The Neighbors (24 page)

“I knew you’d be back,” Harlow whispered against the shell of his ear.

Before Mickey could respond, something bit into the side of his throat.

And then he was gone.

There was no doubt in Drew’s mind that he was out of a job, and of all the reasons to get canned, being caught with the boss’s wife had never crossed his mind. His stomach was still twisted with anxiety; he was sure that Red would come banging on his door any second, determined to settle the score. But Red never showed up, and Andrew was thankful for that, because he needed to get the hell out of the house. He needed to clear his mind. He was still seriously weirded out by what had happened the day before; it had come out of nowhere and had left him feeling sick for the rest of the afternoon. But the longer he had to digest it, the less appalling the idea felt. Part of him was sure that after a few days, Harlow would realize just how crazy an idea it was for her and Drew to get together. She’d dismiss it, and they’d go back to the way things were.

But another part of him—the lonely, lovesick part—hoped that Harlow wouldn’t come to that conclusion. She was the perfect woman. The only things that stood between them were Red and their age. It seemed that Red was stepping out of the picture voluntarily; and age, as they said, was but a number.

Tracking down the hall, Andrew paused beside Mickey’s bedroom door. He thought he had heard Mick coming home the night before, but the emptiness of his roommate’s bedroom proved that it had all been in Drew’s head—probably nothing but the wind.

And that wind was getting worse. It whipped at his hair when he stepped out of the house. He turned to lock the door behind
him—stopped short when he saw a notice taped to the door. The words “fumigation” and “pest control” stood out in bold letters. He plucked the paper from the door, the sheet trying to tear itself out of his hands as the wind howled behind him. It was dated three days earlier, but there was no way it had been taped to the door for that long. Drew had been in and out of the house almost constantly. No, this notice had arrived overnight, and it was telling Drew that he needed to vacate the premises by that morning.

He shook his head at the paper, looking for a number to call. There wasn’t one, and it wouldn’t have mattered if there had been. The wind snatched the sheet from his grasp and sent it whipping down the street.

He looked up, a dark sky hanging ominously overhead, but the growl wasn’t thunder; it was an engine. He paused along the cracked walkway, holding his breath. Maybe Mick
had
returned. Maybe he had left early to pick up breakfast for them both—a meal to reconcile over while he explained his disappearance and the fact that they had to rent a motel room for a night or two.

But it wasn’t Mickey.

A black van roared around the corner, veering so sharply toward the curb Drew was convinced the driver was aiming to hit him. The thing was a beast—one of those old-fashioned vans that looked like an oversize ice cream truck, nothing but sharp and awkward angles, no windows, ready to kidnap the neighborhood kids. It pulled up behind Drew’s pickup, nearly ramming its flat front end into the back of the Chevy as the tires squealed to a halt. The weight of the van shifted to the front tires as its driver slammed on the brakes, then shifted backward with a violent shudder.

Drew stood dumbfounded as he watched a bearded guy slam the van into park. The logo on the side of the vehicle caught his attention: a giant red roach lay on its back, its legs pointed skyward above the name—
Big Chief Pest Control
.

The bearded driver ambled out of the van and stepped onto the sidewalk with a clipboard in hand. He adjusted his trucker
cap, that same dead roach emblazoned across the front, and eyed Andrew for a second before approaching.

“You live here?” he asked, motioning to the house with a nod of his head.

“I do,” Andrew replied, a frown creeping across his face. This couldn’t possibly be happening. Not right now. Not after what had happened yesterday.

The driver scribbled something down on the paper fastened to the clipboard.

“This here fumigation is gonna take at least a couple a’ days to clear out. Got an emergency call from the owner. I sent one of my guys to post a notice on your door.”

“Yeah,
this morning.
I didn’t see it until just now,” Drew protested, hoping that this little detail would convince the guy to come back later—at least in a few hours, if not in a few days.

“Sorry, bud.” He tapped his clipboard with his pen. “An emergency is an emergency. The owner should have let you know.”

Drew couldn’t help but to stare at the man in front of him. Mick had taken off without so much as a word as to where he was going or when he’d be back, and now this? “What a
dick
,” he muttered under his breath.

The guy let his clipboard fall to his side with a disgruntled look. “You need to clear out, bub. Grab your stuff and go.”

Drew frowned. He supposed he could stay with his mom, but even after their great phone conversation, the idea didn’t sit well. Defiance would have kept him from going back before they had talked; now, it was more an issue of pride than anything else. She saw him as an independent young man for the first time in his life. He was scared to ruin that, scared that going back, even for a night or two, would have her reconsidering her words. But what other choice did he have?

With the exterminator showing no sign of compassion, Andrew did an about-face and marched back inside. This was fantastic. No job, now no place to stay. He grabbed his duffel bag
and whipped it onto his mattress, started to pile a few days’ worth of clothes inside. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Dragging his feet across the lawn, he heard his name called before he could toss his bag into the bed of his Chevy. Harlow stood out on the porch, her arms folded across her chest, a kitchen apron cinched around her waist. She didn’t look pleased.

Drew met her at the edge of Mickey’s lawn, the picket fence separating them.

“What on earth is that?” she asked in a hushed whisper, motioning to the van.

Andrew peered at the van as though acknowledging its existence for the first time. It was real, and it wasn’t going anywhere. The bearded driver seemed dead set on dousing the place with poison.

