A knock sounded at the door. He lay on the couch, not caring over much and continued staring at the ceiling. The banging persisted and got even louder until a woman’s voice called out, “Hello? I know you’re home. Your cars still parked, and you sure haven’t moved your butt outside.”
Frowning at the unusual disturbance he got up and dragged himself towards the door; oblivious to his disheveled appearance in his old, crumpled jeans, unshaved and unkempt.
A tall woman with short blonde hair and green eyes smiled at him, “Hi! I’m Cara, your new neighbor.”
He leaned against the door frame, tired, “Yeah. I’m John. Nice to meet you. No, I have no salt, milk, sugar or whatever it is you need. Bye, then.” He was about to shut the door in her face, pretty sure she would leave in a huff, but he didn’t get the reaction he had hoped for.
She didn’t go away, but chuckled instead, “Forgot your manners, huh? Lucky you the neighbors warned me and told me of your loss.” She stepped forward and with one hand pushed the door open so she could brush past him and go inside.
“Sure, come on in,” John remarked, not closing the door.
She looked around, “Jeez, since when’s your wife dead?”
He gritted his teeth, “Ten months.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” She turned to look at him and let her gaze travel the length of his body, “Not big on personal hygiene either, huh?”
John just stared at her. This woman was nuts. What did she want here anyway? Surely with her direct way she would spill it out soon. In the meantime he lightened up a cigarette, took a pull and enjoyed its tarry taste before filling his mouth with the delicate flavor of tequila. He squinted at her through the cloud of smoke.
“You shouldn’t do that,” she warned him, pointing towards the cigarette and the bottle of tequila in his hands, “it will kill you.”
He raised a mocking brow, “So?”
She snorted at that, “Oh, come on. Stop acting the poor, hurting widower. Your wife’s dead. I’m sorry, everybody’s sorry, but that’s life, damn it.”
“What the hell? You’ve no idea what you’re talking about, and no right. What the hell do you want anyway?”
“Checking out my neighbor, of course.”
He put the cigarette out, “Well, you have done that. Now I’m really, really sorry but I’ve to ask you to leave.” He went to the door, holding it open for her. Smiling sarcastically he showed her with a sweeping move of his arm the way out. “Goodbye, forever!”
She stopped in front of him, grinning, “For now. But I promise I’ll soon be over again. I might come back on that offer for milk or so.”
“That wasn’t an offer. On the contrary, I was just notifying you that it would be useless to ask for such things since I haven’t gotten any around.”
“So what do you eat?”
He held up his bottle of tequila, “I’ve got all I need.”
She shook her head and her eyes filled with mocking pity, “Oh, poor Johnny boy! There’s much work ahead of us.”
Without another word she turned and bounced down the stairs. He looked after her, shaking his head in utter disbelief before finally closing the door on the world again.
The next morning John woke to the sounds of a hammer, then a lawn mower and back to the hammer again. He got up from the couch, groaning and muttering and walked to the window. Just as he was about to close it, he saw his new least favorite neighbor jumping up and down, moving her hand wildly and screaming, “Ouch, ouch, ouch.”
With a curse he snatched up a shirt, which he wasn’t sure was actually clean but pulled on anyway as he ran out the door and over his unkempt lawn towards his neighbor’s house. Cara was her name, he remembered.
“What the hell are you doing?” he snarled as he grabbed her hand and inspected it. The cut was bleeding but not deep.
Cara smiled sweetly, “Well, good morning to you, too.”
“Being rudely awakened by hammers and stuff isn’t good.”
“So sorry I disturbed your beauty sleep. I know how much you need it.”
John shot her a glance that bordered on murder. This woman was friggin’ unbelievable. “Do you have a first-aid kit?”
“No.”
Without a word he turned and headed back for his house, tugging her along. He told her to sit down in the kitchen while he searched his own kit. When he finally found it he sat on a chair in front of her and taking her hand in his he began to clean the cut.
“You came out of your shell,” she remarked.
He looked at her, irritated, “I don’t live in a shell.”
Cara chuckled, “Sure you do. Look around you. You’ve holed up in here ever since your wife died.”
