I immediately regretted opening mine.
“Sorry. How many?”
“Richard.”
I wasn’t ashamed of it.
“Come on. How many tiers?”
“Still an ass?”
His smile disappeared. Good.
Richard had known about my lisp long enough to remember which words embarrassed me when I was younger.
His eyes dropped to my faded blue Honda. “You ever think about replacing that thing?”
“Wait till the lights come on tonight.”
“Nope.”
“Must be fifteen years old.”
“Fourteen.”
“Well, pardon me. Practically new.”
The Honda wasn’t pretty, but it was paid for. I’d bought it after my divorce, when I knew which gas station was three cents cheaper. I wasn’t ashamed of it.
At least, I didn’t want to be.
Susan had been gone almost twenty years.
Richard glanced proudly at his fountain. “Wait till the lights come on tonight.”
I looked at the ridiculous thing.
“Sue would’ve laughed at sis.”
He stopped.
I wished I could pull the sentence back.
“Sree or four?”
“You don’t need to tell me what my wife would’ve thought.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I knew Sue.”
“So did I.”
Something changed in his face. “Yeah. You sure did.”
Then he walked away.
Susan had been gone almost twenty years. My best friend. Richard’s wife. And the reason Richard and I could live across the street from each other while pretending we were little more than neighbors.
“You leaving that there?”
By lunchtime, the contractor repairing my cracked driveway gave me more bad news.
“No car on the new concrete for three days. Four to be safe.”
“Sree or four?”
He blinked.
I smiled. “Little joke with myself.”
He laughed politely.
I’d learned that trick years ago. If I laughed first, nobody could embarrass me with it.
“You know what I mean.”
***
That evening, I drove home and found only one open parking spot.
Directly in front of Richard’s house. Of course.
I parked.
His front door opened before I’d even gotten out. “You leaving that there?”
“For a few days.”
“Linda, you’re blocking the view.”
“Of what?”
“My fountain.”
Then she died.
I looked past him. Water cascaded down all three illuminated tiers.
“Oh. I can still see it.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t sink I do.”
His eyes flicked toward my mouth.
I hated that I noticed.
“You know how much that fountain cost?”
“Move it.”
“No.”
“Eight thousand dollars.”
“And?”
“I’d rather not have that sitting in front of it.” He pointed at my Honda.
There had been a time when Richard counted every dollar.
When Susan was alive, he didn’t need everyone to know how much things cost.
Then she died.
I knew that expression.
And somehow, the man I’d known became this one.
I locked my car. “Good night, Richard.”
“Move it.”
I stopped.
Normally, that would’ve been enough. I hated confrontation. Susan used to tease me that I’d apologize to a chair after bumping into it.
But something told me Richard was done pretending.
But I looked at Richard standing beside his eight-thousand-dollar fountain, pointing at my car like it was garbage.
“No.”
His eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
I walked home.
At my porch, I glanced back.
My Honda was covered in eggs.
Richard was staring at me. Not at the Honda. At me.
I knew that expression. I’d seen it nearly twenty years earlier, not long after we buried Susan.
Back then, I hadn’t understood why he looked at me as though I’d taken something from him.
I’d spent twenty years pretending not to notice.
But something told me Richard was done pretending.
No witnesses.
***
The next morning, I was halfway through my coffee when I looked out the window and nearly dropped the mug.
My Honda was covered in eggs.
Yellow streaks ran down the windshield. Broken shells clung to the hood and roof. One egg had splattered across the driver’s-side window.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
My first thought was teenagers.
“I did it.”
I grabbed my phone, hurried outside, and took pictures before touching anything.
Richard’s fountain burbled peacefully behind my car. Of course it did.
I looked up and down the street. No kids. No witnesses. No cameras that I could see.
Then Richard’s curtain moved.
Well, well.
I crossed the street and knocked.
“You egged my car because I parked on a public street?”
He opened the door wearing a pressed polo shirt. “Morning, Linda.”
“Someone egged my car.”
He shrugged.
“I was wondering if you saw who did it.”
Richard smiled. “I did it.”
His eyes flicked toward my mouth.
For a second, I thought I’d heard him wrong.
“You?”
“Yep. Figured I’d teach you a lesson.”
I stared at him. “You egged my car because I parked on a public street?”
“What was that?”
“Your junky car was blocking everyone’s view of my beautiful new fountain.”
He actually sounded proud of himself.
I glanced over my shoulder at the fountain, then back at him.
“Sat’s your reason?”
His eyes flicked toward my mouth. My face warmed.
Richard smiled. “What was that?”
