293Sookie is a young widow trying to deal with the loss of her husband. Can her new neighbor help her heal? AH/AU, lots of romance. Rated M for language and lemons in later chapters.
I do not own these characters, they're only keeping me busy.
Chapter 1 – Dream a Little Dream
A dream was trying to come through… not, not a dream. A nightmare? No… This was a memory. I cringed in my sleep, and I knew I was dreaming, but I couldn't make myself wake up. Not yet. I had to go through it, suffer one more time (how many more times after this one?), before I could escape. This would not be pleasant.
The room was bright with tons of light focused on the one subject, a man. Tubes were coming out of his mouth, his arms, monitors beeping, machines whirring, people talking and moving around him, around his bed. I was standing at the foot, and a doctor was whispering in my ear, asking me something, asking me for something that I did not want to give. "You have to make a decision. What were his last wishes?" I didn't know. No, wait, I did know. I didn't want to be the one to make the decision. But I was the one in charge of the crumpled man in front of me, of either prolonging the life of a soul-less body, or stopping it.
"Take him off life support. I believe he is gone," I said. I knew I should cry, but I couldn't. This is why my dream was a nightmare. I never was able to make myself cry. I couldn't grieve. I wasn't in denial. I almost felt relief. And tremendous guilt, that because I was still this man's wife I was the one in charge of ending his life. I woke up with a start, as I knew I would. The dark room was feeling more familiar, but it wasn't its familiarity or lack thereof that made me feel better. Being awake was the relief I was seeking.
I walked to the kitchen. It was nearly dawn, so there was no use in going back to sleep now… not that I would have been able to. I made some coffee and logged on to my computer to check the overnight emails. On the social networks my friends were complaining about long hours at work, or rowdy children, or bad boyfriends. I didn't feel like complaining about anything. What could I say? I'm a lonely 26-year-old widow? But the pain went deeper and I didn't want to think about it. So I checked the online sales, the coupons, the news… just to pass the time until I knew my mom was awake.
I put on a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt, pulled my waist-length blond hair into a ponytail, put on my walking shoes, fed the cats, grabbed another cup of coffee, and headed next door to my parents' house. This was a much more welcome place to me than my own house. I would live here, if there had been enough room. But my brother already lived here, and the dog… besides, I had three cats. No cats allowed in this house. God! I was a crazy cat lady too!
My mom was awake in her sunny kitchen, doing pretty much what I had been doing: checking emails, drinking coffee. She was already dressed for our daily morning walk, and Baloo the dog was looking at us expectantly. I sat with her. She was absorbed in an email, but smiled in my general direction. Baloo decided to sit against my leg, his head coming up to my thigh. His fur was black as midnight, just like his eyes and his tongue. He was part Chow, or so we thought, and part something else. He was a funny dog, wanting to eat my cats if he saw one at a window, but running the other way if one came close. He also always looked sad, though we knew he wasn't. He was one spoiled doggie. Right now he was eyeing my mom's toast like he knew it was meant for him, which it probably was.
"I'm getting a haircut today," announced my mom, apropos of nothing at all. I knew where she was going with this. She wanted me to consider cutting my hair too. I thought about it for a few seconds and gave her something to look forward to.
"I'll go with you. I think I want to get a trim," I said, sipping my coffee. A little smile started to form on my mom's face, and she looked at me with cautiously optimistic eyes. I could never understand why she wanted me to cut my hair, and she could never understand why I wanted to keep it long. Although I hadn't cut it since I got married four years before.
And then it hit me, as I was thinking about how long I had gone without a haircut. That was exactly what I wanted. I wanted all the dead weight off me, as if getting rid of the extra hair would get rid of the extra guilt.
