The Man Next Door: Orchard Heights Book 2 - standalone Read online

  “And then you followed that up with family therapy. Why did you change jobs?”

  “Well, after four years, I was looking for a change. And honestly, the kids wore me down.” Damn me, and my transparency. I always share too much.

  She nods agreeably. “I get it. I worked with youth too. I know exactly how it is.”

  Thank God.

  “Yes, it was exhausting.” Not to mention, gut-wrenching and soul-tearing.

  “I see that you worked for The Rivera Mental Health and Addiction Center with a focus on family therapy in your next position. How was your experience there?”

  “It was great,” I say truthfully. “Hard at times, but amazing.”

  “And why did you leave this position?”

  Oh crap.

  I can’t really get into the whole Michael thing. I still feel horribly angry and heartbroken about it all. I can’t tell her about the separation and divorce. I can’t fess up to the depression that followed. What do I say? I should have known this question would come up. I should have been more prepared.

  “I loved the position but I was going through personal issues at the time.” I’m hoping this is vague enough not to encourage judgment, and I’m hoping Melanie Adams is not a nosy type. I hope I haven’t blown it.

  “Uh… I see.”

  “I loved working with the families, especially the children, building bonds and earning their trust. One of my favorite parts was getting to know them and assessing them. Each case is unique and each person is special,” I say, in an attempt to distract her. “I also enjoyed the paperwork, believe it or not. I liked the mix of working out in the field, and at the office. I always made myself available for emergency calls, to my ex-husband’s dismay.” I don’t mention the fact that my job essentially broke my marriage. Obviously, we’re on a need-to-know basis here.

  She smiles again. “Yes, social work can be all-consuming, but it can also be very rewarding.”

  “For sure,” I agree.

  She gazes down at the job description on her desk. “As you already know, the job duties are extensive: psychological assessments and evaluations, implementation of care plans, maintaining department records and documents, consultation and supervision, emergency calls, advocating and providing resources, maintaining up-to-date information and much more.”

  I nod enthusiastically. “All duties I had at my previous position,” I point out. “Let me assure you that I’m highly enthusiastic about this position and I’m the perfect candidate for the job. My personal issues are a thing of the past, and I promise they won’t affect my work. If you give me a shot, I’ll make you proud. That’s a promise.”

  Her eyes grow wide, and so does her smile, which I take as a good sign.

  I have a good feeling about this.

  “Well, thank God that’s over,” I cheer as I take a sip of my celebratory green apple martini. No, I didn’t get the job yet. We’re just celebrating the completion of the interview at Olive Garden and I feel amazing. A heavy weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

  “You’ll get it,” Gretchen says. “I can feel it.”

  I smile at her. “Thanks, I hope so.”

  “But we’ll miss you,” Claudia chimes in. “We liked having you around these past few months.”

  I pout. “I know… no more afternoon coffee for me. I’ll miss you guys.”

  “I’ve been thinking about getting a job too,” Gretchen pipes in.

  “Really?” Mischa asks. “But Ethan is still so small.”

  “I know. I’ll probably wait a bit, but I’m kind of going crazy at home. I need to move on with my life, after everything…”

  Her voice trails off, and all our hearts break a little. Gretchen’s husband died over two years ago in a horrible car wreck.

  “Well, speaking of work. I need to duck out early today,” Claudia says. “I need to drop by the thrift store for props.”

  I smile. Claudia has the coolest job. She’s a stage manager/set designer at The Den Theatre.

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” I say. “I haven’t even had a chance to tell you all about my hot new neighbor.”

  Claudia’s brows perk up. “Oooooh,” she says. “Well, maybe the props can wait. Dish, girl.”

  I laugh. The girls are all ears. “He’s hot,” I start. “So I’m busy running around, getting ready for my interview and I hear this knock at my door. At first I thought it was one of you guys doing a pop-in.”

  “Claudia’s the only one who does that,” Mischa points out.

  “I’m not,” she argues. “Abigail does it too.”

