Over the Fence Read online

  Over the Fence

  Copyright © 2015 Melanie Moreland

  Published by Melanie Moreland

  All rights reserved

  ISBN # 978-0-9936198-5-4

  Copyright Registration # 1120986

  Edited by D.J. White

  Cover design by Melissa Ringuette,

  Monark Design Services

  Formatted by Perfectly Publishable

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Over the Fence

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Titles by Melanie Moreland

  Acknowledgements

  This is for all of you who think you aren’t “enough.”

  I have something to tell you—YOU ARE.

  You are you—which is perfect.

  Never let anyone tell you different.

  We are all enough.

  For my online readers who asked—this is for you.

  And finally, to my Matthew—my reason for everything.

  I love you.

  I stepped inside the house, forcing the door shut behind me with a resounding slam. It echoed off the walls of the almost empty rooms, the floor under my feet shaking from the impact.

  That felt good.

  When I bought the place, the woman presenting the house had pointed out all the “little features” of the space. Her demeanor was enthusiastic as she showed me drawers that shut on their own, cupboards that closed without a sound, and explained about the extra soundproofing in the walls. The best feature, she insisted, was all the entry doors were the same—no matter how hard you pushed them, they closed with the smoothest whisper. “It’s great”—she had beamed—“you’ll never disturb your neighbor with the sound of a slamming door!”

  I removed one of the gadgets as soon as I moved in, and left all the others, but off came the “silencer” on the door leading from the garage. I used that door the most.

  Some days, you had to be able to slam a door. Today was one of them.

  I moved through the house, dropping keys and my wallet, shedding my clothes. I hit the shower, letting the hot water pour over my back and loosen the tight muscles. They were a direct result of spending all day hunched over a keyboard.

  It was bad enough having to service people who knew nothing about computers all the time. The days were worse when a moron turned off the antivirus software on purpose, so they could watch porn movies at their desk. Because of one person’s inane action, the entire system was infected and had to be fixed. The worst part—he didn’t even look ashamed at being caught doing it.

  I groaned as my head hit the wall; spare me from these fucking idiots.

  Toweling off my hair, I grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and stepped into the small backyard. Despite the sun, the early summer air was cool. I slumped into my chair, cracked the top and took a deep swallow of the cold liquid. I threw my towel on the table and looked around at the bleak space. My small patio led to an even smaller patch of grass consisting mostly of weeds and dirt. Surrounding the entire yard was a fence; an eight-foot tall, solid fence. I had paid extra to have it taller than normal. Thick, cedar planks and a wide top rail, which added another six inches to the height, completed the structure, offering complete privacy from the world around me.

  I had only one neighbor to worry about—the townhouse complex was situated on a small cul-de-sac, the houses grouped in varying sizes. This small section had only two houses and backed onto the dense woods behind us, which was why I chose this particular house. Between the fence and the property layout, it was a small oasis. Bleak—but private.

  I polished off the beer and went inside to grab some dinner, cursing when I studied the contents of the refrigerator. Aside from the remaining beer and condiments, it was basically empty. The freezer held nothing except a bottle of vodka and an empty ice cube tray. I had meant to go grocery shopping, but after the day I experienced, it had slipped my mind. Grabbing the last of some lunch meat and slightly stale bread, I threw together a sandwich. I took it, and another beer, out back and sat down to eat. After swallowing, I sniffed at the meat before taking another bite. It had a distinctly strange flavor to it. With a shrug, I continued to munch away; figuring if I consumed enough beer, it would cancel out any danger contained within the sandwich. I’d go to the grocery store tomorrow, but for tonight I’d have to make do with what I had on hand.

  I heard movement next door and shifted in my seat, remembering I had a new neighbor. The last one was a business man who was scarcely home, and had moved out a few weeks ago. We exchanged the occasional greeting if we ran into each other while I was washing my car or grabbing the paper. I had seen the moving truck on the weekend, and heard a woman’s voice at one point, but otherwise I didn’t pay much attention. I hadn’t known my other neighbor well at all, and didn’t expect the new one to be any different.

  As I listened, I heard someone moving around, the unmistakable sound of boxes being broken down and papers folded. A pleasant voice humming softly made me aware it was a woman in the other yard. Another sound caught my ear and I wasn’t sure what it was until the scent hit me a few moments later.

  She was cooking something on a barbeque.

  I inhaled the scent, my mouth instantly watering. The strange tasting sandwich I was holding no longer appealed to me in any way.

  My head fell back and a groan escaped my lips, because it smelled fucking amazing.

  “I beg your pardon?” A shocked, sweet-sounding voice came from behind the fence.

  Oh shit.

  Did I say that out loud?