We walked around our neighborhood silently at first. Baloo was sniffing and peeing on whatever he wanted, so we had to slow down once in a while. As we were almost done with our 2-mile walk (and all our tongues were hanging out, not just the dog's), we saw a moving truck parked in front of my other neighbor's house. If you were to look at our houses, and mine was in the middle, my parents' was on the left, and the new neighbor was moving to my right. The house hadn't spent a very long time on the market… I even considered buying it before I got lucky and mine came on sale as well. It was a coral affair, the color of choice for Southwest Florida. But I hadn't liked it as much as I liked mine. It had a pool: too much work. But it had access to the water, just like every house on this side of the street, so I was sure to get a retired boater for a neighbor. My mom and I were commenting on this when we got in the house, when my dad intercepted us.
"Smitty is saying it's a famous person," he said. My mom and I stared at him like he had two heads. Who was a famous person? "Sookie's new neighbor. He's supposed to be an actor or something," he clarified. My mom and I looked at each other, understanding finally dawning on us. Art Smith, my parents' front neighbor, knew everything and had filled my dad in. Apparently Smitty had connections all over SW Florida. He used to work in the Armed Forces, but never told us in what capacity. My mom, also a retired Federal government worker, guessed he had been a Navy Seal at some point, but nobody knew for sure. All we knew is that he could get information, and liked sharing it.
My brother sauntered out of his room ready for school, a perpetual student. He saw our convergence at the door and looked at us curiously, like we were about to gang up on him.
"My new neighbor is supposedly a famous actor," I filled him in, to put him out of his misery. "And good morning Jason!" I added with a smile. He smiled back and chuckled. "Smitty?" he asked. We all rolled our eyes. It was meant as a confirmation of his suspicions.
I returned home to get rid of the funk I had developed during our walk in the steamy morning. While I was showering (being careful not to get my hair wet) I gave some thought to the beginning of my marriage. Everything seemed pretty ordinary, for newlyweds anyway. We had gotten married at the courthouse because we didn't have money for a big wedding. And then we never seemed to have money for anything at all. But I was told by other married people, that the "not having money" issue was standard for all newlyweds, and that it would only get better. So usually our fights revolved around money, and then that faded as my husband started to make his mark in the police department where he worked. Moving forward in time inside my memories was only going to bring me pain, so I decided to store it all away swiftly in the recesses of my mind, and continue with the task at hand. I focused especially on my wardrobe. I had to discard most of my winter gear in favor of summer things, and even then I had discarded most of my clothes altogether. I had kept only a few standards, and little by little replaced the rest with things that wouldn't carry any memories. So now that I'd finally made up my mind to cut my hair, I was feeling a little guilty, but a little more free. It would be one more thing, one more piece of clothing, one less memory.
"Sookie? Are you ready honey?" my mom asked from the door, as I finished putting on some lipstick. I ran to the front door and we headed out. I was too nervous to drive… so my mom drove, and since it was only the two of us, she took her Mustang. I suddenly felt like I was being driven around by Nancy Drew… except Nancy's driving was too fast. I was alright with it, most of the time, since I drove more or less the same. Except, my Ford sedan couldn't do under my foot what the Mustang could under my mom's. What was the hurry? This was Florida!
"Hi, Charlie! Hi, Sookie!" the receptionist greeted my mom and I as we walked in. She must have been in her 50's, but her very long, straight black hair made her look much younger. Her smile was contagious, and her accent even more so. She was originally from England, and she had a decidedly Welsh accent. It was beautiful because it was unexpected, out of place. Sometimes she drifted into a southern drawl; it was inevitable. She assigned us to our respective hairstylists and I told mine to cut my hair up to my shoulders. My mom shot me a disbelieving look, but didn't dare say anything. She quickly composed herself and looked back at her own reflection.
As we were paying, the receptionist was dishing out the latest gossip. "Did you girls hear about Eric Northman? He's moving to Florida from L.A. Rumors are he's moving to SW Florida, but nobody knows where. Probably Sanibel or Captiva, one would think…," her voice drifted, thinking. My mom and I looked at each other for a half a second, the same spark of intuition lighting up our eyes. But we said nothing. If Smitty had been right and Eric Northman was my new neighbor, the last thing I wanted were midnight vigils in front of his house.