  I laugh. “Do you guys wanna know about this hot guy or not?”

  “We do. We do,” Gretchen cheers.

  “Anyway, I open the door, and there’s this beautiful specimen of a man standing there. Dirty blond hair, a little too long, and the most arresting blue eyes I have ever seen. And that smile…” There was something about that smile.

  Gretchen frowns. “Figures. Why couldn’t I be the one with the hot new neighbor?”

  I smile at her. “So anyway, he’s wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, and I’m checking him out, and his fly is open!”

  “No way!” Claudia screams, and heads turn.

  “Yes way.”

  “What color were his briefs?” Claudia asks.

  The girls all laugh.

  “Red,” I tell them. “Well, anyway, things were awkward after that.”

  “So how old is this guy?” Claudia asks, being her usually nosy self. “Married? What does he do?”

  “I have no clue,” I admit. “We didn’t say much. He looked young though, about twenty-five.”

  “Damn… those young guys are nothing but trouble,” Claudia points out. And she should know. Claudia’s separated and has just entered the dating world. She’s gorgeous and had no problem jumping back into it, but apparently, the landscape is dire.

  One more reason not to date.

  “Well, next time you talk to him, we want some intel,” Mischa says. “So we can live vicariously through you.”

  “Yeah, nothing exciting ever happens around here,” Gretchen chimes in.

  “Well, not quite true,” Mischa argues. “I’ve had enough drama for a lifetime this past year.”

  Yes, she definitely has.

  “Just watch out for the boy next door,” Claudia warns me. “You can’t trust any of them.”

  The boy next door.

  Yes, I should probably listen to Claudia. The last time I fell for the boy next door, it was a complete disaster. And it changed my life forever.

  Well, he wasn’t exactly a boy. He was a man. And perhaps that was what drew me to him.

  3

  I was just a girl, a young neglected girl with issues. I was a mess. A mess he wanted nothing to do with. He knew better. But I didn’t. All I knew was that I liked what I saw.

  I first met him when I was just fourteen. Although it was about twenty-two years ago, it feels just like yesterday.

  I remember everything about that fateful day; the smell of alcohol and cigarettes, the sound of Linkin Park drifting from Jake’s room, the cool night air as I stepped outside, the goosebumps on my arms, the stars up in the dark sky, the pesky black flies, the damp ground under my sandals, and the fireflies in the distance.

  My dad was on another bender, almost dead to the world, but alive enough to hurl insults at the three of us, me and Jake and Nick. Unlike me, my brothers didn’t take that shit, and they did a disappearing act anytime he got like that.

  “Get your useless fat ass in the kitchen and get me another beer,” he scoffed. “What do I pay you for?”

  “You pay me nothing, Dad,” I pointed out, reaching into the refrigerator. I didn’t want to enable him, did not want to encourage his drinking, but if I didn’t do what he asked, he’d hurl more verbal abuse at me, and I could only take so much. I wasn’t even fat… a little chubby perhaps. I hadn’t quite come into my womanly curves yet, and I was still growing. I didn’t li
ke my body then, and it was probably because of my father. When I look at old photos of myself at that age now, I see a cute young girl, not the ugly nuisance my dad made me out to be.

  Jake and Nick had developed a habit of either leaving or holing out in their rooms in our double wide trailer. Nick, being the oldest had the biggest room, and Jake and I were stuck in shoe boxes. My twin bed took up half the room, and the built-in closet had very little storage space. Thankfully I didn’t have too many belongings.

  I, on the other hand, chose to stay close by, taking my father’s verbal punches like a pro boxer. I wanted to make sure he was okay. I’d already lost my mom, I didn’t want to lose my dad too. When he finally shut up and passed out, I always tucked in a large towel under him, and turned him on his front, so he wouldn’t choke on his own vomit. And when he did hurl, I was always the one who cleaned it up. Thankfully, they’d made me with a strong stomach.

  I suppose I’ve always been a caretaker, just like my mother, who was a nurse and a wonderful person before alcoholism took her away from us.

