convince People magazine to send a photographer down with her. How’s that for an angle?” she said, turning off the engine and climbing out of the car. “Beats the hell out of the whole Brontë thing,” she said, recalling her sister’s words. “Damn it, anyway. What’s wrong with everybody?”
“Everything okay?” a voice asked, and Charley spun toward the sound. The house next door was undergoing extensive renovations, and a worker in a yellow hard hat was regarding her quizzically from the driveway next to hers, his hands resting on slender hips, sweat staining the front of his white T-shirt, a blue-and-gray-checkered shirt belted around his waist. “We tried to keep the dust and everything away from your property as much as we could,” the young man explained. “If there’s a problem…”
“Everything’s fine,” Charley said. Except for my brother, my mother, my sisters, and the fact I’m getting threatening hate mail, she thought of adding. Oh, and did I mention that I got a letter from a convicted child killer who wants me to write her life story? “Just fine,” she muttered, feeling the worker’s eyes on her backside as she walked up the narrow concrete path to her front door.
“At least it’s stopped raining,” the man said.
Was he trying to prolong the conversation? Charley wondered, glancing toward the still-gray sky, then back at the worker, who was approximately her age and quite cute under that yellow hard hat. She turned away before she could do something stupid, such as inviting him inside her house for a drink. The last time she’d impulsively invited a man into her home, he’d ended up staying for three weeks and fathering her son. “When do you think you’ll be done?” she asked as she unlocked her front door.
“Oh, we’ll be another month at least.”
“See you around then.”
“Count on it.”
Charley smiled, deciding she liked his arrogance almost as much as the cut of his triceps.
“What’s going on out here?” another voice suddenly interrupted.
Charley felt her shoulders slump. I should have gone inside while I had the chance, she was thinking. The last thing she wanted was to get into an altercation with yet another pissed-off neighbor. “Just asking how things are going with the renovation,” Charley said, seeing the scowl on Gabe Lopez’s face even before she turned around.
“Everything’s right on schedule.” Black eyes glared at her from beneath a bushy black unibrow. “No thanks to you.”
“Okay, well…” Charley said, pushing open her front door, “…good luck.” She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “Asshole,” she muttered. “No wonder your wife left you.” She kicked off her black slip-ons, stepped from the cold tile of the tiny front foyer onto the living room’s warm hardwood floor. “Which wasn’t my fault, incidentally,” she yelled back in the general direction of the front door.
“Do you always have to talk so loud?” her brother asked from the sofa.
Charley gasped, stumbling back against a bamboo table that sat against one ivory-colored wall, almost upsetting a glass vase of red-and-yellow silk tulips. “My God! You scared me half to death. What are you doing here?”
“You said to follow you home,” he reminded her, pushing his skinny arms above his head and stretching his reed-thin body to its full length, so that it seemed even longer than its six feet, two inches. At the same time, he brought his feet up to rest on the glass coffee table in front of him.
“Which you didn’t.”
“Only ’cause I knew a shortcut. Figured I could get here quicker. Which I did. Been waiting for you all day. Where’ve you been?”
“I went back to the office.”
“Too bad. I was hoping you went grocery shopping. Do you know you’re out of coffee?”
Charley shook her head in exasperation. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true. You can check for yourself.”
“I’m not talking about the
“Everything okay?” a voice asked, and Charley spun toward the sound. The house next door was undergoing extensive renovations, and a worker in a yellow hard hat was regarding her quizzically from the driveway next to hers, his hands resting on slender hips, sweat staining the front of his white T-shirt, a blue-and-gray-checkered shirt belted around his waist. “We tried to keep the dust and everything away from your property as much as we could,” the young man explained. “If there’s a problem…”
“Everything’s fine,” Charley said. Except for my brother, my mother, my sisters, and the fact I’m getting threatening hate mail, she thought of adding. Oh, and did I mention that I got a letter from a convicted child killer who wants me to write her life story? “Just fine,” she muttered, feeling the worker’s eyes on her backside as she walked up the narrow concrete path to her front door.
“At least it’s stopped raining,” the man said.
Was he trying to prolong the conversation? Charley wondered, glancing toward the still-gray sky, then back at the worker, who was approximately her age and quite cute under that yellow hard hat. She turned away before she could do something stupid, such as inviting him inside her house for a drink. The last time she’d impulsively invited a man into her home, he’d ended up staying for three weeks and fathering her son. “When do you think you’ll be done?” she asked as she unlocked her front door.
“Oh, we’ll be another month at least.”
“See you around then.”
“Count on it.”
Charley smiled, deciding she liked his arrogance almost as much as the cut of his triceps.
“What’s going on out here?” another voice suddenly interrupted.
Charley felt her shoulders slump. I should have gone inside while I had the chance, she was thinking. The last thing she wanted was to get into an altercation with yet another pissed-off neighbor. “Just asking how things are going with the renovation,” Charley said, seeing the scowl on Gabe Lopez’s face even before she turned around.
“Everything’s right on schedule.” Black eyes glared at her from beneath a bushy black unibrow. “No thanks to you.”
“Okay, well…” Charley said, pushing open her front door, “…good luck.” She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “Asshole,” she muttered. “No wonder your wife left you.” She kicked off her black slip-ons, stepped from the cold tile of the tiny front foyer onto the living room’s warm hardwood floor. “Which wasn’t my fault, incidentally,” she yelled back in the general direction of the front door.
“Do you always have to talk so loud?” her brother asked from the sofa.
Charley gasped, stumbling back against a bamboo table that sat against one ivory-colored wall, almost upsetting a glass vase of red-and-yellow silk tulips. “My God! You scared me half to death. What are you doing here?”
“You said to follow you home,” he reminded her, pushing his skinny arms above his head and stretching his reed-thin body to its full length, so that it seemed even longer than its six feet, two inches. At the same time, he brought his feet up to rest on the glass coffee table in front of him.
“Which you didn’t.”
“Only ’cause I knew a shortcut. Figured I could get here quicker. Which I did. Been waiting for you all day. Where’ve you been?”
“I went back to the office.”
“Too bad. I was hoping you went grocery shopping. Do you know you’re out of coffee?”
Charley shook her head in exasperation. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true. You can check for yourself.”
“I’m not talking about the
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