I can’t see into the Greens’ backyard, but Jonas can.
I go into the kitchen and pull a zucchini bread out of the freezer. I can’t just waltz over there empty-handed; I need a golden ticket, and when it comes to men, there’s no better golden ticket than baked goods.
When I knock, Jonas opens his front door wearing nothing but blue spandex shorts with red stripes down the sides. He stands grinning at me, and I’m so startled by how tightly those shorts cling to him that for a moment I can’t think of anything to say.
“Have you finally surrendered to my charms?” he says.
“What? No! I had this in my freezer. I need to make more room, and I thought you might like to, um…”
“Help you empty your freezer?”
Well, that did take all the charm out of my offering. I stand there holding the now-defrosting zucchini bread, wondering how to salvage the conversation.
Jonas comes to my rescue with a loud laugh. “Angie, I’m only poking a little fun at you. I’m honored to get one of your treats, frozen or not. Wanna come in? I’ll cut us each a slice and we can wash it down with whiskey.”
“Um, no whiskey. But I’d love to come in.”
As soon as I step into the house, I get the feeling this visit could turn out badly. What if he takes it the wrong way? What if he thinks I’m following up on that pass he made at me a few nights ago? The wink he gives me, that assessing gaze up and down my body, tells me I need to be very firm about what I’m really here for.
“I’ll just take this into the kitchen,” he says. “And then we can both enjoy a little afternoon delight, hey?”
He heads to the kitchen, leaving me alone in the living room. I go straight to the window facing his side yard, but this offers no better glimpse into the Greens’ home than their front windows do, because the blinds are shut on this side as well. I back away and almost trip over one of Jonas’s dumbbells. The weights are scattered all over the floor, and the air smells like sweat mingled with cologne. There are no paintings on the walls, no artwork anywhere, just a big-screen TV, a cabinet with electronics, and a bookcase filled with DVDs and military books.
“Here we go, neighbor!” Jonas says as he pads barefoot back into the room. His feet are enormous, and their size momentarily distracts me, so I don’t notice at first that he’s holding two tumblers with whiskey on the rocks.
“No thank you,” I say.
“But this is the good stuff, straight from Scotland. I even turned your neighbor Agnes onto it.”
“You and Agnes drink together?”
“I don’t discriminate on the basis of age. I like all the ladies.” He holds out a glass and winks.
“It’s too early, Jonas.”
“It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
“But not here.”
He sighs and sets the tumbler meant for me down on the coffee table. “So why are you here, Angie? If not to party with yours truly?”
“Honest answer?”
“Always.”
“You have a view into the Greens’ backyard.”
“So?”
“I need to know what they’re up to.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve got a feeling about them and it’s not a good feeling. There’s been drilling and hammering going on there all morning. I just want to peek over the fence and find out what they’re up to.”
“Then will you have a drink with me?”
“Sure, sure,” I say, but I’m not really thinking about the consequences of that drink; I’m too anxious to see what’s going on next door.
Jonas leads me through the kitchen and out the back door to his patio. He hasn’t done much to the yard since he bought it, and it looks pretty much the way it did when the Dalys lived here, with a weedy lawn, a cement patio, a gas grill, and a few unkempt shrubs along the perimeter. The only new addition is a toolshed. The Dalys had the yard fenced in so their golden retriever wouldn’t run away, but that dog regularly managed to escape anyway. The redwood fence is still in good shape, and now it’s topped with a new privacy lattice that blocks off my view into the Greens’ yard.
“Did you add that lattice?” I ask Jonas.
“Naw. Neighbor put it up yesterday. I came home from the grocery store and there it was. Actually, it looks kinda classy, don’t you think?”
A drill whines next door, then the hammering starts up again.
“I can’t see a thing over there,” I mutter.