Chapter Seven

Izzy

 

During the school year, I pull a chair up to my front window and watch the parade of kids on their way to school.  It’s amazing how many kids still walk to school these days.

There are the loner children trying their best to seem invisible. Giggling girls walking together trying hard to ignore the mischievous boys vying for their attention. There are kids on bikes and noisy skateboards, some bold enough to attempt tricks in my driveway.  Then there are the embarrassed kids whose ‘helicopter ‘parents insist on tagging along. My favorite though are the kids accompanied by a both a parent and their younger siblings. Families.

Today should be fun, watching their reaction to the flower covered dumpster.

 Melancholy lands a left-handed punch.

An image flashes--My Molly was outgoing, with bone straight, waist-length blonde hair. Her favorite ‘do’, a ribboned ponytail that swished when she walked.   A real people person, she would have been right in the middle of a gaggle of girls.  

She would have adored the flowers Joe painted.

 An idea hits me, Molly daring her friends to climb inside the dumpster and then getting stuck.  I chuckle “Oh Alice, that girl had a naughty streak a mile wide.”    My eyes tear up both with laughter and grief. Needing to I walk it off; I head to the kitchen for another cup of coffee.

 Laughter outside my window tells me it’s time. Excited, I push the curtain back so I can see better.

The first to pass is a group of three boys who ignore the dumpster, too busy looking over their shoulders and laughing.  I bet their attention is on some girls.

I’m right.

 Four girls. A tight group -all dressed in pink leggings and denim jackets.  I can imagine them on the phone talking about what to wear the night before. One of the girls, the one with pigtails approaches the dumpster and runs her fingers over the flowers.  The rest of the girls stand close by.

Too bad, I can’t hear what they’re saying.

As they run off, my first loner appears. Poor thing. His mother must have dressed him. He’s wearing jeans with ironed creases down each leg, a red t-shirt, and a god-awful belt with a big buckle.  

“Alice, look at how he’s dressed, poor kid.” I swear I hear her tsk, tsk, tsk.  a classic Alice negative response.   

The boy stops at the edge of the driveway and stares for a minute before moving on.

And so it went, some looked, some didn’t, but only the pigtailed girl touched the dumpster.

A little disappointed, I grab my fourth coffee of the day and head for the yard. “Time to get my hands dirty.”

Construction sounds- hammers thumping, the high-pitched whining of a saw- greet my ears as I unlock my backdoor.  And the smell-I’ve always loved the smell of cut wood. It comes in a close second to the smell of freshly mown grass.  I take a deep breath. Nice.

“Someone’s hard at work.” I hope it’s Joe.

 A quick peek through the fence but there’s no sign of him. My smile quickly fades. “Oh well.”

 How many times did Alice and I speak through this fence…. crosses my mind. “’Don’t be jealous, Alice, no one will ever take your place.”

 Flashes of her teaching me to garden.  I laugh at how many plants I killed along the way.  “I miss you terribly, but you’ve been gone over three years. “  

 In my tool shed, I slip overalls over my clothes and exchange sneakers for muckers- Alice’s word for boots. Today’s job is my least favorite- smelly and messy- enhancing the soil with Alice’s secret combination of compost, bone meal and a few other choice things.  I swear this stuff is like magic sauce- Vegetables are bigger and tastier than any from the supermarket. 

Wheelbarrow loaded-- rake and hoe teetering on top, I push the heavy load toward my vegetable plot, or as Alice called it ‘the back forty’.

 On my way, I take another peek through the fence, still no sign of Joe.  I scold myself, “Just stop this nonsense and get to work.”

Three loads in, my overalls are crusted with compost sludge and my hands sport blisters even through my work gloves. “Time for a break, Izzy,” I throw the hoe on the ground and head for the shed.

Damn it. Muddy footprints on yesterday’s clean pathway. I kick the muckers off and walk barefoot.  I need a glass of iced tea.

“That you, Izzy?”

It’s Joe. My heart stutters- a smile creeps across my lips.  Oh no, I’m a mess- barefoot, mud-caked overalls, hair like Medusa. Not to mention the smell.

 Thank God for the fence.

 I’m surprised at myself. What am I thinking? One thing’s for sure.  Alice would have liked Joe.  I know I’m glad he’s here, too

“Oh hey, Joe."

