Over the Fence (8 page)

“Goodnight, Kourtney.”

“Goodnight.”

Climbing down the chair, I picked up my containers and went inside. There was no sound behind me—I didn’t hear Kourtney climb down or move toward her door.

It was then, I realized, it was the first time I had gone in before her. The feeling that I had left her out there alone made me uncomfortable. It made my heart ache.

I wasn’t sure what to do with those strange and unfamiliar emotions.

I was up and gone early the following Sunday morning. The sun wasn’t even up when I left the driveway, but I had a long drive ahead of me.

I noticed lights were already on in Kourtney’s windows, and it made me wonder how early she got up.

She had been busy at work the past week since I fixed her laptop. We had only shared a couple of evenings through the fence. I found myself unable to relax completely until I knew she was home. She never failed to come out back even if it was just for a few minutes on the nights she was later than usual. I realized those brief periods were the best parts of my day; I looked forward to them, no matter how short they were.

She had, however, been her typical, generous self and kept me fed. She made sure I had enough food for the nights she wasn’t home until later. She still refused to take any money toward groceries, and I was still trying to figure out a way of getting around her refusal. I threatened not to eat the meals she made anymore, but she laughed, and I had to join in. I wasn’t stupid enough to really mean it. But, the nights she was gone I found I missed her company as much as I missed her food. She always found a way to make me smile. She had sounded more tired than normal last night and, for some reason, it bothered me. I was extra outrageous, making her laugh at my comments, enjoying the sound of her amusement. She rewarded me with more leftovers.

The rest of the complex was still shrouded in darkness as I drove through the streets to the main intersection. I noticed a woman jogging to my right and I frowned. It was still so early, and the streets were deserted. Should she be out running on her own? As I drove past her, I looked in my rear view mirror; she was moving at a good pace, her bowed head under a hoodie, her face hidden from view. She was short and voluptuous-looking from what I could see, and I frowned again. Shouldn’t her husband or boyfriend be with her? I saw her cut down the next street and shrugged. There was nothing I could do about it, but it gave me an unsettled feeling, and I hoped she was safe.

I stopped at the lights and waited for them to turn green. I needed to grab some coffee for the drive, then I would hit the highway. It was always a bittersweet day.

Both a reminder of my past—the lonely years I’d spent in prison because of mistakes I’d made, and the one unexpected friend I had found during that bleak part of my life.

Grant slid into the booth across from me. “Nathan,” he greeted me and smiled as we shook hands.

“Hey, Grant.”

“How goes it?”

I shrugged. “Living large.”

He waited for his mug to be filled, and we both ordered breakfast. He studied me over the rim of his mug.

“Knock it off.”

“What?”

I shook my head at the man who had started out as a mandatory counselor to me, and, over time, morphed into my friend. “I’m not your patient anymore. Stop looking for my ‘tells.’ I’m fine.”

He sniggered. “Old habits die hard, Nathan.”

I changed the subject. “How’s Claire?”

“She’s fine. Says hello and she wants you to come to the house next time. Stay for the weekend so she can cook for you. She always worries you’re not eating enough.”

“She can stop worrying now.”

“Oh?” His eyebrow rose, his expression curious.

“I’m eating better.”

“What, two sandwiches with every case of beer instead of one? Or you’re actually adding lettuce to your BLT’s?”

I smirked at him, since he had it about right—at least before Kourtney.

“I told you the place next to me was sold . . . I have a new neighbor.”

“And?”

“She’s great. We’ve become fence friends.”

“Fence . . . what? What the hell is that?”

“She’s shy, I think—extremely shy. I’ve never actually seen her face-to-face, but she feeds me. I sorta told her how great her dinner smelled one night and she fed me.”

“How does it work if you can’t see her?”

“You know how tall the fences are. She slid a plate on to the rail at the top and told me it was there.”

He shook his head, frowning in disbelief. “And you ate it? Not knowing who was on the other side?”

I chuckled and winked at him. “Trust me, Grant. If you’d smelled this, you would have to.”

“So now, what, she feeds you?”

“Basically. We’re . . . friends. She feeds me, I fixed her laptop and we talk.”

“You talk. What do you talk about?”

“Everything really—how our days have been, stuff in the neighborhood, the news, the weather—just conversation. She’s incredibly smart—a cancer researcher. And she has a wicked sense of humor—she’s constantly putting me in my place.”

“And you do this through the fence.”

I nodded, waiting as the waitress slid our plates in front of us, then walked away. “As I said, she’s shy. She likes to keep things impersonal—she gets a little skittish otherwise.”

“Impersonal. No wonder the two of you get along so well.”