“And I came out because my dearest neighbor screamed her head off. Over a little scratch at that,” he grumbled in a voice that made it quite clear that he doubted he had taken the right decision.
“A little scratch it might be, but enough to make you come running and offer help. Though in a rude cave man kind of way.”
“You of all people want to tell me I’m rude?”
“Yeah, but that’s beside the point. What’s important is, I think, deep inside of you, you want to participate in the world again, but feel guilty about doing so. Though there’s nothing you should feel guilty about, believe me. The world moves on, it always does, and so one day you should, too. You won’t ever forget your wife and-”
“And our child.” He didn’t know why he told her, but it was too late to take it back now.
Cara leaned forward, her green eyes soft and gentle. “She was pregnant?”
John nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat, “Four months.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and when he looked at her he knew she was sincere.
He cleared his throat, applied a plaster to her cut and straightened in his chair, “This shouldn’t give you any trouble.”
She stood, “Thank you.” When she past him, she laid a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light, comforting squeeze.
John listened to the sound of her receding footsteps until she was out. Then, in the utter quiet of the house he sat in the kitchen, thinking back on their conversation. Cara was a strange woman, without a doubt one of the strangest he had ever met. And yet she made him wonder about what she’d said. John watched her through the window as she continued to plant red and yellow blooming flowers into pots.
He took a look around him. Empty bottles of tequila and pizza boxes lay scattered on every available surface, all of it coated with dust and cold ashes.
With a long sigh John stood and began rummaging through the cabinets until he came up with a roll of bin liners. Filling one bag after the other he cleaned the kitchen, wiping it down from top to bottom before moving on to the next room, where he did the same. His clothes, and there wasn’t one clean thing left, were immediately thrown into the washing machine. On a pad he noted down what he needed to buy and restock, and soon realized that grocery shopping was a top priority.
After he had taken a hot shower he stood in front of the mirror and looked at his reflection, shaved and clean. He felt human and alive, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. And after honest introspection, he found that, much to his own surprise, Cara was right, there was guilt mixed in between.
He left the groceries for tomorrow and with one beer in his hand settled on his couch. There was only one room left he hadn’t touched. Their bedroom. He hadn’t stepped one foot inside it since his wife’s death. Well, there was only so much one could do in a day.
When his door opened, he didn’t bother to look who it was. There was only one so bold enough to come not knocking on his door.
“Come on in.”
Cara crossed to him, her eyes scrutinizing the room with an approving gaze before landing on him, “You’ve done quite a lot here. You’re actually handsome without the dirt.”
He laughed, shaking his head at her.
A little hesitantly she added, “I wanted to see whether you’re alright, or whether I… My mouth often gets the better of my mind, you know.”
“You don’t say! Everything’s fine, though, don’t worry.”
“Good. So do you have some salt?”
John got up, leading the way into the kitchen, “Try tomorrow. I just might go grocery shopping.”
“No kidding?”
“Until then I can only offer you beer or water.”
“Beer.” She took the bottle he held out to her and asked, “Do you mind sitting down out on the porch? I spend the entire day inside, painting the kitchen and the living room. A little fresh air would be great.”
He had noticed the dabs of paint on her clothes and the splatters in her hair. “I can imagine.”
They went out, and set down in the wicker chairs, overlooking the back yard. The lawn was unkempt, the weed growing rampant between rosebushes and lavender. Once it had been his wife’s haven, and now it was utterly neglected. He would have to see to that, too, John mused.
“So you decided to redecorate the house? Well, I guess it does need a little renovation. The Campbells, the previous owners must have lived there all their lives. Kate and Tom, you never saw one without the other for long. Their grandson, Sean, works in the food store, but you probably know him already. So, you chose that green there for the kitchen or the living room?” he asked, pointing towards a dab on her blouse.
Cara looked down at herself and laughed, “The kitchen. I like strong colors.”
They drank their beer as they watched the sun gliding lower through drafting clouds, tinging them with a first orange hue.
“Do you believe in God?” The question surprised John, and angered him somehow. He lifted an eyebrow and after a long telling look, she bit her lip, “Well, I guess with what happened you aren’t fond of Him. And who could blame you, right?”