 

 

 

Chapter Eight

Joe

 

Well, that’s an improvement-she doesn’t sound scared.   No stutter. No fear filled voice.  A win for sure.

The whining of the saw starts up over by the back stairs.  I yell over the din. “Sorry about the noise.”

She yells back. “No problem.”

I step over a row of fancy purple grass. I’m gonna have to ask the gnome for the names of these plants and how to take care of them. Miss Alice would haunt me if I let her beautiful yard die off.  

Curious, I peek through an eye level knothole. The first thing I see is a small, blue painted building. It’s fixed up super cute will mullioned windows and red window boxes full of yellow flowers. I think these features elevates this to a “she-shed. 

 I shift left, spotting her two feet down peeking back through a knothole.  

 Now that’s funny.

Her long blonde hair is up in a messy bun and she’s wearing farmer coveralls. Are her feet bare?

The saw stops its drone. “Izzy, I really am sorry about the noise. I hope it doesn’t disturb you too much.”

“There’s no such thing as silent construction.” She responds with a giggle.

She looks down the fence toward my voice, startles, jumping back a step.

She knows I’m looking at her.  Damn it.

“Don’t do, do that.” She stutters and moves further down the wall away from me.

I’m instantly sorry for overstepping. Smacking myself on the forehead, I take a few steps backward almost tripping over those damn grass things.  I’m an idiot, damn it. I shouldn’t have peeked over the damn fence.

“Izzy, I’m sorry, I’m terribly sorry. I promise I won’t do it again.”

Until I’m invited that is. In the meantime, I need to use baby steps with her.

Al II get is silence- it guts me.

 After what feels like forever, she finally responds. "Promise?”

“Yes. I promise.”

 I mean it too. My goal is to help the woman, not hurt her.

I take a breath and add some humor to my voice.  “Hey, will you give an insensitive idiot a do-over? “

“Of course, after all you did paint me flowers.”

“Okay then.”  I knock on the fence as if it’s a door. “Izzy, is that you?’

Laughter tinkles over the fence.

Man, I love that sound.

“Wait”, she calls back. “I’m parched- I’m gonna go get some iced tea. You want some?”

“I’d love some.  Meet you back here in few minutes then.”

“I’ll be back”- delivered in pure Arnold Schwarzenegger style.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Nine

Izzy

 

A bit flabbergasted, I stumble over the shed’s threshold. Clumsy. It takes two tries to unbutton my overalls before kicking the dirty things into the corner. I’ll pick you up later, smelly things.

I can’t help it, my nerves have me talking to Alice.  “I can’t believe I went full  blown Arnold. He probably thinks I’m a total weirdo.”

Well, he’s not wrong.  I AM a total weirdo.

I tap my forehead against the wall, rattling the tools hanging there. The way I acted? 

 Like a scaredy cat.

“I’m ashamed of myself. Miss Alice. He's probably over there telling the plumber I’m a paranoid hermit.”

 He’s not far from wrong but I prefer the word homebody.

Really? How long has it been since I spoke to another ‘in-person’ person? The answer comes to me- It was that nasty salesman. Maybe six months ago.

 I’m going to try hard with Joe, Miss Alice, I promise.

I rush into the house knowing he’s waiting. After a quick wash up, I grab two glasses, fill with ice and sweet tea, then stuff a few oatmeal cookies in a plastic bag.

Pausing on my deck, I take a deep cleansing breath and let the smooth wood under my feet ground me.  

Alice whispers in my ear. “You can do this, Izzy. It's time to have a new friend.  A nice neighbor to share things with.”

She’s right.

There’s movement on the other side of the fence. Joe’s  waiting.

“I’ve come bearing gifts.” I lift his glass of tea high enough for him to see.

He reaches over the fence and grabs the glass . “Wow, this looks great.”

I hold the bag of cookies up next. “Homemade oatmeal cookies?”

“Yummy, you’re speaking my language. I love cookies.” He laughs and adds, “ My nephews call me a cookie monster.”

Good.  He bought up family. I can find out about his. “Nephews?”

“Yeah, my brother Matt’s boys. Oliver is five and Chase is nine.” 