On our way back I started thinking out loud. "Why would Eric Northman buy the house next to mine? It's nothing. It's a little bungalow compared to what he could buy," I mused. I mean, my house was lovely, to me. All our houses were very pretty – for a middle class neighborhood – and chock full of retirees. But they were small: most of them did not exceed three bedrooms. I knew the house next to mine looked exactly like mine inside: white tile floors, white walls, white appliances, one garage, all on one floor. Then my mom came up with a theory.
"Maybe he owns a sailboat. Ours is a sailboat canal. There aren't many of those," she said. I conceded that it could be plausible. Then our love of movies took over the conversation.
"Which movie was he in, recently? I can't remember," my mom asked. She saw many more movies than me and tended to remember only her very favorites, but refused to watch movies more than once. I was like toddler in that respect: if I found a movie I liked, I would watch it over and over until I grew tired of it. By then I would know every character's name, I could recite their lines, and sing along with the soundtrack. What else was there to do when my husband wasn't home…? And he's never coming back, I thought to myself.
"I can't remember a recent one. My favorite one of his is Pride & Prejudice. He played a great Mister Darcy," I said. It had been one of my favorites a couple of years back. I was remembering Eric Northman in 18th century costume, broad shoulders and muscular legs, and his blond hair dyed light brown for the part. He had looked handsome nevertheless, with his straight and angular features, tall build, and smoldering blue eyes. He was one of the more handsome actors in my view, even though I tended to like tall, dark and handsome, and he was decidedly light. And English.
My mom was staring intently out the windshield when she caught her breath. I followed her gaze but it was just a car in front of us. "I remember the movie!" she announced. "It was the one where he played a vampire. Oh, he was handsome in that one," she said with a sly smile, looking at me without fully turning her head. I knew what she was thinking: if Eric Northman had indeed moved next to me, she was sure to visit him and announce that she had a single daughter of marriageable age. She would never understand that I simply wasn't there yet… would I ever be? After all I'd gone through? I had issues to resolve first, and it had been almost a year since my husband's death. The issues were as fresh a year later as they had been when he had died. I took comfort from the faint memory that told me that Eric Northman was married. I was sort of counting on that, and I didn't even know if he was my neighbor for real.
The moving van was still being unloaded when we got back. I went to show my dad my new haircut. "I'm glad you did it," he said. He meant more than he actually said. My dad always saw more than he let on. He was incredibly deep, but it didn't surface very often. I'm sure he was glad I was free of the psychological weight that my hair had imposed. As was I. I felt amazingly light.
"Smitty hasn't said anything else about the new neighbor?" my mom asked my dad. He shook his head.
"Nah… He says he knows people…," he shook his head again, this time with a grin. "We'll probably find out before him."
"I'm heading to the beach after lunch. Anybody care to join me?" I announced. I certainly wasn't going alone: too many eyes would drift towards me, and there was a chance for some serious hits if I wasn't accompanied. My heart sank when my mom made a face.
"It's supposed to rain in the afternoon," my dad was the one who answered. He was glued to the TV, so I knew he had caught the Weather Channel at some point.
The doorbell made us all jump and the dog bark like a maniac. I was closest, so I got the door. It was my brother's girlfriend, Chris. She was wearing normal clothes, for her. Her incredibly straight blue-black hair was pulled into pigtails, but her face was clean of the usual goth makeup, and I could finally see her features clearly. She was cute without the makeup, with big brown eyes and a pouty mouth. She was wearing a very normal pair of jeans, but the t-shirt gave her away: it had several colorful skulls stamped on it.
"Hi! I just got off school and Jason said to wait here for him. He'll be here in half an hour," she said, as I let her in. This wasn't unusual… I didn't know why she was explaining it to me.
"I have to pick your brain," she continued, looking at me. "I have a paper to write for my Business class, and I will need to interview you," she said to me, putting her book bag in the dining room adjoining the living room. Then she went to sit in the living room to watch TV with my dad. He filled her in on what was going on in the Law & Order rerun he had been watching. This was normal too. If she ever decided to marry my brother (if they ever grew up enough for that), she would just finish moving in. She already belonged. I smiled and shook my head, and went to join my mom outside on the lanai.