“Exterminator,” Drew answered, his duffel bag feeling way too light for his liking. Standing at Harlow’s fence, he realized that he didn’t even have enough money for a roadside motel. He was scary short on cash, and the Wards hadn’t paid him yet. Toeing the perimeter of Mick’s dead grass, he figured now was as good a time as any to hold out his hand and ask to be compensated.

“Well, who called him?” she asked. “I thought that Mickey boy stormed off.”

Drew opened his mouth to speak, but something hitched in his brain and his throat went dry. He hadn’t told her Mickey had taken off, and even if he had, he certainly hadn’t mentioned that he hadn’t come back.

Then again, the TransAm wasn’t parked in the driveway.

Drew sighed, shoving his fingers through his hair. He didn’t know what to say.

“Well, this is ridiculous,” Harlow said with a huff. “I’m going to go talk to that man.” She motioned to the bearded driver with a small dish towel in her hand, like a Southern belle waving a handkerchief at a caller.

“It’s fine. I’ll just grab a room somewhere.”

Just as Andrew was about to bring up the subject of money, Red filled the front doorway. Drew tensed immediately. Harlow noticed.

“Is he standing there?” she asked quietly. “He is, isn’t he?”

Drew didn’t reply, but she read his expression.

“I want you to stay with me,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Stay with me,” she repeated. “You can’t leave me here with him.”

Andrew blinked, shooting a look toward Red before taking a side step, repositioning himself so Harlow was directly between them.

“Are you kidding?” he asked her. “He’ll kill me.”

“He’ll do no such thing,” Harlow assured him. “He wants a divorce. We’re over.”

“Harlow...”

She gave him a desperate look.

“Andy,
please
. Don’t fight me on this.” She leaned forward half an inch, her teeth worrying the swell of her bottom lip. “I don’t feel safe here,” she murmured. “I need you.”

So he had been right: Red
did
have a temper. He frowned at her admission. Now he couldn’t leave her here.

“So come with me,” he suggested, but she shot his idea down with a snort.

“What, to some nasty roadside motel? If anyone should be in a motel it’s
him
.” She shot a defiant glare at her husband, but Red was gone, having retreated into the house. “This is
my
house,” she asserted. “
I
make the rules. I have a guest bedroom, and that’s where you’re going to stay.”

Drew shook his head again. This was crazy. Red would be on him the second he set foot in that house, and why shouldn’t he be? Drew could only imagine what it felt like, catching your wife with the next-door neighbor. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t had anything to do with it. That wasn’t the point.

“Andy.” She took his hand, pressing his palm to her cheek. He pulled away a moment later.

“This isn’t right,” he told her. “I can’t. Imagine if you were me.”

“If I were you, I’d do what I was asked,” she told him. “If you told me that
you
were unhappy, I’d do whatever I could to fix it.”

Andrew wasn’t convinced. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. If there was anything that felt truly wrong, of all the things that had felt off or strange so far, this was it.

“He’s leaving
me
,” she told him, which was odd, because from what Harlow had said the day before, she was ready to leave him. But it seemed probable, especially after Red saw Harlow hanging off Drew like a coat on a hanger in the middle of his kitchen. “I’ll be alone,” she pleaded.

That all-too-familiar nausea washed over him, reminiscent of the day before. She was putting him in an impossible position. Again. He exhaled a breath, jabbing his fingers into his hair again.

“Jesus, Harlow—”

“Fine,” she said, cutting him off midsentence. “I’ll just tell him to get out. Done is done. He has to go.”

“What?”

“I’m kicking him out.”

“Just like that?”

A laugh tumbled past her lips. “Just like what?” she asked. “This is how divorce works. Bring your things inside.”

“Now?” He blinked in disbelief. What the hell was happening? He shook his head, ready to refuse taking part in any of it. But the moment he opened his mouth to say no, he remembered her stopping him at her front door after that awkward dinner; he remembered her wrapping her arms around him in the warmest embrace he’d felt in years. He recalled the plates of cookies, the card tucked into his wallet behind his driver’s license, the fact that he’d positioned his bed beside the window so he could stare
at the Wards’ house, secretly yearning to live within those walls. This was his chance, and he was contemplating turning down the opportunity?

Harlow looked over her shoulder, blinking at him. “Well?” she asked.

Drew took a steadying breath, momentarily closed his eyes, and murmured, “Fuck it,” before falling into step.

Harlow gave him a smile.

“I’m excited,” she said, then shimmied up the walkway to give Red the bad news.

While Drew sat on the porch, not wanting to enter the Wards’ house while Red was still inside, Harlow stood in the doorway of Isaac’s old room. It would have to do, at least until Andrew was comfortable enough to share the master bedroom. This wasn’t Harlow’s typical routine. The boys who stayed in this room were nothing but toys—empty-headed children she took pleasure in seducing, then disemboweling on that very bed. But Andy was different. He had, by some miracle, enchanted her with his boyish charm. Andrew Morrison would take Red Ward’s place in her life. It was high time for Red to be exiled to the old house next door; he would be demoted from husband to butcher whether he liked it or not, living out the rest of his days watching Harlow laugh with Andrew on her arm. And if he refused, she’d take care of it. But she was confident that Red wouldn’t refuse. He wasn’t
that
stupid.