we just spoke but she insisted I talk to you again. So what do you think of the house?"
"It's nice." I look around, my eye catching on one of the cow figurines. "It's a little dated but it's big and open and has lots of windows. And it's out in the middle of nowhere so it should be quiet for studying."
"Not with that neighbor of ours!" Grams says, loud enough that my mom can hear.
"Maybe you could calm her down about the neighbor," my mom says. "He's an old man. How loud could he be?"
"I think it's his grandson making the noise."
"His grandson is staying with him? Mom didn't mention that."
"I don't think he's been there long. He works on stuff in the garage and can be kind of loud."
"Maybe you could go over there and talk to him. Your grandmother isn't always good at handling these types of things."
"I don't think she wants me going over there. She was pretty insistent I stay away."
"Faith, don't let your grandmother tell you what to do. She has to understand you're an adult now and can make your own decisions. Be respectful, of course, but don't be afraid to let her know when she's interfering where she shouldn't."
Easier said than done. Grams is so headstrong in her beliefs that changing her mind about something is nearly impossible. If she already doesn't like the neighbors, making them be quiet won't change how she feels about them.
"Mom, I should go. I need to unload the car and find something to eat."
"Call me later this week and let me know how things are going."
"I will. Bye!"
My mom lives in San Diego. I grew up in Denver but when I left for college my mom moved to California and took a job as an English professor at a small private university. I plan to teach English too but at a high school.
"Did I hear you say you're hungry?" Grams asks, her eyes lit up. She loves to feed people, especially her granddaughter.
"Yeah, but I should unload the car first."
"Go ahead." She motions me to the door. "I'll fix you something and let you know when it's ready."
"Grams, you don't need to go to any trouble. I can just make a sandwich."
She shrugs. "If you'd rather have a cold sandwich than your grandma's spaghetti and meatballs…" Her voice drifts off as she turns to go in the kitchen.
"Forget the sandwich," I say, smiling. "I'll take the spaghetti."
She turns back and winks at me. "Be right up."
The way my grandma cooks and bakes I'll probably gain twenty pounds living here.
She walks through the door to the kitchen while I go back outside to my car. As I'm taking a box from the back seat, the music next door gets louder, so loud that Grams will probably hear it inside the house.
Maybe I should go over there. The guy acted like he wanted to be left alone but I could just stop by and politely ask him to turn the music down.
I set the box on my trunk and quickly walk over to the neighbor's garage, my heart beating faster with each step. I don't like confronting people. I avoid conflict whenever possible but the music is really loud and it wouldn't kill the guy to turn it down.
As I approach his garage I'm tempted to turn back. I just got into town. I shouldn't be stirring up trouble with the neighbors. But hopefully this won't turn into anything more than a calm discussion that will end with the guy agreeing to keep his music down.
Unfortunately, I'm thinking that's the least likely scenario.
Chapter Two
"Um, hey," I say, standing at the edge of the garage. The guy has his back to me and he's bent over, his head under the hood of an old convertible. It's like one of those classic cars you see at car shows, except this one isn't all shiny and fixed up.
I cautiously walk toward him, pausing a moment as my eyes get caught on his backside. I shouldn't be staring but he has a great ass. His jeans are worn and faded, and hang low enough that I can see the top of his black boxer briefs. My eyes move up to his shirtless back, which is lean and tan.
Forcing myself to focus on why I'm here, I step up beside him and say, "Excuse me but—"
"Fuck!" he says as his head hits the hood of the car. He stands up straight, rubbing his head.