Next To You by Sandra Antonelli

the countertop. Will wondered if Caroline was the sort of neighbor who baked cookies and shared them with residents in the building. Oh, he hoped so.
    He watched her set the food beside the sink and pull cloth napkins from a drawer. ‘I like dogs,’ he said. ‘I’m really glad you’ve got a dog instead of cats. The gentleman who lived here before you had cats, and they used to pee all over my terrace, which is why I planted the ivy over the lattice. It made it harder for them to climb over and tinkle on everything.’
    ‘Tinkle?’ Snorting, she draped the napkins over her shoulder. ‘Did you say tinkle ? Cats don’t tinkle, they spray, and I think those cats sprayed everywhere, marking their territory. Batman’s probably peed all over their pee by now.’ She pressed her lips together for a second, as if biting back a grin. ‘Did you ever say anything to your old neighbor about his cats?’
    He waved a dismissive hand. ‘No. It was just cat pee, it was only on a few occasions, and I really liked John Reginaldi. He was a good neighbor.’
    Caroline gazed at the beefy, white-haired man from next door. He was still dressed in the same well-cut, perfectly tailored, blue-black suit, pale blue shirt, and striped tie from this afternoon, and he stood in her kitchen, hands behind his back like he had earlier in the evening. He watched her intently. She scrunched up her mouth.
    ‘What is it?’ he asked.
    She busied herself. ‘Well,’ she said, taking two wine glasses from the draining rack in the sink, wiping them dry. ‘I was just wondering,’ she handed him the corkscrew, ‘if Batman’s dog bombs will be a problem.’
    Will opened the wine as she served up the food, setting two white plates on a tray along with the naan, a jug of water, and the glasses. ‘I’ll survive.’
    ‘Please tell me if his barking annoys you, or if his tinkling kills your ivy, and I’ll let my uncle know his incontinent cats annoyed you.’ Caroline started to lift the tray.
    ‘Here you take the wine. I’ll take the tr—John Reginaldi is your uncle?’
    ‘Yes. I think he stays so sharp because he’s active. He lives for those cats and golf.’
    ‘Ah.’ Will traveled onto the terrace behind her. ‘So you’re Puddin’, the niece he talked about sometimes. I know all about you.’ And he did. He knew her parents died in a car accident, that Reg used to visit her when she was sick in the hospital, and that she left her husband, the man he met today.
    And now he knew why she left him.
    He set down the tray. ‘Listening to your uncle talk about playing with Ben Hogan in the US Open and Masters at Augusta in the fifties was always fascinating, and the gossip about the old TV stars he met was fun. Sometimes Reg asked me legal questions about tax shelters, car leases, and once he asked me about criminal law, but most of the time, Reg talked about TV, golf, and Puddin’, who should be on Jeopardy with her encyclopedic knowledge of films. Reg tells great stories, but I liked the stories about you best, especially the one where you asked what sodomy was in the middle of Christmas dinner.’
    ‘Did he mention he explained that with a graphic demonstration using the turkey and roasted carrots?’ She chuckled, heartily, with a laugh a happy zing that didn’t hint at the misery her uncle had divulged. Will liked how she laughed; she sounded like Betty Rubble on The Flintstones .
    ‘Reg never mentioned roasted carrots. He told me you had a few unfortunate events in your life, but he also told me he taught you to pick your nose when you were four, that you went for a joyride in your neighbor’s pickup when you were seven, that you wore a wrestler’s costume to your high school prom, and that your mother-in-law was a ball-breaker.’
    Wincing, she sucked air through her teeth. ‘Oh, you’re well versed in the ongoing Jones saga and Reginaldi family history. Thanks for not fleeing the room in terror the second you realized criminal