  The night was cold and damp. It had rained earlier in the day. The black flies were bugging me something fierce, but still, it was better than staying inside and being a punching bag for my father. I’d begun to really like my special spot on the bench by my dad’s garden. It was the one good thing we had left. He’d hurt his back seriously years before at his job as a forklift operator, and had been unemployed and collecting disability ever since. He did nothing all day but drink, but he still loved to garden. Despite the fact that he supposedly had a bad back, he was still well enough to garden.

  The week before had been tough on us, Mother’s Day and all. We all missed her. But better times were ahead because spring had started and Dad was always happier in the summer season. The smile on his face was always priceless when he presented us with a big bowl of strawberries, fresh from his garden. He grew everything from carrots, cucumber and zucchini, tomatoes, radishes and so much more. The more he gardened, the less he drank.

  Covered in sweat pants, tall boots, and a thick hoodie, the black flies could only get at my face as I stared absentmindedly at Willy, standing there in the middle of our garden. How’s it going tonight? I asked him silently. He didn’t answer me of course. Willy was our scarecrow, made out of dried leaves and twigs and dad’s old clothes.

  I heard rustling in the yard next door. All the lots at the mobile home park were very close to each other, but still spacious enough to afford us the space for gardens, and for some people, lots of junk, mostly broken down vehicles.

  The place next to us was a mess ever since the new guy moved in. I knew nothing about him as he was pretty reclusive. I’d seen him working on his old car and his four wheeler which he occasionally took out on the road, annoying my Dad to no end. I enjoyed spying on him for no other reason than I had nothing else better to do. He’d moved back in January, and we never saw him out save for when he plowed his driveway. He even plowed ours as a neighborly gesture. Did my dad ever thank him? Of course he didn’t.

  “The guy’s probably just going to ask for money if I go thank him,” he’d complained.

  “Maybe not,” I’d said. “Maybe he’s just being nice.”

  “Oh, Abby girl, you’re so naive. You need to grow up.”

  I knew nothing about this mysterious man, save for his name: Gavin Foster. And apparently, he had killed a young girl and had spent some time in jail, as the rumor went. “I don’t ever want to see you talking to that man next door,” Dad had warned me. “He’s nothing but bad news.”

  I knew how rumors spread so easily around the park, and they were usually false. There had been a rumor about my brother, Nick, and how he was gay. He wasn’t. Well, not as far as I knew. I’d spied some nudie magazines at the bottom of his dresser, and they were all pussies and big perfect round tits. I’d studied myself in the mirror after that, wondering why my boobs weren’t nearly as full and round. Well, they still have time to grow, I’d told myself.

  So I took this rumor about Gavin being a murderer with a grain of salt. I’ve always given people the benefit of the doubt. And he had this dog, a gorgeous black lab he called Magnum. Anyone with a dog can’t be all that bad, I thought. I’d heard him call out the dog’s names dozens of times because Magnum was never on a leash and liked to explore. Half the dogs weren’t on leashes and people were too tired to complain. I personally loved it because I love dogs. And I especially liked it when Magnum would come and visit. He was a friend.

  I checked my watch. It was past ten. I wasn’t technically allowed out past ten but Dad was dead to the world. I was wondering what Izzie was up to. I was considering heading over to her place when Magnum surprised me. I scratched his head. “Hey, buddy. How’s it going?” We were new friends, having just met the week before.

  He happily rubbed his nose between my knees, such a friendly dog. “What are you doing out so late?” I asked. “I’m just trying to get away from my dad,” I told him. “He’s a mean drunk.”

  “Magnum!!!” I heard Gavin call out, as he often did.

  Magnum was not a good listener. Instead of heading to his owner, he settled at my feet. I smiled at the sight. “Your Daddy wants you home,” I told him. “You should probably go, buddy. Or is he a mean drunk like mine?”

  “Magnum!!!” Gavin called out again.

  “He’s here,” I yelled, and my heartbeat quickened a little. Dad had told me that I was to never ever speak to the man. And if I did, there’d be consequences. What those consequences were, I had no clue. But then again, Dad was passed out on the couch.

