lips. Nosy, that’s what Michael had called her at times.
He led the way, veering
them off of 66 th street, the main road, down Dakota Place to Basset
Avenue. When Neal led her through Ohio Walk, she marveled over the fact that
she hadn’t been down that lane in at least 30 years—not since she had wheeled
Prakash in a baby carriage. Neal bent down to pick up a damp yellow-green leaf
on the ground, twirling it in his fingers by its stem.
They passed the houses
she was selling on Mayfair Drive South and she began to fuss with her hair,
check her lips to feel if she had lipstick on. It was still strange for her to
see Best Realty signs on the front lawns with her picture on them, as if she
was a politician. She was a private person at heart. How did her face end up on
people’s lawns? Neal seemed to be in a trance of his own. She would need to
tell her folks to clean up the evergreen trees on the lawn of one of her
houses, which reminded her that she needed to check her work voice mail to see
if one of her agents had closed the deal last night on the one-family house in
Bergen Beach.
Neal stopped mid-block so
that Tess almost stumbled into him.
“I have to go,” he said.
“Oh,” Tess said. She
pulled down on her sweatshirt and felt the hint of perspiration in her armpits.
“Sure.”
He held out the leaf to
her. “When summer comes, perhaps you’ll look back at this leaf and think of
this spring morning.”
Tess nodded. “I will,”
she said, and with that Neal bowed his head and began to jog away from her and
then all out run toward the end of the block, so that in moments he was gone
from her view. She couldn’t quite remember the last time a man had sprinted
away from her. Strange. She put the leaf to her nose: it was a faded yellow—the
color of in-between. She wondered where Neal had suddenly vanished. He must
have a wife. Or maybe he was on the run? He didn’t strike her as a criminal,
but nowadays who knew? It was creepy, but she didn’t feel afraid. They had been
alone on the beach and she hadn’t felt threatened. And he had been at the
church. Unlikely that a criminal was visiting with God. Unless he sought
repentance? She kept moving towards the end of the block, which would intersect
with 66 th street, from where she would be able to turn around and
make her way back to her house, her life.
Tess saw the
curtains—were they velvet? Maroon velvet? —of the house she was approaching,
the third house from the corner, sway, as if someone were behind them, looking
out. Shrubs and trees covered the lower level of the house, with the exception
of the front room windows. If Tess were to sell this house, she would get those
shrubs cleared away immediately. Privacy was one thing, but this house looked
as if it belonged in the middle of the wilderness. Right then Tess got a
glimpse of a woman peeking out from behind the curtains—she was older, short
hair, in a house dress. Or a robe. The house was situated differently than
Tess’s house, so that she wasn’t sure if the room the woman looked out from was
a den or a living room. She lingered, bending down to tie her sneaker, trying
to get a better glance at the woman. Something was certainly strange here. Was
the woman watching her or scanning the street? 56 Barlow Drive. Tess must have
driven past this house countless times without noticing it. When Tess stood
back up, she saw the woman dart from the window, as if someone inside the house
had called to her.
Chapter 7: The Sound of
Music
Michael shuffled through
the Best Realty papers in front of him. He put his feet up on Tess’s glass
octagon-shaped kitchen table and glanced over at Tess by the stove as she
grilled French toast. She glared back at him.
“Excuse me,” she said.
“What?”
“We don’t put our feet up
on the table where we are going to eat,” she said.
Michael took his feet
down and shook his head.
“Really, Michael. I can
see that living alone has destroyed your
He led the way, veering
them off of 66 th street, the main road, down Dakota Place to Basset
Avenue. When Neal led her through Ohio Walk, she marveled over the fact that
she hadn’t been down that lane in at least 30 years—not since she had wheeled
Prakash in a baby carriage. Neal bent down to pick up a damp yellow-green leaf
on the ground, twirling it in his fingers by its stem.
They passed the houses
she was selling on Mayfair Drive South and she began to fuss with her hair,
check her lips to feel if she had lipstick on. It was still strange for her to
see Best Realty signs on the front lawns with her picture on them, as if she
was a politician. She was a private person at heart. How did her face end up on
people’s lawns? Neal seemed to be in a trance of his own. She would need to
tell her folks to clean up the evergreen trees on the lawn of one of her
houses, which reminded her that she needed to check her work voice mail to see
if one of her agents had closed the deal last night on the one-family house in
Bergen Beach.
Neal stopped mid-block so
that Tess almost stumbled into him.
“I have to go,” he said.
“Oh,” Tess said. She
pulled down on her sweatshirt and felt the hint of perspiration in her armpits.
“Sure.”
He held out the leaf to
her. “When summer comes, perhaps you’ll look back at this leaf and think of
this spring morning.”
Tess nodded. “I will,”
she said, and with that Neal bowed his head and began to jog away from her and
then all out run toward the end of the block, so that in moments he was gone
from her view. She couldn’t quite remember the last time a man had sprinted
away from her. Strange. She put the leaf to her nose: it was a faded yellow—the
color of in-between. She wondered where Neal had suddenly vanished. He must
have a wife. Or maybe he was on the run? He didn’t strike her as a criminal,
but nowadays who knew? It was creepy, but she didn’t feel afraid. They had been
alone on the beach and she hadn’t felt threatened. And he had been at the
church. Unlikely that a criminal was visiting with God. Unless he sought
repentance? She kept moving towards the end of the block, which would intersect
with 66 th street, from where she would be able to turn around and
make her way back to her house, her life.
Tess saw the
curtains—were they velvet? Maroon velvet? —of the house she was approaching,
the third house from the corner, sway, as if someone were behind them, looking
out. Shrubs and trees covered the lower level of the house, with the exception
of the front room windows. If Tess were to sell this house, she would get those
shrubs cleared away immediately. Privacy was one thing, but this house looked
as if it belonged in the middle of the wilderness. Right then Tess got a
glimpse of a woman peeking out from behind the curtains—she was older, short
hair, in a house dress. Or a robe. The house was situated differently than
Tess’s house, so that she wasn’t sure if the room the woman looked out from was
a den or a living room. She lingered, bending down to tie her sneaker, trying
to get a better glance at the woman. Something was certainly strange here. Was
the woman watching her or scanning the street? 56 Barlow Drive. Tess must have
driven past this house countless times without noticing it. When Tess stood
back up, she saw the woman dart from the window, as if someone inside the house
had called to her.
Chapter 7: The Sound of
Music
Michael shuffled through
the Best Realty papers in front of him. He put his feet up on Tess’s glass
octagon-shaped kitchen table and glanced over at Tess by the stove as she
grilled French toast. She glared back at him.
“Excuse me,” she said.
“What?”
“We don’t put our feet up
on the table where we are going to eat,” she said.
Michael took his feet
down and shook his head.
“Really, Michael. I can
see that living alone has destroyed your
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