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Although . . . if his students are to be believed, he may not be such a pill after all. It’s possible that a wry, funny man is hiding beneath his grouchy exterior, and as I stop by the Dubs’ to fetch Evie, I resolve to look for the good in him.
Or at least to be more patient. As Evie and I walk the block to our house, I decide patience is something I can offer. If listening to the non-stop chatter of a seven-year-old after a long day at work doesn’t teach patience, I don’t know what could.
I turn into our walkway, a feeling of peace nestling inside me as I glance over at Henry Hill’s house. Now with proof that at least some people who know him haven’t hated the experience, I choose to believe this will work out.
The belief—and calm—lasts exactly the twenty seconds it takes Evie and me to reach the front door, where I find a paper in a “you’re in trouble” shade of yellow stuck to the door.
“Code Violation,” Evie reads aloud.
I snatch the citation and read it.Infraction: Neighbor complaint for Christmas decorations prior to Thanksgiving pursuant to City Code Article XIII Section A. Action taken: Written warning.
I need exactly one guess to figure out which neighbor has a Scroogey enough heart to call us in.
That’s it. Hill the Pill is going to pay.
Chapter Eleven
Henry
Pound.Pound.Pound.
Someone is taking out unrepressed rage on the door knocker. I’m fairly sure I know who is abusing the poor wren. Guess the city came out already.
The question is whether I want to deal with my neighbor tonight. In literally every interaction we’ve had so far, she’s required some sort of handling. Surely there’s a point at which I’m no longer obliged to be the handler?
Pound pound pound.
That forces the issue if I want any more peace and quiet tonight. I walk from the kitchen where I’m preparing a rather delicious-smelling pho and open the door.
“What is this?” She brandishes a yellow piece of paper at me.
“I give up. What is it?”
Her scowl deepens. She reminds me of a gargoyle on the cathedral in Orvieto. “A citation from the city indicating a neighbor complaint about my Christmas decorations. It’s a warning to take them down until after Thanksgiving.”
“Very efficient for a municipal government.” Good for them. I’d made a big enough fuss when I called to make sure they took my complaint seriously. It’s good to see it worked.
“What is your problem,Henry?” she demands. She punctuates this with a tiny fleck of spittle on the “P” and by making my name sound like a curse. “I know this was you. Don’t try to deny it.”
“I won’t. The city code is clear.”If you dug around into the deepest links on the city’s website.“Christmas decorations are not to go up until after Thanksgiving and should be removed before the second week of January. Sensible law,Paige.”
“A city ordinance is hardly a law.”
It surprises me that she knows this. Perhaps she breaks so many that she’s clear on the distinctions between ordinance violations, misdemeanors, and felonies. “And yet it carries consequences for breaking it.”
“Mama?”
Not until I hear her daughter’s voice calling from their yard do I realize that she’s not with her mother.
“Just a minute, honey.” She’s sweetened her voice, but her face says it’s a strain. “Everything’s fine. Why don’t you go in and pick a book for us?”
“Okay,” the girl’s voice calls back, but she sounds unconvinced that things are fine.
Paige waits until her daughter retreats into the house, and then I have all of her unwanted and undivided attention again. She shakes the paper at me. “This is a warning, not a fine. It says I have seventy-two hours to address this before further action may be taken. I want to reassure you that I’ll be taking action, all right. You’ve poked the bear, and that’s a bad idea when you’re its neighbor.”
She storms off my porch, whirling when she reaches the ground. “I’m sure you already have a list of traits you dislike about me, but let me tip you off on the very worst one: I match energy, and when I don’t like yours—which I donot—I double down.” She waves the paper one more time. “Congrats on doing a very dumb thing. It’s about to get aggressively jolly around here.”
And then she’s gone, disappearing into the shadows of her as-yet-unlit front porch. I hope it’s on her obnoxiously long list of things she needs to fix to make that place respectable.