I slowed down. “That’s. Your. Reason?”
“Still can’t say it, huh?”
His smile widened. “You heard me. I spent good money on that fountain. Nobody wants to look at your cheap car instead.”
I felt something tighten in my chest. The Honda was old. I knew that. But hearing Richard say cheap as though it described more than my car hit a nerve I wished it didn’t.
“You damaged my property.”
“Oh, it’ll wash off.”
“Sen you can pay to have it washed.”
He laughed. “Still can’t say it, huh?”
There was something else underneath it.
I stared at him.
For a moment, I wasn’t fifty-seven anymore.
I was younger, sitting at a kitchen table with Susan while Richard teased me about the same sounds.
Back then, Susan had always made him stop.
Now she wasn’t there.
On my way home, I made one more stop.
“Move your car,” Richard said. “Or I’ll mess it up again.”
Something about the way he said it made me stop.
That wasn’t just a ridiculous man protecting the view of his fountain. There was something else underneath it. Something old.
But before I could ask, Richard slammed the door.
Whatever he’d found inside my package, it had worked.
Twenty years ago, I would’ve gone home wondering what I’d done wrong. Apparently, fifty-seven-year-old me had finally gotten tired of that.
I had the Honda professionally cleaned that afternoon.
On my way home, I made one more stop.
There was something I’d kept for almost twenty years. Something Richard had never seen.
I sent it to him.
“What the heck did you send me?”
I didn’t want his money.
But after the way he’d spoken to me that morning, I thought it was finally time Richard saw it.
When I pulled into my street later that afternoon, my Honda was clean again. Richard’s fountain was still sparkling in the sun. And Richard was running across the street toward me. I’d never seen him move that fast in my life.
Whatever he’d found inside my package, it had worked.
“You knew about it?”
***
Richard reached me before I could shut the car door. His face was red, and for once, there wasn’t a trace of that smug little smile.
“What the heck did you send me?”
I took my purse from the passenger seat and got out. “So you got it.”
“Why would you send me something like that?”
“You can pretend we’re strangers.”
There was something almost panicked in his voice. That interested me more than the anger.
“You know why.”
Richard stared at me as if he were trying to decide how much I knew. “You knew about it?”
“Of course I did.”
His mouth fell open slightly.
He said the thing I’d suspected for almost twenty years.
I locked my Honda and faced him. “Richard, you’ve known me for over twenty years. You can pretend we’re strangers for the neighbors, but don’t do it with me.”
His expression hardened immediately. “I don’t owe you anything.”
“I didn’t ask for anything. I want you to leave my car alone and start acting like a decent neighbor.”
He let out a bitter laugh. “Decent. That’s rich coming from you.”
“You took her from me.”
The old Linda would’ve let that pass.
I didn’t.
“What is sat supposed to mean?”
Richard looked toward the neighboring houses before stepping closer. “You know exactly what you did.”
For a second, neither of us spoke.
Then he said the thing I’d suspected for almost twenty years.
“You should’ve left this buried.”
“You took her from me.”
My stomach tightened. Susan.
So that was it.
“She left me because of you,” he continued. “And now you pull this?”
I shook my head. “No, Richard. Susan left because you were obsessed with money.”
His face went still. I’d hit something.
“This isn’t over.”
“You don’t know a damn thing about my marriage.”
“I knew Susan.”
His eyes flashed.
For a moment, I thought Richard might finally tell me everything he’d blamed me for all these years.
Instead, he backed away. “You should’ve left this buried.”
“You should’ve left my car alone.”
Richard pointed at me. “This isn’t over.”
I didn’t go to bed either.
Then he turned and stormed across the street.
I watched him disappear into his house.
I knew Richard. I knew his pride, his temper, and how badly he needed the last word.
After what I’d sent him, there was no chance he’d simply go to bed and forget about me.
And he wouldn’t try anything while the whole street was awake.
So when darkness fell, I didn’t go to bed either.
I got ready.
This time, if Richard decided to teach me another lesson, he’d find an audience waiting.
At 10:43, Richard’s porch light went out.
***
By ten that night, every light in my house was off.
I sat beside the living-room window with my phone in my hand, watching Richard’s house across the street. Earlier, I’d moved my Honda to the edge of my driveway, just far enough from the fresh concrete to be safe.
And just close enough to my front lawn to be impossible for my neighbor to miss. If he wanted the last word, I’d given him the perfect place to write it.
At 10:43, Richard’s porch light went out.
I leaned forward.
He wasn’t empty-handed.
A minute later, his front door opened. There you are.