"I guess I'll go to buy the plants I wanted then, since the beach is out," I said, almost pouting.
"It's not that we don't want to go… don't you feel the wind? It's starting to pick up. I don't really want you going anywhere, actually. Have lunch, take a nap, watch a movie. That's what I'm gonna do," she said. I winced at the thought of a nap. I didn't want to have more nightmares. They took everything out of me.
"Let's go to my house. We can watch a movie there uninterrupted," I said, nodding towards the Law & Order enthusiasts sitting in her living room. She smiled and followed me to my house. I made sandwiches for lunch, and she started to choose a movie from the internet queue.
"Let's see this Eric Northman in action," she mumbled, mostly to herself. I shook my head as I brought our sandwiches to the living room. We sat at either end of my reclining sofa, our sandwiches on our laps and our drinks in between us. Tippy the cat came to sit behind my head and purr in my ear. The other two cats were sleeping away the day somewhere, unseen. The movie my mom picked came to life on my TV. It was the vampire movie she had talked about.
Eric Northman was ethereal. He was playing a pale vampire, but other than his ashen skin color he was absolutely beautiful. His smile was white and perfect. His hair was a beautiful shade of corn silk, which made me wonder if it was his real hair color. In the movie they showed as much of his naked body as they could in a PG-13 movie, and he was sinuous. His expressions were careful, and perfect for the character. I didn't like that they had covered his blue eyes with red contacts. Nevertheless, I had always liked his acting, but now that there was a possibility that he was my neighbor, I watched closer. When he moved slowly, deliberately, he was mesmerizing. When his character had to pick up the pace, when he moved with purpose, he looked stunning. His lines were delivered with always a hint of what I perceived to be his own real mannerisms: a twitch of his neck muscles when his character was upset, a dashing look when his character was being persuasive. I studied him, looking again at the beautiful actor, my would-be neighbor.
And then my mind drifted… REALLY? Eric Northman as my neighbor? In what kind of backwards world did I think I lived in? There was no possible way that this was true. It was just a coincidence that Eric Northman was moving to Florida, and some retiree had purchased the house next to mine, at the same time. And it wasn't even that big of a coincidence. Smitty had it wrong. He was getting old, maybe even senile. First of all, I didn't have that kind of luck. I had the kind of luck that ruined marriages. I had the kind of luck that made me lose my husband while we were in the middle of a marital crisis of epic proportions. I had bad luck. And then, supposing that Eric Northman HAD moved to the house next to mine, so what? He was married, so his wife was moving in with him. I was almost positive that he was married. And besides, actors were snobs.
My door opened suddenly and Tippy ran for her life, jumping over my empty plate and darting to one of the bedrooms. It was Chris, her face red.
"You have to come with us tonight," she said, plopping down on one of my empty armchairs.
"Where are we going again?" I asked. I had obviously missed something.
"You're coming to Jason's concert. You've been putting it off, but you have to come with us tonight."
"Why?" I asked, arching one brow. Both of them knew I wasn't a fan of death metal. At all.
"Because you haven't gone out since you came here. Besides, you have to make use of the brand new haircut you just got yourself. It will be more fun than you think! I'll give you earplugs…" she said with an angelic smile, fluttering her lids as if she'd been talking to my brother instead of me. I sighed and thought about it… well, the going out part anyway. Not that I'd been much of a party-goer in my formative years, and I never went anywhere while married. Maybe this could be another one of those things. The shedding of another layer.
"Okay, I'll go. But I'm taking my own car. I wanna be able to escape," I said sighing again.
"Great. I'll be back at 7 to make you presentable," then she paused, looking at the TV. "That guy looks familiar," she mused to herself. She seemed to do that a lot. "I'll see you," and she bounded out just as quickly as she'd come in. My mom was looking at me, a cross between skepticism and pain evident on her face.
