When she knocks on the door, Roy answers almost immediately, beaming at her.
“Hello, beautiful,” he says.
This comment brings an electric smile to Rebecca’s face—a smile that Roy says is what made him fall in love with her.
She’s never met anyone quite like him before. When they started dating a year ago, she wasn’t sure what to make of him at first. He was sweet, kind, attentive. Not like the guys she usually went for.
Not long after she and Roy started dating, Rebecca had a little too much to drink one night and showed up at her ex-boyfriend Bill’s house to tell the jerk she’d found someone who finally treated her right. Bill called the police on her, and she ended up in the drunk tank. She sat in the cell, worried sick she’d blown it with Roy, but he surprised her by arriving with bail money and an understanding smile. She’d expected an angry, judgmental reaction, but he simply told her everyone makes mistakes.
She realized just how much he cared about her. Two months later, when he dropped down on one knee to propose during an evening walk along the Allegheny River, she said yes.
She hasn’t regretted the decision, although she’s been reluctant to take him up on his offer to move in together. As much as she loves Roy, Rebecca doesn’t particularly like coming over to his house.
His front hallway is lined with animal cages filled with mice, hamsters, and other rodents. The air smells of the wood chips that line the bottoms of the cages. The animals squeak and squirm, and she averts her eyes so she doesn’t have to look at them. Otherwise, the place is nice. Roy doesn’t own much, but what he has he takes care of well. The living room is neat and orderly. He even keeps his bathroom clean—which, in her experience, is unheard of for a man living alone.
But the thing he keeps in the upstairs bathroom?
Just the thought of it makes her shudder.
Roy and Rebecca head to the kitchen, where Roy is making them dinner. He moves about the kitchen as he moves about life—full of energy. He never sits still. He stirs the spaghetti sauce, adds spice, starts the noodles boiling, all while asking her how her day was, taking her coat, pouring her a glass of wine.
“How’s the work going on the houses?” she asks, hoping for good news.
His mood changes at her question.
“Everything’s going fine,” he says, but his words don’t sound convincing. “I just have a lot to do.”
She notices that he doesn’t quite look himself. The way he bounced around the kitchen had distracted her at first, but there’s definitely something wrong. He looks tired, like he’s not getting enough sleep.
“Can I help?” she says. “I don’t mind getting my hands dirty.”
“No, no, no,” he says. “I want to surprise you when the house is ready.”
She isn’t sure which house he means. He’s driven her past most of them, but she’s only been inside a couple.
As they’re sitting down to eat, the phone starts ringing. He doesn’t answer it. And since he has no answering machine, it just rings and rings.
“Aren’t you going to get that?”
“No,” he says. “I’m sure it’s just my pain-in-the-ass neighbor.”
“Why would she be calling? I thought you two got along. You did that porch thing together.”
He rolls his eyes and smirks.
“Her roof is leaking, and she thinks it’s coming from my side. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
Rebecca tells Roy that he needs to be more mindful of his neighbor’s feelings.
“Don’t close off communication with her,” Rebecca says. “You still have to live next to her.”
“I don’t live there.”
“We could live there someday,” Rebecca says.
“Fine,” Roy says. “I won’t ignore her.”
As if on cue, the telephone rings again. Roy looks at it hanging from the kitchen wall, and his expression makes it clear that answering it is the last thing he wants to do.
“Fine,” Rebecca says, standing. “I’ll do it.”
Before Roy can stop her, Rebecca snatches the phone out of the cradle and says hello. She listens for a moment and then says, “May I tell him who’s calling?” She covers the receiver and whispers to Roy, “It’s Henry from the neighborhood association.”
Roy frowns and takes the phone. Rebecca sits back down and watches Roy on the phone while she picks at her food. She only gets his half of the conversation.
“No … I haven’t looked at it yet … you’re kidding?” And then after a long period of silence on Roy’s end, he says, “Thanks for letting me know.”
When he hangs up the phone, he is quiet for a moment.
“That bitch!” he finally snaps, so violently that Rebecca recoils.
“What happened?” Rebecca asks, concerned.
“That woman,” he says, angrier than Rebecca has ever seen him, “you won’t believe what she’s trying to do.”
CHAPTER 12
“THANK YOU ALL FOR COMING,” Ann says to the neighborhood association board. “I’ve called this meeting today to consider a motion of no confidence in our president.”
Ann stares out at the members of the association, letting her eyes linger for an extra few seconds on Roy. His expression—scared, hurt—reminds her just how young he is. He’s wearing a shirt and tie for the occasion, but the shirt clearly hasn’t been ironed.
He seems like a nervous wreck, and she actually feels sorry for him.
But he’s brought this on himself. If he’s in over his head, it’s irresponsible of her—and the board—to keep enabling him.
“As you all know,” Ann says, “since Roy took over the presidency, we’ve accomplished virtually nothing as a community association. All his big talk has turned out to be just that—talk.”
The mood in the room is far different tonight than when she first brought Roy to a board meeting. Then, everyone was all smiles, full of hope and admiration for their new young, energetic neighbor. Now the mood is grave. Every face staring at her is silent.
Ann clasps her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking.
“But even worse than his ineffectiveness on this board, the state of disrepair of his own home exemplifies exactly what this board stands against.”
Ann opens a manila file folder in front of her and passes around eight-by-eleven photographs she’s taken of Roy’s property. The pictures emphasize the bricks missing from the foundation, the flaking paint on the siding, the holes in the roof. Really, it’s the garbage in the front yard that’s the most disturbing. Without the trash, his house might look like just another abandoned building. With the trash, it looks much worse.
Her fellow board members examine the photos with interest, even though most of them have seen the house themselves.
This is their neighborhood, after all.
“Since Roy bought the property on Lawn Street,” Ann says, “the state of disrepair has actually worsened. His front yard has become his own personal junkyard, which is the opposite of the ideals we want to put forth with this association.”
Roy’s stare burns into her. Gone is the hurt boy. The person glowering at her is an angry, frightening man.