Page 18 of Wild Hit
“Because I’m about to let out some very necessary expletives.”
I snort and nudge my kid with my elbow. “How about you run on home to get washed before dinner?”
She grunts but recognizes that this is not a battle she’ll win. With one last look of utter displeasure, she marches up to the house. Once she’s near the porch, I turn to my neighbor.
“Let it out now.”
“This freaking piece of shit.” She kicks at the post.
I’m happy to report that it doesn’t budge one bit.
“You had one job,” she tells the inanimate object, raising a finger to make her point. “You were going to fix my whole life by opening easily.”
I almost laugh but manage to turn it into a cough right in time. “Erm, it may still do its job if you just grease up the hinge.”
She pulls back, her body relaxing even as her face gets redder. “Good point.”
I motion at the mess around us. “Let’s pick up for now, and I’ll see if I still have a silicone spray somewhere.”
“Thanks, you don’t have to do that.”
“Consider it my thanks for becoming Marty’s buddy,” I say as I grab the pieces of her old mailbox in my hands.
“Let me take this one.” She reaches for the mailbox part, leaving me to carry the heavier post. It’s a decent compromise, so I don’t challenge it. After a moment, she speaks again. “So, about Marty…”
“Hmm?” I get to the trash cans first so I open one for her.
Grunting, she hefts the mailbox and tosses it inside with gusto. The look on her face is almost gloating as she brushes her hands off. I follow in her example and close the can.
“What about Marty?” I prod, now that we have officially ran out of excuses to be in each other’s company. My kid and her nanny are waiting at home for me, and I have no doubt that this woman would rather hop in the shower than spend another moment melting down in this stifling heat.
She takes a deep breath, but it’s not because of the climate. “I don’t want to be a snitch, so I’m going to let her tell you what’s going on, but there’s something at school that upset?—”
I take a step closer, a tinge of desperation moving me. “She’s not getting bullied again, is she?”
“Again?” Audrey’s eyes widen.
Now I’m the one releasing a verse of expletives in Spanish. I catch myself in time to not run my dirty hands down my face. “Shit, I thought this was a better school. Why is this happening again to Marty? She?—”
“Wait, wait.” Audrey leans to the side, appearing in my field of vision right as it was starting to tunnel. “She’s not getting bullied. It’s something else.”
“Oh.” I still. “But she was upset.”
“Yes.”
“How bad?”
“There may have been some crying.”
My eye—the one that is now fully healed—twitches at that. “Sobbing or no sobbing?”
“None that I could hear.”
I exhale in relief. “Then it must not be so bad.”
“Yeah, so talk with her.”
I debate whether to tell her that Marty doesn’t really want to talk with me these days, but that would be too much to burden my new neighbor with.