"You don't have to go out if you don't want to," she said.
"No, I should go. I've been promising Jason that I would go to either a show or a practice. I figure the show will be less painful. They're done with the practicing by then," I smiled, trying to mean it.
The sky began to darken by now. I ran outside to pick up my mail before the sky could open up and swallow me whole. I noticed the moving truck was gone from my new neighbor's house. In its place was an incredibly luxurious car. I knew a little about cars, but this wasn't one I'd seen before. So I ran to get my dad, who knew more. He came with me, just as curious as I had expected, a low whistle forming in his mouth as he got closer. We stared at the beautiful dark gray sedan with the tinted windows.
"If your neighbor isn't famous, he sure has money. That's a Maserati. I've only seen them online… No, I take that back. I saw one years ago in Connecticut, on our way to Cape Cod. But that one was older. This one is either last year's model or this year's," he mumbled most of what he said, taking in the beautiful car. It was a good thing nobody came out from that house while we were gawking. I hadn't seen a Maserati before, but I had certainly heard of them.
A low peal of thunder interrupted our mesmerized staring, and my mom made her way outside too, heading to her own house.
"Let me get home before I get trapped in yours," she said, as she hugged and kissed me.
I dumped the mail on my kitchen table and grabbed a glass of water. I figured I'd try to take a nap before I had to get ready, since I felt so exhausted from having nightmares. Besides, the electricity was bound to go out during the storm. The wind started picking up and the thunder got closer. My three cats, Tippy, Buddy, and Salty made it to my bed and lay on the empty spots around me. I closed my eyes and woke up a second later, to the sound of my doorbell. I glanced at the clock at it was 7 in the evening. I had slept that whole time without noticing. I didn't know I had fallen asleep at all. I did not feel altogether rested, but at least I hadn't had a nightmare. I let Chris in, who was laden with a makeup case, and several items of clothing. She seemed ready for business.
"Go wash your face. I need a clean slate. You have eye boogers," she smiled wickedly. When I came back to my bedroom, she had laid out several costumes on my bed.
"I didn't know if you'd fit into my clothes, so I brought several things to see which ones would be more comfortable for you," she said. She wasn't calling me fat. I was probably only one size bigger than her, but she was so petite I just couldn't see myself fitting into anything she owned. The first item I held up looked the scariest, so I decided what the heck, I'll try it on. It was a vest with a zipper up the front, very black, lots of cleavage. I was able to fit into it, what with it being made of stretchy fabric, but I felt utterly exposed. My boobs were very much in evidence, and my belly button peeked from underneath. I grabbed a pair of pants, and these too looked like they should fit like second skin.
"Hang on, hang on… I need a different pair of panties for these," I said, holding up the pants. I was going to need a thong or something. I put the pants on after a little struggle, but I was in. Chris's answering smile was approving… and then it faded.
"Please tell me you have black heels or something," she said. I hadn't thought of footwear, but I dug in my closet anyway and came up with a suitable pair. Then she started on my makeup. She already had her outfit on. It was a mesh shirt that showed her black bra underneath. I felt better covered in mine than I would have in her outfit. She had some very tight pants as well, but instead of heels like mine she had boots… scary tall boots. Her foot was flat in them, but she was as tall as me in heels thanks to the 4 inch platform. My brother walked in on us when Chris was almost done with my makeup. We'd been at it for almost an hour.
"Whoa, sis! You look wicked," he said. I took it as a compliment. Chris finished applying my lipstick and turned to Jason. Apparently he needed makeup too, since he was going to be onstage. His clothes were a little more conventional: a t-shirt with a skull, black pants, and even scarier boots than Chris's. These were massive, and they had tons of buckles. They made him look humongous, since he was already six feet tall. He was sitting at the edge of my bed so she would be able to apply some eye makeup. Aww… I thought… My little brother: all grown up and already wearing makeup. I suppressed a laugh and settled for a chuckle. Jason heard it.