Richard stepped outside and looked up and down the street before crossing toward my house.
Slowly.
He wasn’t empty-handed. Even in the dark, I could make out a small paint can swinging beside his leg.
My heart started pounding.
I pressed the first switch.
I’d expected something petty. I hadn’t expected to be that right.
Richard stopped beside my Honda and glanced at my house.
Dark windows. No movement. Exactly what he wanted to see.
He crouched and reached for the lid.
I pressed the first switch.
“Sree strikes, Richard.”
My porch lights exploded on.
Richard spun around. “What the heck?!”
I pressed the second. The sprinklers shot to life.
“Jesus!”
Water hit him square in the chest.
“Go ahead.”
Richard stumbled backward, dropping the paint can onto the grass.
I stepped onto the porch. “Sree strikes, Richard.”
“You crazy— Turn this off!”
“Why? It’ll wash off.”
He froze.
Richard remembered saying those exact words about the eggs.
“Don’t lie to me!”
“You think this is funny?!”
“I sink it’s funnier than ruining my car.”
His eyes went straight to my mouth.
For years, that would’ve been enough to make me stop talking.
I didn’t.
“Go ahead,” I said. “Laugh.”
Then a man’s voice came from behind the dark side of my porch.
His lips parted. Nothing came out.
I pointed at the paint can. “Pick it up.”
“You set me up!”
“You threatened my car. I believed you.”
“I wasn’t going to—”
“Don’t lie to me!”
Richard took a step toward me.
“You invited them here?”
Then a man’s voice came from behind the dark side of my porch. “I wouldn’t do that, Richard.”
Richard stopped dead.
Our neighbor, Tom, stepped into the light.
Carol followed him, holding her coffee. \
Then Denise appeared behind them.
Richard looked at all three. “What the hell is this?”
“You finally got what you wanted?”
I finally switched off the sprinklers. “You got away with the eggs because nobody saw you. I wasn’t giving you that chance again.”
“You invited them here?”
“I asked them to witness whatever you chose to do.”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“You’ve been doing this for twenty years!”
Carol pointed at the paint can. “Then why are you carrying paint across the street at almost eleven at night?”
Richard’s face burned red. “This has nothing to do with any of you.”
“It does now,” Tom said.
Richard turned on me. “You happy? You finally got what you wanted?”
“What exactly do you sink I wanted?”
“What you did to my wife!”
His eyes flicked toward my mouth again. But this time anger won over the old joke. “To make me look like a fool!”
“You did sat all by yourself.”
“Stop!”
The shout startled even me.
Richard’s chest heaved. “You’ve been doing this for twenty years!”
I went still. “Doing what?”
“Pretending you don’t know!”
“Know what?”
“What you did to my wife!”
Carol lowered her mug. Nobody spoke.
“She already had a life!”
Richard pointed at me, his hand shaking. “Sue and I were fine until you started filling her head with garbage!”
My pulse hammered. There it was.
Twenty years. Finally out loud.
“You really believe that?”
“She started spending more time with you. She stopped talking to me. Then one day she told me she couldn’t do it anymore!”
The word came out wrong. Sen.
“And you decided that was my fault? You weren’t there for her!”
“I was working! I was trying to give her a life!”
“She already had a life! She wanted her husband in it!”
His face twisted. “You think I didn’t love her?”
“I think you loved what you were going to become more!”
“Shut up!”
I saw it. So did he.
“No!” My own voice shocked me.
But once the word was out, twenty years came with it.
“No, Richard! I shut up when she left you. I shut up when she died. I shut up every time you looked at me like I’d destroyed your life. I let you hate me because I knew you were grieving.”
“You don’t get to tell me how I grieved!”
“And you don’t get to punish me for it for twenty years!”
“And now this package. What was that supposed to be?”
Silence fell over the yard. My hands were trembling now.
Richard’s were too. “You took her side.”
His voice had changed. There was less rage in it now. More hurt.
“She was my best friend.”
“I was her husband.”
“Sen you should’ve listened to her!”
The word came out wrong. Sen.
“What is it?”
Richard’s eyes dropped instinctively to my mouth.
I saw it. So did he.
Usually, that was where I’d blush. Correct myself. Make the joke for him.
Not tonight.
“Go on,” I said, my voice shaking. “You’ve been laughing at the way I talk since before Susan died. Do it now.”
Richard stared at me. “Linda—”
“Linda, don’t.”
“Come on. You never had trouble before.”
He looked away.
That tiny movement did something to me. For the first time, I realized I wasn’t embarrassed.