I ignored his jibe. “Well, it’s nice to have her next door. The past year there was a tenant in the place who I never saw since he traveled all the time.”

“Sounds as though you don’t see her, either.”

“One day I will, no doubt. It’s inevitable since we live next door to each other. But I won’t push her.”

“You like her.”

“What’s not to like? She’s funny, cooks like a dream, and I enjoy her company.”

“Through the barrier of a fence.”

I looked at Grant as I considered his words, then I nodded. “She’s not ready for anything else yet. Neither am I. So for now . . . Yes.”

He chuckled. “Fence friends. Now I’ve heard it all. I’ll be interested to see where this goes next time I see you.”

“It’s not going anywhere. There’s nothing more to it—we’re just friends.”

“Be careful, Nathan. Life has a way of springing surprises on you when you least expect it.”

We were both quiet as I thought about Kourtney and kept eating my breakfast. There was no need for his warning. It would go nowhere. Kourtney and I were neighbors—that was it—all we could be.

Yet, the thought made me strangely sad.

Grant’s voice broke in through my musings.

“Have you thought about reaching out again, Nathan?”

My fork paused midair and I narrowed my eyes at him. “That part of my life is over, Grant. You know it is.”

“A lot of time has gone by. Things change, people change.”

I shoved my plate away, my appetite now gone. “They made it crystal clear how they felt about me.”

“Families are complicated.”

“No. You were there the day I got out. You saw what happened.” I shut my eyes as the memory of the car driving away, leaving me behind, hit me—the pain as tangible now as it was then. “I reached out—I tried. My letters were returned. They moved. It was obvious; they wanted me to stay as far away as possible.”

“You moved yourself.”

“I had to start over.”

“I could help. I have lots of contacts with the police and private investigators . . .” His voice trailed off, when I shook my head.

“No, Grant. Leave it. They washed their hands of me when I went to jail. They have their life. I have mine.”

He regarded me in silence, and sighed.

“I’m not sure what you’re doing is called living, Nathan. You need to figure that out.”

As usual, when I got back from seeing Grant, I was restless. Memories of the past were too close to the surface for comfort. It was mid-afternoon and the sun was out, so I grabbed a beer, went outside and paced for a while as I sipped. I stopped, listened, but heard nothing from Kourtney’s side of the fence. I called her name, hoping to hear her quiet reply—only silence greeted me. I called louder in case she was inside, but there was no answer. I went inside, grabbed a handful of cookies and my laptop. After I opened it up, I logged onto Yahoo Messenger and was rewarded with the yellow light blinking by Kourtney’s name.

Gnat: Hey Chefgirl. Where are you?

I waited, bouncing my knees, and finally saw what I was waiting for: WhyteElephant typing.

WhyteElephant: Nathan?

Gnat: Yeah, it’s me. How many other people do you know called Gnat? Or call you Chefgirl?

WhyteElephant: Should I even ask how you did this?

Gnat: Nah, too technical for you.

WhyteElephant: I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you added yourself to my chat list. Kinda stalkerish, Tomcat. Just saying.

I smirked.

Gnat: Where are you?

WhyteElephant: At work.

Gnat: You’re at work too much these days—and it’s Sunday. Why?

WhyteElephant: I have a deadline. I needed to finish some things. Why?

I hesitated.

Gnat: I was looking for you.

WhyteElephant: OMG

Gnat: What?

WhyteElephant: Don’t tell me you’ve eaten everything I gave you. Not even you could eat all that and still be hungry . . . could you?

Huh. I hadn’t even thought about her food. I just wanted
her
.

Gnat: No, Chefgirl. I wasn’t looking for food.

WhyteElephant: What do you need?

I paused.

Gnat: I was having a bad day . . . kinda wanted to talk.

WhyteElephant: I’m sorry, Nat . . . I have to do this. I’ll be home in a couple hours?

Gnat: Yeah, you do your research—brilliant girl you are. I’ll be here.

There was a long wait until she responded. I sat waiting patiently until she did.

WhyteElephant: Steak for supper?

I smiled. Avoid the personal comments.

But her grilled steak? Hell, yes.

Gnat: I’ll go to the store and buy some. No arguments. You buy stuff all the time. Only fair.

WhyteElephant: OK, Nat. Not arguing. See you later.

Gnat: Hurry home, Chefgirl. I’ll be waiting.

Her light clicked off.

A few beers helped relax me once I got home from the store. I wasn’t sure what Kourtney was going to think of my purchases, but I’d find out soon enough. I might have gone a little overboard with the meat shopping. I knew she’d make everything taste delicious, though, and I gave up trying to decide what to buy and bought it all.