"I'll be onstage. You can't even tell I have makeup on, unless I don't. It's a perception thing," he said, by way of explanation. I remembered that actors on stage would wear excessive makeup to highlight their features. From the audience they looked normal, but up close they looked like clowns.
I was going to follow them to the venue. We were going to be early, but we were with the band, so it would be okay. I glanced once at the neighbor's driveway. The Maserati wasn't there anymore. I hoped my neighbor had the good sense to hide it in his garage by now. This was a quiet neighborhood, but a car like that was bound to attract attention nevertheless.
Why was I so obsessed? I asked this of myself while I was alone in my car. Was it because there was the possibility, however minimal, that my new neighbor was famous? I mean, famous or not all I had a right to hope for was a nice person living next to me, and the odds of that were in my favor. And famous people were people too. I needed a hobby.
I was introduced to the members of my brother's band. I had heard of all of them but had never met them in person. I fell into a nice conversation with the keyboard player, John Quinn, who liked to be called by his last name. I was amazed by the fact that this kind of music necessitated a piano player. Quinn was kind enough to show me why. Of course, that involved listening to some of their music. The music itself was actually very interesting to me, what with my usually eclectic tastes. But I couldn't get over the noise the singer was making. It ruined my favorite part: the singing. I loved to sing along with all kinds of songs, and I couldn't do that with death metal.
"I'm so happy Chris talked you into coming," commented Quinn, shooting me a quick smile. He was less scary than my brother. His head was completely shaved, but it suited him. His eyes were a strange shade of purple, and they were clear of makeup, since he wasn't a front man. He was also an otherwise interesting person. He worked as an Events Planner in Fort Myers, which wasn't interesting in and of itself, but an interesting juxtaposition considering what he did at night.
"So, what do you do?" he asked me curious. I guessed that my little bro hadn't wanted to divulge my personal life, since it wasn't his story to tell. That had been very nice on his part: even though he was the little brother, he was still protective. But it put me in an almost uncomfortable position now (though how could my brother have known that I was this mental?) that I had to answer this question. I bit my lip and thought of something appropriate.
"I used to do Human Resources before I moved here," I answered. I didn't want to say the truth unless absolutely necessary: that I didn't know what to do with myself and I didn't want to go back to the world of 9 to 5, not just yet.
"That's actually very cool. You have to be extremely well-organized to keep up with all the laws that affect labor," he said. I was impressed, and relieved that he didn't push the issue about my actual present doings.
The concert was everything I had expected, but thank goodness it wasn't any worse. I did put in earplugs because we were standing so close to the stage. I tried to concentrate on the music, rather than my brother's singing (or screaming). One of these days he'd have to give me the lyrics to his songs so I could understand what he was saying. The people around us behaved rather well, which made me feel better about maybe coming back to another concert, to show support at least. At the end of the concert (I couldn't believe I had made it!) we all went to a nearby diner. Quinn sat next to me. I knew where this was heading… he was admiring, and I wasn't sure how I felt about that. I also didn't want to discourage him. The attention felt nice, and he was a nice guy.
"You should definitely come over to one of our practices. You'll get a chance to hear me play something other than metal, maybe," he said, knowing I'd be enticed.
"I'd like that," I couldn't help but saying. He startled me when he rearranged a strand of hair that had fallen on my face. That had always been my job, but to have someone else do it, and a cute guy, it felt odd in a nice way.
"This is great. Do you want to try it?" Quinn asked me, pointing at his dish. It looked like a sinfully decadent bread pudding. Again with the juxtapositions. I did try it, caramel dripping out of my mouth. I could always be counted upon to spill something, if there was something that could be spilled. He wiped my lip with his napkin… again, my job. But he did it so delicately… I was unnerved to say the least. I hadn't gotten this kind of attention since well before I had married. Quinn kissed me on the cheek as we were saying goodbye, and asked for my cell phone number. I was glad to give it to him. He made me feel interesting again… and holy God! But I was half spilling out of my clothes! No wonder he liked me so much! But he was cute, and I was enjoying his attention in particular. He liked talking to me, and I to him. He was easygoing, and seemed to sense which subjects were off limits. I wish more people were like that.