  First, I heard him approaching loudly, and my pulse quickened. It was dark, and there was no one here but us and the dog. What had I been thinking? I was too young to die. I hadn’t even been out of Michigan. I was still a virgin. Heck, I hadn’t even been kissed. I could already see the headline.

  Young Virgin Found Murdered at Trailer Park. Strange Mysterious Neighbor Main Suspect.

  He finally came into view, and I couldn’t breathe. I watched him approaching with a hurried step. I sat up straight, ready to face this strange man. Should I mention my yellow belt in karate?

  As he inched closer, I could see his expression under the moonlight. He was smiling. He seemed friendly. But then again, Ted Bundy was a friendly fellow too apparently.

  “Hey, there you are,” he kneeled next to his dog and scratched his neck. “You gotta stop running away, fella.”

  He glanced up at me. “He’s just a puppy still,” he explained. “I still don’t have him under control.”

  I was at a loss for words, still frozen.

  He turned his gaze to the dog. “Kids will be kids, I guess.”

  “True,” I said.

  He looked up at me and extended his hand. “I’m Gavin, by the way.”

  I shook his hand. I wondered if he could tell mine was trembling. Up close, he looked different. From afar, I had noticed the basics; he was a big man, taller than my dad who was six feet tall. He was scruffy and unshaven. Dad called him ‘Dirty Foster’.

  But from this close, I could finally see the warm brown eyes and the wide friendly smile, perfect teeth and a dimple on his right cheek. He was handsome in an older man kind of way.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said quietly.

  “Magnum’s been coming over to visit a lot?” he asked.

  “A few times this past week,” I told him. “We’re friends.” And Lord knew, I needed a friend. Magnum and Izzie were my only friends. And Izzie was often too busy for me. And she had a bad habit of changing the subject whenever I started to confide in her. It always had to be about her. Magnum, on the other hand, was a very good listener.

  “Well, let me know if he bothers you.”

  “He doesn’t bother me at all,” I was quick to say. “I like it when he comes over.”

  “Good then.” He studied me for a long beat. “What are you doing out this late? The bugs are eating you alive.”

  “I’m used t
o them.”

  “But wouldn’t you rather be inside? It’s cold out.”

  “It’s better than being around my dad,” I replied and instantly regretted my words. I felt like I was betraying my father.

  “Oh, I know that feeling,” Gavin said. “My dad was a dick too.”

  I smiled.

  He smiled.

  He inched closer, so close, his face was a mere three inches from mine. I started to panic.

  “God, they got you good right on the eye. You’re bleeding.”

  I brought my hand up. “Which one?”

  He pointed. “That one, right below.”

  Sure enough, I swiped the pad of my finger under my eye and it was tender. My finger was bloody.

  “You better get inside. Those black flies are evil little buggers.”

  “I probably should.”

  We both stood to leave, and he waved as he started to walk away. “Oh wait…” he said.

  My head flipped around.

  “You never told me your name.”

  “It’s Abigail,” I told him with a smile, “but you can call me Abby. Everyone does.”

  He smiled wide. “Okay… Abigail.”

  I waved goodbye a second time.

  “It was nice to meet you, Abigail. And I don’t want to see you out this late again. It’s a school night.”

  I laughed. “Yes, Mr. Foster.”

  I was smiling when I walked back into the trailer, and thankfully there was no one there to notice the stupid grin on my face.

  The next day, I looked like I had been punched in the face. I’d actually been stung twice on the one eye. Izzie asked me if my dad had punched me. I told her about the black flies, and about the incident with my dad, the usual story, and all the while I was smiling like a creepy clown, thinking about Gavin Foster.

  4

  Ever since the interview, I’ve been trying to keep busy. I’ve been reading and cooking and even running again, anything to keep my mind off it. I really want the position. It’s the perfect job for me. Every time I check my phone, and see that there’s no message or email, my heart sinks a little, despite the fact that I know these things take time.