  I chuckled. “Sorry.” I cleared my throat. “Your, ah, dinner smells awesome. It’s making my sandwich look pretty pathetic.”

  “Oh. Sorry?”

  I noticed how quiet her voice was, yet I had the feeling she was speaking louder than normal for my benefit.

  “Not your fault.”

  Only silence greeted me.

  “So, welcome to the neighborhood.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s a nice area.”

  “Yes, it’s lovely.”

  “I’m sure you and your, ah, husband will like it.” br />
  “There’s no husband.”

  “Oh. Well then, your partner, girlfriend, significant other, son, daughter, cat, dog . . . whew, have I missed anyone?”

  She laughed—a husky, rich sound; very different from her faint-speaking voice. “No, I think you covered it all. It’s only me, though.”

  “Same as me, then.”

  There was no reply, but I could hear the sound of food being turned and the smell was driving me crazy. My mouth was watering at the delicious aroma wafting over the fence. I looked down at my partially eaten sandwich with sudden distaste.

  I couldn’t help but ask. “What are you cooking?”

  “Chicken and vegetables.”

  “Hmm. Sounds good. It smells amazing.”

  “Don’t you cook?” Her hesitant voice asked.

  I snorted. “No, I burn, I char, I destroy. I never quite got the hang of cooking.”

  Now the sweet voice sounded horrified. “What do you eat?”

  “Take-out, mostly. But I mix it up with frozen entrees, cereal, and I make a mean sandwich.” I looked down at the one currently in my hand and set it on the table in front of me with a grimace. It was no longer tempting at all. “Well, usually,” I added quietly.

  “Oh, that’s sad.”

  I took another pull from my bottle and snickered. “If you think that’s sad, you don’t want to know about the expired meat I’m trying to choke down because I forgot to go to the store and pick up supplies. At least I usually have something half-edible on hand to eat.”

  I heard footsteps move away and the sound of a sliding screen door. Obviously, I had bored her enough with my sob story. Leaning back, I finished the last of my beer. Maybe I would order a pizza. I sighed. I was sick of pizza. I was sick of take-out. Shaking my head, I admitted I was sick of this lonely, solitary life. All the time I spent alone was starting to get to me. I realized how much I had enjoyed the few minutes of conversation with my new neighbor. Although, it would seem I had effectively scared her away with my choice of subject.

  Standing up, I went inside and grabbed another beer and threw out the sandwich. I opened the cupboard and found a box of cereal with a little still left in the bottom. I was out of milk, but at least it was something. Back outside, I opened up the box and munched away; it was a little stale, but still edible. I needed to make a list of things to pick up tomorrow.

  Beside me, I heard movement again, but I refrained from trying to start up another conversation. I could hear her talking to herself, the sound of an item being dragged, and I caught a muffled grunt and the words “height” and “stupid idea,” then the sound of more rustling. All of this was followed by a solid thump, a brief silence, and a little gasp. I looked at the fence in amusement wondering what the hell was happening on the other side of it.

  Then I heard a nervous sounding, “Hello?”

  “Are you all right?” I asked, unsure what was going on.

  “Oh. Good. You’re there.”

  I grimaced. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “I, um, I put something on the fence for you.”

  I sat up. “What?”

  I heard the sound of retreating footsteps and the door opening again. “I can’t let a neighbor starve. Goodnight.”

  I stood up and looked at the fence.

  Holy shit.

  Was that really a plate sitting on the top?

  Dragging my chair to the fence, I stepped up, stretching as far as I could. I was able to snag the unexpected treasure and bring it down. Stepping off the chair, I immediately tore off the foil and basked in the incredible aroma that hit me.

  The plate was filled with chicken, grilled vegetables and salad. It was a real meal—complete with a plastic fork and knife.

  A huge grin broke out on my face—it was mine—all mine.

  I dragged my chair back to the table and began to devour the best meal I’d eaten in ages. The logical part of my brain reminded me I had no idea who the person was giving me the food. She could have spat in it, or even poisoned it for all I knew. Cautiously, I picked up the plate and inhaled. It smelled far too good to be poisoned. Why would she poison me anyway? I hadn’t done anything to piss her off—at least not yet. I hadn’t heard any spitting either, so I was certain it was safe.

  Nothing could keep me from this feast.

  The first bite was heaven—the second tasted even better.

  I knew she was inside and probably wouldn’t hear me—but, I did it anyway.

  “Thank you!” I bellowed. “This tastes as fucking awesome as it smelled!”

  The sound was low and distant, but I heard it.

  A giggle, lilting and strangely delightful, came drifting over the fence from somewhere inside her house—an odd sound in my world, yet I liked it.

  I smiled around my mouthful.

  This new neighbor thing was okay—so far.