My brother followed me home then continued on to drop off Chris at hers. My neighbor was unloading groceries. It was a bit late for that, but I knew of at least one 24-hour Wal-Mart nearby, so I guessed that's where he had gone. I couldn't see him properly from inside the car, and I wasn't going to linger staring after him. I could tell he was a tall man with light long hair, but the hair could have been gray instead of blond. It was too dark to tell. I hurried inside my own house, not sure whether he had seen me or not.
I gave myself one more look in my bedroom mirror before getting ready for bed. I looked way too sexy for my comfort. Chris had done my makeup heavily but still it looked quite nice. Nevertheless, it was nothing I could do to myself with any degree of success. And the clothes had me showing about the same amount of skin I showed at the beach, so that didn't bother me as much as having my boobs hiked up to my chin by the tight vest. Oh, well… I sighed as I peeled the clothes off. I decided to take a quick shower to wash off the sweat and makeup. I fell asleep fast; it was almost three.
I went running to my parents' house the next morning, crying and still in my PJ's. I was almost hyperventilating when I handed my mom the letter I had found in the mail from the day before, the mail I had ignored. She read it quickly and passed it to my dad. Then she hugged me, which made me cry that much harder. My brother woke up with the commotion and ran to the kitchen too.
"What? What happened," he asked upset.
"Those stupid people. Why can't they just live their lives and move on?" my dad answered, handing the letter to Jason. He read it, his eyes widening as he made it down the page.
"I know some people…" he said, trailing off.
The letter was from my mother in law, ex-mother in law, whatever: Lorena Compton. She was calling me every name she could think of, plus a few more, because I didn't give her any money from my husband's life insurance or from when I sold the house. She didn't know that there was none left. I had sold the house at a loss, which was covered by the life insurance, a pittance after having to pay for the funeral. And now I was living off my own savings while I reorganized my life.
My dad took the letter from Jason and folded it back up carefully. It wasn't the first one I had gotten, but this one was a bit more violent than the others. And my dad was keeping careful track. I was so glad to be back living close to my parents. Who except them would see me through this? Plus, my ex-mother in law was too far away in Louisiana to come after me in person down here in Florida.
My mom sat me down and thrust a cup of coffee in my hands. I sipped it like the English sip their tea. My brother sat next to me and put his hand on my arm. "We're here," he said, and I knew what he meant. This guaranteed me a nightmare tonight, though. Oh, well…
My parents indulged me and we all went to the beach. Even my brother came along, which was unusual for him. It was a Saturday. He usually spent the day recovering from the night before and playing World of Warcraft. He recovered at the beach instead, falling asleep as soon as he set his towel on the sand. I went swimming. The guys looking at me in my bathing suit didn't bother me too much. I knew they would think my brother was my boyfriend or something (though we both looked exactly alike) and wouldn't dare talk to me. That was the main reason I didn't go to the beach by myself. Too many men ogling who wanted to talk to me.
The beach always had a calming influence on me. We were a water-loving family. My parents had a boat, we all enjoyed the pool and loved the beach. This beach was typical of the ones on the Gulf Coast of Florida: warm, clear, and the sand was light and fine like talcum powder. Delicious. We left after a couple of hours. We usually came to the beach to relax, not to sunbathe, so a couple of hours was plenty of time to work up an appetite. And for me, it was enough to calm me down and make me put the letter away in the recesses of my mind that I didn't want to visit. After a few hours under the sun, the house felt too cold, so we all sat in the lanai to eat our lunch.
My parents' lanai, just like mine, looked over at the canal. My parents' boat was up on its lift, completely off the water. I looked over at my house, which had a retaining wall against the canal, but no dock and no lift. I glanced farther down at my new neighbor's yard, which had a small dock jutting out across the whole retaining wall. No lift. It was definitely meant for a sailboat, but there was no sailboat either. It might be that the neighbor was having his boat brought in, or maybe he was like me, boat-less. Maybe he just liked that house for the pool. Then I looked at my yard again, which was looking a little sad with its lack of plants, compared to my parents' yard which had a mini-jungle running around the whole lanai.
