The New Neighbor

back over his shoulder.

The man stood facing him but did not pursue him.

'You'll see,' he said, just loud enough for Robby to hear him. 'She never sleeps. There's no time. Too many souls to eat.'

Robby broke into a run as he faced front, darting around the people in front of him, dodging those walking toward him. A few people stared for a moment as he passed, then went back to the business of shopping.

All Robby wanted was to go home.

The cold drizzle felt good on his face. He kept running into the parking lot, then slowed to a stop and turned around.

The strange man was nowhere in sight.

Robby went to Mrs. Garry’s car and waited in the rain, keeping a watchful eye out for the man.

'Where'd you go?' Dylan asked as he and his mother came out of the mall and approached the car almost half an hour later.

Robby shrugged. 'Outside. I just… lost interest to the mall. That’s all.'

By the time he got home, Robby wanted to get drunk. He wondered if his parents were busy enough not to notice him breaking into their booze.

Dad was stretched out in the recliner in the living room, dividing his attention between a magazine and an old movie on television.

'Hey, Dad.'

He nodded without looking up.

'Where's Mom?'

'Across the street.'

'Huh?'

'She went over to Lor – Miss Dupree's house.”

Robby muttered, 'Oh. Yeah.' Then he hurried into the kitchen, opened the cupboard, and took several big, long gulps of vodka from the bottle.

Chapter 9

Saturday Night

Karen went to bed at ten-thirty, but lay awake for over two hours thinking about what she'd done that afternoon. Once, she'd gotten up to take from her jewelry box the tiny piece of silver Lorelle had given her. She'd looked at it for several minutes, fondled it, then put it away and returned to bed.

Now that it was over, she hated herself for it, but at the time she'd felt like a junkie in need of a fix. The house had been so quiet, so tense, and all she'd wanted was to feel better.

As she'd tried hard to keep herself busy in the uneasy silence, Karen could not stop remembering how good Lorelle had made her feel Friday afternoon. She remembered the orgasms, one after another, first touching her like feathers, then hitting like trains. She'd never known she could be made to feel that way, that she could achieve such intense and physically rocking pleasure.

When she first started baking the banana nut bread, she told herself it was for the kids because they loved it so much, but deep down inside herself where she seldom looked, she knew it was for another reason. It was an excuse to go over to Lorelle's.

And she had. She'd allowed it to happen again.

Now she lay in bed hating herself for it. But she didn't hate herself as much as she had the first time. And this time, she found herself hating George just a little for never making her feel that way.

Karen wondered as she lay in bed gently touching herself if she would hate herself even less the next time. She left her hand between her legs but feigned sleep when George came in, hoping he wouldn't speak to her.

* * * *

Seconds after George had settled beneath the covers, Monroe jumped up onto the bed, purring and prodding the covers between George and Karen for a comfortable place to curl up.

George tolerated the cat the rest of the day in the rest of the house, but he'd told Karen countless times that Monroe was to be shut out of the bedroom when they turned in for the night.

It had been a long, bad day, cold – inside the house as well as out – and irritating. He knew part of the reason was the guilt, shame and confusion he felt about what had happened in their bedroom the night before. But he didn't know what was wrong with Karen. He'd hoped she would try to snap him out of it and cheer him up as she usually did when he was feeling low. But she'd hardly even spoken to him and that irritated him. Then she'd gone over to Lorelle's for a couple of hours and that made him nervous. What if Lorelle was the kiss and tell type?

Guess what your husband did to me last night… on your bedroom floor… while you were asleep.

After a while he realized that was ridiculous. Lorelle lived across the street from them, for Christ's sake. It wasn't likely she was going to shit where she ate. But when Karen returned, she'd been even colder and more distant, and that only made him feel crankier.

The cat on the bed was the last straw.

Usually, George swept Monroe up and put him out in the hall. Not this time.

He jerked his foot from under the covers, and kicked the cat off the bed. Monroe yowled as he became airborne and his claws tore at the carpet when he landed. Karen sat bolt upright in bed as George chased Monroe around the room, finally cornering him under the bed. Mindless of the scratches he would no doubt sustain, George groped under the bed as Monroe hissed and spat, finally closing his fist on a clump of fur and dragging the squawling cat out, carrying him by his fur to the door and throwing him hard into the hall.

'Dammit, George!' Karen snapped, getting out of bed.

'I've told you, that cat does not belong in here at night.'

'Well, you don't have to do that!'

'Maybe it'll teach him to stay out of here altogether.'

'God.' She put on her robe and went after Monroe as George got back into bed.

He knew he was not going to sleep, though. Awful as it sounded, knocking Monroe around a little had actually felt good and he was pumped with adrenaline. There was even a slight stirring between his legs.

Karen returned a moment later and grabbed her pillows.

'What're you doing?' George asked.

'I don't like the idea of sleeping with someone who abuses animals.'

'Then don't bother leaving.' He got out of bed. 'I will.' He slipped on a pair of pants, a T-shirt, got a blanket from the closet, and took his pillow with him.

In the living room, he tossed the pillow and blanket onto the sofa and turned on the television. Saturday Night Live was just getting over and it occurred to George that Jen and Robby usually stayed up for it, but they'd gone to bed a couple of hours ago.

Everyone seemed to be behaving oddly.

Not at all tired, George went to the kitchen to make himself a rum and Coke, but decided to hold the Coke. Back in the living room, he peered idly out the front window and was surprised to see Dylan Garry across the street, shuffling down the sidewalk toward his house. He was walking strangely, almost dragging his feet, hands in his coat pockets, head hung low. Was he… limping? Swaying? Maybe he was drunk. Probably. George wondered if he'd get into trouble when he got home. As far as George was concerned, a teenager drinking was no big deal, not when he could be out snorting coke or crack or -

Beyond Dylan, there was a soft light in Lorelle's bedroom window where she stood holding the curtains open.