem.
It’s dark when I walk out to my car. The time changed a couple weeks ago, and I like it. Especially now, since it means my neighbors will have to quit their yard activities. If I close my curtains on that side of the house, maybe I’ll forget for an evening that I have neighbors.
Unfortunately, it’s not quite dark enough when I pull into my driveway to fully obliterate the horror show waiting for me in the yard of 341 Orchard. Where once only slightly objectionable unraked leaves covered the modest lawn, the streetlight shows it is now blanketed by the only thing that could bother me more than a neighbor with a noisy child: a neighbor whose unironic love of Christmas is now blanketing her yard.
I brake at the foot of my driveway hard enough to send my laptop sliding to the floor and stare at the wooden cutouts, still far too visible even in the dark. Large sheets of plywood painted with Christmas scenes lie on their sides everywhere.
There is no mistake. In this next circle of Dante’s hell, my new neighbor, she of the blue eyes and lightly freckled nose, she of the well-fitting jeans and perky—
Er, the woman next door is a Christmas lunatic.
Chapter Eight
Paige
“Butwhencanweput them up, Mama?” Evie asks, peering out at the massive decoration drop Bill did on our lawn. He stowed most of it in the shed out back, but his hand-painted plywood pieces wait for me on the grass because Evie begged for us to start decoratingnow.
“Tomorrow, Eves.” I’d normally wait until after Thanksgiving next week, but since we’ve had to wait literally Evie’s entire life to have our own Christmas yard display, tackling it a week early this year won’t hurt anything.
She dances impatiently as I serve up the beef and barley stew Lisa sent over with disposable dinnerware in case I hadn’t yet found my plates.
I love Lisa’s thoughtfulness, but with few enough belongings to fit in a single pickup truck bed, it was easy to find my box of recently thrifted dishes. They’re a pleasingly heavy set of imitation Fiestaware in shades of turquoise, papaya, lime, and lemon. I used three of my fall sweaters to cushion them, and I’m glad to have the sweaters back for my wardrobe rotation. Maybe not the brown one though. I have a sudden aversion to brown sweaters.
Maybe I should give my neighbor a list of colors I prefer he not wear so he doesn’t ruin any more for me.
My neighbor! Oh, shoot. I didn’t go give him my revised apology.
I sigh.
“What’s wrong, Mama?”
“Nothing, bug. I accidentally got some paint on our neighbor’s sweater, and I need to go over and apologize.”
“I don’t really like apologizing,” she says. “My teachers always make me say sorry even when I’m not. Like every time Connor annoys me.” Connor is her tablemate. I’ve already heard more stories than I can count. “He snapped my pencil in half, so I pushed his to the floor, and Mrs. Dyson said webothhad to apologize.”
I keep a neutral expression even though what Iwantto say is, “Good job, girl.” Instead, I ask, “That didn’t feel fair to you?”
Evie scoffs. “No. He got his pencil back like nothing was wrong with it, and I had to borrow one. I don’t know why I had to say sorry.”
“Sounds like Mrs. Dyson was trying to be fair.”
“Then Dumbhead Connor should have to give me another pencil.”
Agreed. “I’m sure Mrs. Dyson made the best decision she could.”
Evie shrugs, then lets it go. “Do you want to apologize to the neighbor?”
“I do. And you’ve given me a good idea. I need to offer to replace the sweater I ruined.”
“Okay. After apologies, can we put up the decorations?”
“It’s too dark now. But it will be fun to plan tonight, and maybe tomorrow we can figure out where they go.”
The decorations aren’t my style. They’re more country farmhouse and I lean more toward whimsical boho, but for the Dubs, Christmas is their defining holiday. The whole town knows about their Christmas display. They put out enough lights to guide in a 747 for a landing, and their street is always full of cars cruising past, admiring the sheer volume of the Winters family’s efforts.
Bill was so excited to pass them all down to me today. “I’ve had the fun long enough. It’s time to pass the torch,” he’d said, patting the head of the cartoony Santa driving his reindeer. All eight of them. In a row. A long row. Not even side by side. It was a lot of plywood. And cartoon art. “You’re the perfect person for the job. You’re the keepers of Christmas now!”