  The next day, I made good on my promise of getting some food in the house. When I had gone inside for the night, I discovered I was also almost out of other necessities, including laundry soap, so I knew I’d put it off long enough. There was something indelibly sad about shopping alone all the time. I knew when I arrived back home I’d unpack it all, stow it away and still be alone.

  I grimaced at my strange melancholy—I needed to snap out of it.

  The grocery store was fairly empty at this time of night. Most people were at home eating dinner, not shopping. I filled the cart with my usual list; supplies purchased so often I could do it blindfolded. The same frozen dinners and canned items—even the usual cold meats at the deli. I changed up the eggs, buying brown ones instead of white, chuckling at my own idiocy. They all tasted the same to me when I was done with them—usually runny, sometimes overcooked, but edible and at least the toast was okay. I threw in toilet paper, laundry soap, and fabric softener, since I hated static cling, and liked my sheets to smell nice. To finish off, I grabbed milk and some pop to fill up the cart; planning another stop at the liquor store for some beer. I stopped and looked longingly at the fresh meat counter, but walked away without adding anything. No matter how hard I tried, everything I cooked became inedible, aside from my feeble egg attempts. I did stop at the hot food section and pick up a rotisserie chicken and a few sides for dinner. The leftovers would make good lunches.

  Once I was home and unpacked, I tore into the chicken and pasta salad, standing at the counter and wolfing it down. I didn’t even bother with a plate, using my hands to tear the chicken apart and a plastic fork to scoop out the pasta. When I was done, I stowed the rest into my reasonably full refrigerator and grabbed a beer.

  I sat at the table outside, slumping down in the chair, and opened the newspaper. When I heard a noise next door, I sat up, looking expectantly toward the fence.

  “Hey, neighbor!” I called out, wondering why I was so eager to talk to her again.

  “Um, hello.”

  “Dinner was great last night, absolutely delicious. Thank you.” I hoped she heard my sincerity.

  “I’m glad.”

  I chuckled. “It was very generous of you—you have no idea. I think I licked the plate clean.”

  I heard her giggle—the light, heartwarming giggle that made me smile last night. It had the same effect on me today.

  “Not usually the best idea with a paper plate,” she observed. “Paper fibers really . . . suck. And they stick to the roof of your mouth. Ewww.”

  I laughed. “Ewww, indeed. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Did you, um, char something tonight?”

  “Nah, I got a pre-cooked chicken at the supermarket.”

  “Ah, I’m glad you ate something good.”

  “I always thought so before, but now I’m not as convinced.”

  “Sorry, before?”

  “Before I ate your chicken. I always thought the one I bought at the store was a treat; something fresh and tasty, instead of my frozen dinners. Now it tastes like cardboard, frankly.”

&n
bsp; “Oh . . . thank you.”

  “Did you eat?” I wondered what she had cooked tonight.

  “Yeah, I had some leftovers.”

  I took a swig of beer. For some reason I didn’t want this conversation to end. I relaxed back in my chair, trying to think of something to say to keep her talking.

  “Settling in okay?”

  “Well, it’s coming along.”

  “Finished unpacking?”

  “No. Not yet. I’m trying to do a few boxes every day. In fact, I should go and unpack some now.”

  I felt an unusual flash of disappointment flicker because she was leaving. “Okay, then. Goodnight . . . and thanks again.”

  “Um, can you come closer to the fence?” Her voice seemed even more hesitant than last night. Being curious, I approached the fence, where I estimated she was standing. The boards were so thick and close together that I couldn’t even see a shadow through them.

  “I’m here.”

  “Okay. Heads up, neighbor.” A small package came over the top of the fence, and I easily stretched my arm out and caught it. I looked at it for a minute, grinning.

  In my hand was a tightly wrapped, thick slice of Rice Krispies square.

  No fucking way.

  Another giggle alerted me to the fact I had, once again, spoken aloud.

  I heard muted footsteps retreating, and the door starting to close. “Goodnight.”

  “Wait!”

  There was no answer.

  “Chefgirl!” I blurted out.

  “Um, yes?”

  “Thank you. This is my favorite thing. I swear.”

  Her voice was quiet, almost endearing in its gentle quality. “You’re welcome.”

  “What if I’d told you I hadn’t eaten?” I teased, not wanting her to leave quite yet. “Would you have had a plate for me?”

  “I guess you’ll never know, now will you?” She teased back.

  I snickered as I unwrapped the sweet treat, groaning when I bit into the gooey texture.

  The door shut with a dull click before I could thank her again. I frowned as I took another bite, realizing I didn’t even know her name. I needed to change that sad fact.

  I grinned as I walked into the house. One thing at a time, I supposed.