A new neighbor, a nervous smile, and a glance that lingered too long on my husband through the window. She said fate brought her here—but the way she looked at Dave made me wonder if it was something else entirely. I should’ve trusted that chill in my gut.
I was sitting on the porch swing, my bare feet curled under me, a paperback open on my lap.
The heat of July settled thick in the air, making everything smell like cut grass and the last of the lilacs by the fence.
The ice in my lemonade had melted to nothing. I’d read the same sentence five times when I heard the low growl of an engine.
A white U-Haul rolled up next door, its tires crunching gravel. I watched as a woman stepped out.
She was tall and slim, wearing jeans and a loose shirt that hung off her shoulders like it didn’t belong to her.
Her hair was pulled back, messy, like she’d been too tired to fix it.
A little girl followed her, maybe five or six, holding tightly to her hand like the world might tip over if she let go.
There was something about the woman’s face — not scared, exactly, but wary. Like someone who didn’t fully trust the sunlight.
“Hi there,” I called out, shading my eyes.
“You need a hand?”
She jumped a little, like she hadn’t noticed me. Then she gave a small, polite smile. The kind people wear when they’re trying to be okay.
“That would be lovely,” she said.
“I’m April. This is my daughter, Lily.”
I slid my book onto the swing cushion and stood up, brushing my palms on my shorts.
The air clung to my skin as I walked across the lawn, wiping sweat off the back of my neck with the edge of my sleeve.