He was.
I took a breath. “You blamed me because it was easier than admitting Susan chose to leave. I didn’t encourage her!”
“You helped her!”
“Yes! I helped her because she came to me crying! Because she didn’t know how to make you see her anymore!”
His face crumpled for half a second.
I unfolded the paper.
Then the anger came back. “And now this package. What was that supposed to be? Another reminder that you knew my wife better than I did?”
“No.”
“Then what?!”
I pulled the folded paper from my pocket.
Carol looked at me. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Richard snapped.
I laughed once. “Nothing? You ran across the street this afternoon because of it.”
“Linda, don’t.”
“This is what was in the package.”
“Why not?”
“Because Sue isn’t here to explain herself!”
That stopped me. For a second, grief punched through all the anger.
“No,” I said. “She isn’t.” My throat tightened. “And that’s exactly why I kept sis quiet for twenty years.”
Richard stared at me.
I unfolded the paper. “You spent years telling everyone what everything costs. Your house. Your landscaping. That eight-thousand-dollar fountain.”
“What does that have to do with Sue?”
“That was nearly everything I had.”
“Everything.” I held up the check. “This is what was in the package. A copy of a check I wrote Susan twenty years ago.”
Richard shook his head. “Sue gave me that money. For my business. So what?”
I looked at him. “Ask where she got it.”
“She would’ve told me!”
“She was going to.”
Richard stared at the paper. “Five thousand…”
“That was nearly everything I had,” I said.
“Why didn’t you tell me after she died?”
Richard shook his head again. “No. Sue gave me that money. She said she’d figured something out.”
“She did. Me. She paid me back whenever she could. Fifty dollars. A hundred. Whatever she could hide from the household budget without making you worry.”
“Hide from me?”
“She was protecting your pride! She believed in you! Even when she was furious with you, she believed in you. That’s why I gave her the money.”
“She still owed me money when she died.”
His voice dropped.
“Why didn’t you tell me after she died?”
“Because she died!” My voice broke completely. “Because my best friend was gone, and you had just buried your wife! Did you really want me knocking on your door with an unpaid balance? I couldn’t do sat to her.”
Again, the lisp. Again, I let it stay.
“She still owed me money when she died,” I continued. “I never asked you for it. Not once.”
Richard rubbed a hand over his wet face. “So now you want it.”
“You needed someone to blame.”
“No! I don’t want your money!”
“Then why send the damn check?”
“Because you stood there this morning and laughed at my cheap car!” My voice cracked again. “You looked at me like I was beneath you because my car is fourteen years old. You bragged about an eight-thousand-dollar fountain to the woman whose savings helped you start the business that paid for it!”
Richard went completely still.
Carol whispered, “Oh, Richard.”
“That you took her from me.”
He looked at her. Then at Tom. Then across the street. The fountain was still glowing. Water spilled perfectly from one stone tier to the next. Richard stared at it for a long moment.
“I didn’t know,” he finally said. “Sue never told me.”
“I know.”
His eyes came back to mine. “And you let me believe…”
“That you built your business yourself? Yes.”
“No.” His voice broke. “That you took her from me.”
My anger softened, but it didn’t disappear. “I couldn’t fix that for you, Richard. You needed someone to blame.”
Richard’s eyes filled, and he looked away.
“For the eggs.”
“I know.”
His voice was barely audible. “I loved her.”
“I know sat too.”
His eyes flicked to my mouth one last time. But there was no smile. No mockery.
Just twenty years of exhaustion.
I didn’t correct the word. For once, I didn’t need to.
I picked up the cleaning receipt from my porch table. “I don’t want the rest of Susan’s debt. But you owe me $186.40.”
Inside was $186.40.
He looked at it. Then at me. “For the eggs.”
“For the eggs.”
He took it.
“And Richard?”
“What?”
“Stay away from my Honda.”
Richard and I never became friends.
***
The next morning, an envelope appeared under my door.
Inside was $186.40. No apology.
Maybe neither of us had the right words for twenty years in an envelope.
Richard and I never became friends. But he never touched my Honda again.
“Still sree tiers?”
***
Three days later, when my driveway was ready, I moved it back. Richard was outside beside his fountain.
He glanced at the Honda, then at me. “Morning, Linda.”
“Morning.” I took two steps, then turned around. “Richard?”
“Yeah?”
I nodded toward the fountain. “Still sree tiers?”
For a second, he just looked at me.
Then he gave the smallest smile. “Still three.”
I smiled back. For most of my life, I’d made the joke first so nobody else could hurt me with it.
