Over the Fence (2 page)

She was cooking something on a barbeque.

I inhaled the scent, my mouth instantly watering. The strange tasting sandwich I was holding no longer appealed to me in any way.

My head fell back and a groan escaped my lips, because it smelled fucking amazing.

“I beg your pardon?” A shocked, sweet-sounding voice came from behind the fence.

Oh shit.

Did I say that out loud?

I chuckled. “Sorry.” I cleared my throat. “Your, ah, dinner smells awesome. It’s making my sandwich look pretty pathetic.”

“Oh. Sorry?”

I noticed how quiet her voice was, yet I had the feeling she was speaking louder than normal for my benefit.

“Not your fault.”

Only silence greeted me.

“So, welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s a nice area.”

“Yes, it’s lovely.”

“I’m sure you and your, ah, husband will like it.”

“There’s no husband.”

“Oh. Well then, your partner, girlfriend, significant other, son, daughter, cat, dog . . . whew, have I missed anyone?”

She laughed—a husky, rich sound; very different from her faint-speaking voice. “No, I think you covered it all. It’s only me, though.”

“Same as me, then.”

There was no reply, but I could hear the sound of food being turned and the smell was driving me crazy. My mouth was watering at the delicious aroma wafting over the fence. I looked down at my partially eaten sandwich with sudden distaste.

I couldn’t help but ask. “What are you cooking?”

“Chicken and vegetables.”

“Hmm. Sounds good. It smells amazing.”

“Don’t you cook?” Her hesitant voice asked.

I snorted. “No, I burn, I char, I destroy. I never quite got the hang of cooking.”

Now the sweet voice sounded horrified. “What do you eat?”

“Take-out, mostly. But I mix it up with frozen entrees, cereal, and I make a mean sandwich.” I looked down at the one currently in my hand and set it on the table in front of me with a grimace. It was no longer tempting at all. “Well, usually,” I added quietly.

“Oh, that’s sad.”

I took another pull from my bottle and snickered. “If you think that’s sad, you don’t want to know about the expired meat I’m trying to choke down because I forgot to go to the store and pick up supplies. At least I usually have something half-edible on hand to eat.”

I heard footsteps move away and the sound of a sliding screen door. Obviously, I had bored her enough with my sob story. Leaning back, I finished the last of my beer. Maybe I would order a pizza. I sighed. I was sick of pizza. I was sick of take-out. Shaking my head, I admitted I was sick of this lonely, solitary life. All the time I spent alone was starting to get to me. I realized how much I had enjoyed the few minutes of conversation with my new neighbor. Although, it would seem I had effectively scared her away with my choice of subject.

Standing up, I went inside and grabbed another beer and threw out the sandwich. I opened the cupboard and found a box of cereal with a little still left in the bottom. I was out of milk, but at least it was something. Back outside, I opened up the box and munched away; it was a little stale, but still edible. I needed to make a list of things to pick up tomorrow.

Beside me, I heard movement again, but I refrained from trying to start up another conversation. I could hear her talking to herself, the sound of an item being dragged, and I caught a muffled grunt and the words “
height”
and “
stupid idea,”
then the sound of more rustling. All of this was followed by a solid thump, a brief silence, and a little gasp. I looked at the fence in amusement wondering what the hell was happening on the other side of it.

Then I heard a nervous sounding, “Hello?”

“Are you all right?” I asked, unsure what was going on.

“Oh. Good. You’re there.”

I grimaced. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“I, um, I put something on the fence for you.”

I sat up. “What?”

I heard the sound of retreating footsteps and the door opening again. “I can’t let a neighbor starve. Goodnight.”

I stood up and looked at the fence.

Holy shit
.

Was that really a plate sitting on the top?

Dragging my chair to the fence, I stepped up, stretching as far as I could. I was able to snag the unexpected treasure and bring it down. Stepping off the chair, I immediately tore off the foil and basked in the incredible aroma that hit me.

The plate was filled with chicken, grilled vegetables and salad. It was a real meal—complete with a plastic fork and knife.

A huge grin broke out on my face—it was mine—all mine.

I dragged my chair back to the table and began to devour the best meal I’d eaten in ages. The logical part of my brain reminded me I had no idea who the person was giving me the food. She could have spat in it, or even poisoned it for all I knew. Cautiously, I picked up the plate and inhaled. It smelled far too good to be poisoned. Why would she poison me anyway? I hadn’t done anything to piss her off—at least not yet. I hadn’t heard any spitting either, so I was certain it was safe.

Nothing could keep me from this feast.

The first bite was heaven—the second tasted even better.

I knew she was inside and probably wouldn’t hear me—but, I did it anyway.

“Thank you!” I bellowed. “This tastes as fucking awesome as it smelled!”

The sound was low and distant, but I heard it.

A giggle, lilting and strangely delightful, came drifting over the fence from somewhere inside her house—an odd sound in my world, yet I liked it.

I smiled around my mouthful.

This new neighbor thing was okay—so far.

The next day, I made good on my promise of getting some food in the house. When I had gone inside for the night, I discovered I was also almost out of other necessities, including laundry soap, so I knew I’d put it off long enough. There was something indelibly sad about shopping alone all the time. I knew when I arrived back home I’d unpack it all, stow it away and still be alone.

I grimaced at my strange melancholy—I needed to snap out of it.