“Matt was with you that first day, right?”

“Yeah.  He wanted to see the house. He won’t be around much, though. He has a super busy children’s dentistry practice .  Between his business, his wife and kids…  he doesn’t have much free time.”

Tinkling ice. Good, he’s drinking the tea. I hope he likes it.  “Tea, okay?”

“It’s perfect.  Cold, with the perfect amount of sweetness. “

Alice adds her two cents. “Go ahead.  Ask him questions. Be brave.”

Swallowing a sip of tea, I go for it.  “Do you have a family? Kids?”

“Nope. No kids. No wife. Just me.”

“Really? Why not?”  I slap my hand to my mouth.  What a dummy-I shouldn’t have asked him that.

Before I can apologize, he answers. “Never had time or opportunity-spent the last twenty years on overseas assignments.”

Twenty years- that’s more than half my life. “Oversea assignments?”

“Yeah, Twenty years in the Army. Uncle Sam took me everywhere- the only continent I never went to was Antarctica.”

Alice nudges me. “He’s lived a thousand different lives-you’re not the only one with stories.

“You’re right.” I nod right. I always hear her voice in my right ear. Every time.  

With my back against the fence, I slide to the ground and get comfortable. “ Hope you have a few minutes, I  want at least one juicy Navy story.”

He chuckles,  “Yuck, Woman,  I’m Army not Navy.  The Squids don’t have juicy  stories.”

“OMG, I’m sorry. You’re Army, the “Be all you can Be’ one.”  I quickly add.

“Exactly, Army strong all the way.”

So, a juicy story?”

Joe takes another sip of tea, then I hear him lean against the fence like he’s about to tell a long story.

“First assignment? Nairobi. I was green as grass—fresh out of CI school, still thought ‘intel’ meant reading people’s emails.”

I raise an eyebrow. “CI, what’s that?”

He taps his fingers against the fence. “Counterintelligence”

“You were a spy?”

“More like a noisy neighbor with a badge.” He shoots back with a chuckle. Then adds, “ In Nairobi, I mostly drank bad coffee and pretended I knew what I was doing.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Oh, it was. Especially the coffee.”

I laugh. “Come on. Give me something juicy. Did you chase spies through the market? Decode secret messages in goat milk?”

He chuckles. “Can’t confirm or deny the goat milk. But I will say this—my trainer, old Greybeard, had a rule: ‘If you’re not paranoid, you’re not paying attention.’ He taught me how to spot a tail, how to disappear in plain sight, and how to lie convincingly about what I had for breakfast.”

“Sounds like a spy.”

“Sounds like a guy who didn’t want to get reassigned to Antarctica.”

I snort. “So you were an aide. What did that mean, exactly?”

He pauses, then shrugs. “Mostly I carried briefcases and kept my mouth shut. Sometimes I translated. Sometimes I distracted people with small talk while the real agents did their thing.”

“Like a decoy?”

“Like a friendly ghost. I was the guy who made you feel safe while someone else read your mail.”

I blink. “That’s… unsettling.”

He nods. “Welcome to counterintelligence.”

“So, what juicy thing happened.”

“We had a surveillance post near the embassy, right? Real discreet. Except the local goats kept chewing through our fiber lines. One day, I’m trying to monitor a signal and the whole system goes dark. I look out the window—there’s a goat standing on the junction box like it owns the place. We started calling him ‘Agent Billy.’”

Giggling, I answer back, “So your first mission was sabotaged by livestock?”

“Technically, yes. And I still think he was working for someone.”

We both laugh and I swear the air felt crisper and cleaner all of a sudden.  I like this guy. I think I can trust him.

Alice whispers, “Yeah, you can.”

“That wasn’t very juicy but it sure was funny. So, a juicy story?”

Joe’s voice softens. “There was one night—late, just me and the embassy guard on rotation. Power flickered out, whole compound went dark. I sat there listening to the city breathe. No signals, no chatter, just the hum of Nairobi at midnight. I remember thinking… this is what peace sounds like.”

“That sounds… beautiful.”

“It was. For five minutes. Then the backup generator kicked in, and the goats started screaming again.”

 I laugh again then something in my chest tightens. I bet he keeps the stories funny because it hurts to tell the hard parts.

Like me.