She looked at him from the side, observing him closely, as she continued. “On the other hand it seems your faith just wasn’t strong enough to help you through your trials.”
John snorted at that, “I take it you believe in God.” When she nodded, he asked, “And for you, losing a loved one is a trial? For me, it was the end of my world, our world. The world we started to build together crumpled in a blink of an eye, when I opened the door to find a police officer standing there.”
Cara put a hand on his shoulder, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to anger or hurt you. I just believe that everything is a great puzzle, greater than we could ever understand, and only God knows the resulting picture of it all.”
John took a deep breath that now spoke more of sorrow and desperation than anger. Leaning back in the chair he looked out over the garden, into the distance, and he remembered how he had talked to God, screamed at Him, to be exact. But answers hadn’t come, and he had felt more deserted and alone than before.
Cara’s voice pushed through his thoughts, and he noticed she continued talking. “My dad, you could say he was a man of the church, he liked to tell us, me and my sisters and brothers, about the wonders of the world. He was kind of preaching the choir, actually, but we had questions of course, and he would take the time to answer us. Once when I was a kid I wanted to know, why God didn’t answer us, at least when it was really, really urgent. And he said, ‘Well, the world is mighty big and complex in so many ways, and sometimes God just doesn’t answer us in a way we expect. There are more than voices to be heard. So for example, the next time when you’re sad, and think there’s a big fat rain cloud over your head, watch if there’s not a rainbow nearby, too.’ And I did. Whenever I was sad or needed an answer I would watch whether there wasn’t something around that made me smile or simply feel better.”
He surely could have come up with a nasty remark, but didn’t. She looked peaceful and for once less annoying as she sat in the wicker chair, facing the setting sun with a sweet smile on her lips, full of memories. “Your dad must be an interesting man.”
“Indeed, he is.”
John took a pull from his beer, “So where is he?”
She waved a hand, “Oh, further to the north. I travel and move a lot, but we always keep in touch. Not a day goes by without us talking,” she grinned at him, “or getting on each other’s nerves.”
When he found himself smiling back at her, he wondered at this exasperating woman in front of him. One second he was angry and about to wrap his hands around her throat, and the next he was smiling. Maybe he shouldn’t have opened when she came knocking on his door, John mused. But then again, it felt good, to sit out on the porch, watch the sun light dance through the trees and to talk about, well, everything under it; even with, or maybe because of, the forward, no-nonsense woman beside him.
The next morning John got up, showered and planned his day. He would finally go grocery shopping and afterwards he would attack the lawn. And maybe he would even find the nerve to go up, into the bedroom.
The grocery store hadn’t changed much, but he noticed that Sean, his former neighbors’ grandson had decided to grow a goatee, probably in an attempt to look manlier and to distract from his lanky frame. At least the distraction was a success.
John tried his best to suppress a smile as Sean put his food through the till. “So, you managed to let the house?”
The young man looked up, a little surprised, “Yep, a writer from London wants it. She didn’t even want to look at the house, just paid for it. But how did you know? Word travels fast, I guess.”
“I already saw her.”
“Oh, I thought she said she would still need a little longer taking care of things in London? Well, since we settled everything I told her I left the key under the doormat, so she could come by whenever she wanted. That’s £55.36, by the way.”
John paid and accepted the change, wondering what else his new neighbor had kept from him while ruthlessly poking her nose into his life. He wished Sean a nice day, and drove back home. As he put away his groceries, he contemplated inviting Cara over for a couple of barbecued steaks. She might have been a little too nosy and cheeky, but she was also new in the neighborhood and he could at least welcome her properly.
His mind set John went over to Cara’s. He knocked and waited. When no one answered he squinted through the windows trying to look inside. What he saw didn’t make any sense at all.
Remembering what Sean had told him, he flipped back the doormat and found a key. Opening the door he stepped inside.
The wooden floor creaked under his careful step. Sunbeams streamed in through the back windows, and stunned he saw the light dust covering the shelves and the old furnishings that stood where the Campbells had left them. No fresh paint, no blooming flowers.
He swore he heard the rustle of spreading wings. And then he saw the single white feather wafting through the air, swaying gently, before landing in a pool of light on the floor.