The grocery store was fairly empty at this time of night. Most people were at home eating dinner, not shopping. I filled the cart with my usual list; supplies purchased so often I could do it blindfolded. The same frozen dinners and canned items—even the usual cold meats at the deli. I changed up the eggs, buying brown ones instead of white, chuckling at my own idiocy. They all tasted the same to me when I was done with them—usually runny, sometimes overcooked, but edible and at least the toast was okay. I threw in toilet paper, laundry soap, and fabric softener, since I hated static cling, and liked my sheets to smell nice. To finish off, I grabbed milk and some pop to fill up the cart; planning another stop at the liquor store for some beer. I stopped and looked longingly at the fresh meat counter, but walked away without adding anything. No matter how hard I tried, everything I cooked became inedible, aside from my feeble egg attempts. I did stop at the hot food section and pick up a rotisserie chicken and a few sides for dinner. The leftovers would make good lunches.

Once I was home and unpacked, I tore into the chicken and pasta salad, standing at the counter and wolfing it down. I didn’t even bother with a plate, using my hands to tear the chicken apart and a plastic fork to scoop out the pasta. When I was done, I stowed the rest into my reasonably full refrigerator and grabbed a beer.

I sat at the table outside, slumping down in the chair, and opened the newspaper. When I heard a noise next door, I sat up, looking expectantly toward the fence.

“Hey, neighbor!” I called out, wondering why I was so eager to talk to her again.

“Um, hello.”

“Dinner was great last night, absolutely delicious. Thank you.” I hoped she heard my sincerity.

“I’m glad.”

I chuckled. “It was very generous of you—you have no idea. I think I licked the plate clean.”

I heard her giggle—the light, heartwarming giggle that made me smile last night. It had the same effect on me today.

“Not usually the best idea with a paper plate,” she observed. “Paper fibers really . . . suck. And they stick to the roof of your mouth. Ewww.”

I laughed. “Ewww, indeed. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Did you, um, char something tonight?”

“Nah, I got a pre-cooked chicken at the supermarket.”

“Ah, I’m glad you ate something good.”

“I always thought so before, but now I’m not as convinced.”

“Sorry, before?”

“Before I ate
your
chicken. I always thought the one I bought at the store was a treat; something fresh and tasty, instead of my frozen dinners. Now it tastes like cardboard, frankly.”

“Oh . . . thank you.”

“Did you eat?” I wondered what she had cooked tonight.

“Yeah, I had some leftovers.”

I took a swig of beer. For some reason I didn’t want this conversation to end. I relaxed back in my chair, trying to think of something to say to keep her talking.

“Settling in okay?”

“Well, it’s coming along.”

“Finished unpacking?”

“No. Not yet. I’m trying to do a few boxes every day. In fact, I should go and unpack some now.”

I felt an unusual flash of disappointment flicker because she was leaving. “Okay, then. Goodnight . . . and thanks again.”

“Um, can you come closer to the fence?” Her voice seemed even more hesitant than last night. Being curious, I approached the fence, where I estimated she was standing. The boards were so thick and close together that I couldn’t even see a shadow through them.

“I’m here.”

“Okay. Heads up, neighbor.” A small package came over the top of the fence, and I easily stretched my arm out and caught it. I looked at it for a minute, grinning.

In my hand was a tightly wrapped, thick slice of Rice Krispies square.

No fucking way.

Another giggle alerted me to the fact I had, once again, spoken aloud.

I heard muted footsteps retreating, and the door starting to close. “Goodnight.”

“Wait!”

There was no answer.

“Chefgirl!” I blurted out.

“Um, yes?”

“Thank you. This is my favorite thing. I swear.”

Her voice was quiet, almost endearing in its gentle quality. “You’re welcome.”

“What if I’d told you I hadn’t eaten?” I teased, not wanting her to leave quite yet. “Would you have had a plate for me?”

“I guess you’ll never know, now will you?” She teased back.

I snickered as I unwrapped the sweet treat, groaning when I bit into the gooey texture.

The door shut with a dull click before I could thank her again. I frowned as I took another bite, realizing I didn’t even know her name. I needed to change that sad fact.

I grinned as I walked into the house. One thing at a time, I supposed.

Last night dinner, tonight dessert, tomorrow her name.

Or maybe, if I was lucky, tomorrow night, I would get all three.

The next day was one disaster after another. The building we serviced was mostly comprised of various businesses that rented office space and time on our servers. This morning, another idiot had downloaded a nasty virus, although this time no porn was involved, so we all spent the day with patches, going from office to office because of his error. I shook my head in frustration as I finished off the last client. It wasn’t the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. My boss had been on a tear about overtime and expenditures, and I’d had to listen to a lecture on cutbacks and reducing extra hours. When I questioned how that was possible when we couldn’t control the tenants, I was told to figure it out. Then I was chewed out for rolling my eyes at that inspiring solution.

I went home as early as possible—looking forward to some down time. Grabbing a beer, I headed out back to the deck, sat down, closed my eyes, and enjoyed the silence. The next thing I knew, I woke up with a start. I whipped my head around in panic, then realized I was sitting in my backyard, alone and safe. Dropping my head in my hands, I took some deep breaths to calm my pounding heart. I must’ve had another nightmare; the dull memory of terror still lingering. Reaching for my beer, only to find it warm and flat, I scowled and set down the bottle with the loud thump.