during her ballet recital, when her favorite band broke up. Rainy Day pancakes fixed everything.
I guess maybe it could fix this as well.
Maybe if I knew things were going to go late at the clubhouse, I would send Jelly over to stay with her Aunt Freddie or Uncle Thad. She would be less resentful about that, even if it would screw with the morning schedule to get off to school.
It would be worth it if we could avoid the 'I am too old for this' argument.
With a sigh, I moved inside, grabbed a beer out of the fridge, standing for a second in the living room to make sure I didn't hear any moving around in Jelena's room, then moved out onto the front porch.
I should have been in bed.
That six a.m. alarm was going to go off sooner than later, and I was going to be dragging ass all day. But the uproar in the clubhouse had me more wired than I'd expected; there was no way I was going to sleep yet.
I liked our neighborhood at night. In the daytime, it was active, people coming and going, work being done, lawns being mowed. At night it was predictably quiet. Front porch lights were lit, solar garden lights let off a soft glow, but there was nothing to drown out the sounds of the crickets and, in the river behind the next street over, the frogs.
I had been living in apartments for so much of my life after moving out of my aunt's house that I had all but forgotten what it was like to hear nature, to know actual quiet.
There were no arguments heard one floor up, no music blaring from some late-night party, no slamming doors.
Just quiet.
It gave you space to think shit through. That was what I was doing, trying to find a plausible reason for our supply chain to be screwed up, when I heard the creak of the door to the neighbor's house open.
They were new neighbors.
One day, the house was empty, the next there was a car in the drive.
They must have moved in while Jelly was at school and I was at the clubhouse. I'd gotten a far away look at a woman and some guy with the gangly-limbed body that only belonged to a teenaged boy, once but had never met them personally.
I only realized my screw-up when Jelly had informed me that I was rude for not introducing myself to the neighbors. And, by then, it was too late.
The car in the driveway was gone as it always seemed to be at night, returning around the time I got up in the morning.
The mom worked the graveyard shift.
And as someone who used to do it, I sympathized with her, even if we'd never met.
"Don't imagine your mother knows you are leaving the house after midnight, does she?" I asked.
No, it wasn't my business. I didn't know the kid. But having Jelena had changed my view on a lot of things. I liked to think that if a neighbor caught Jelly trying to sneak out, that they would try to put a stop to it too. Nothing good came of kids slinking off after midnight. Especially not in a town as unstable as Navesink Bank could be at times.
Besides, I hadn't seen a man around the house.
I figured us single parents had to stick together.
"Mind your business, man," he snapped back, closing the door so carefully that I figured someone had to be inside, even if there wasn't a car in the driveway. Maybe a babysitter too. Even though this kid was at least thirteen or fourteen.
Up close, he looked even skinnier than from afar, his arms and legs all out of proportion.
He was a lighter-skinned kid with sharp, dark eyes, short-cut hair, and a scowl that only a teenager could wear with any success.
"I got a kid too and—"
"Don't need your life story," he shot back, making his way toward the front steps.
If you asked, I wouldn't be able to tell you what made me fly out of my chair and shoot across the porch.
Was it concern for his safety?
Or was it the blatant lack of respect?
I didn't know.
All I knew was I was across that porch before he could get to the bottom step, snagging the back of his shirt, jerking his whole body backward, dragging him across the porch.
"Get off me," he snapped, flailing.
Even if I didn't outweigh him by a good hundred pounds, he didn't stand a