"I think I'll go ahead and get some plants today," I announced. I needed busy work. A long stroll at the nursery and some digging afterwards would feel good and productive. It was either planting outside or painting my living room, and I had to plant during the warmer months. Even in Florida it could get cold during the winter months. I would get around to painting in November… maybe. For now, I would enjoy the warm, thunderstorm-prone June weather.
And so I did. I bought a couple of hibiscus plants, some impatiens for my shaded areas next to the front door, a gardenia, and some frondy things that would fill in the gaps between the flowering plants. When I got home I threw myself into my project. It was still early in the afternoon, so I had a few hours still before dinner. I began digging the area in front on my windows, which was barren. There must have been plants there at one time, because it was marked off separate from the lawn. But whoever owned the house before me had either let them die or pulled them out. I soon found out it was the former. I encountered dead roots as I was trying to dig, and it was becoming harder and harder to dig them out, to dig period! I used every ounce of strength I had and abused the shovel in my hands, and the helplessness of it made me start tearing up again. It didn't even occur to me to call upon my dad or my brother for help. I just slammed the shovel into the earth over and over, at one point I growled.
"Do you need help?" asked a quiet man's voice behind me. I was so startled that I tripped and fell on my butt as I tried to wheel around. It was actually quite painful in the embarrassment department, and it made a few more tears flow freely.
"I'm so sorry! Here," he reached for me, not waiting for me to reach out a hand. He came around from behind me and scooped me up under my arms, like you would a child. Then he turned me around to look at me, his long hands holding me by the shoulders. I was surprised, to say the least. This had to be my neighbor, and he was breathtaking. He had a slight resemblance to Eric Northman, alright. But he was way more handsome than any man I'd ever seen, ever.
"Are you okay? I didn't mean to startle you," he said, concern in his eyes. I couldn't answer anything but shook my head. Then I remembered I'd been crying and started to wipe my cheeks.
"Oh, no, love, don't do that. Now you're all dirty," he said, a gentle smile that matched his gentle words forming in his beautiful face. He reached in his pocket for a handkerchief. Who carried handkerchiefs anymore? He wiped my face himself, since he had clean hands. His handkerchief smelled wonderful of whatever cologne he used. "There. All clean. Are you okay?" he repeated. I suddenly remembered I hadn't answered.
"Stubborn roots… I'm okay," I mumbled by way of explanation.
"There's no need to cry over roots. I'll be right back," he said, eyeing me one more time to make sure I wasn't about to cry again before he half ran to his garage. He emerged with a pick half a minute later.
"This ought to do the job. Let me help you," he said, reaching my garden and taking the right stance to swing the pick above his head. I stepped back and watched him hack my garden to bits. I was speechless. The more I looked at him (and listened to his soft English accent) the more I knew this was the actor who everyone had been expecting. It seemed that Eric Northman was indeed my new neighbor. But this person in front of me, who was starting to sweat over my garden, was so much different than what I'd been expecting. Granted, the last time I saw his face he'd been playing a vampire, but in real life he looked so real, not ethereal anymore but unbelievable nevertheless. I tried not to stare, but it was hard. He finally turned to me, a wide smile on his face.
"May I borrow that shovel?" he pointed to my hand. I handed it to him, and our fingers touched. I knew I had to say something before he thought I was a nut… I wasn't completely convinced that I wasn't nuts, but I couldn't let him on.
"Thank you for your help. I guess I got a bit… overly… frustrated," I said. I honestly didn't know what else to say. I was speechless and felt awkward for all the obvious reasons.
"No problem, love. What are neighbors for? I'm Eric," he said, suddenly stopping and offering his hand. He smiled and I had to smile back. I took his hand, which was now as dirty as mine and held it tight.
"I'm Sookie Stackhouse. Nice to meet you."
"I guess you know who I am," he said, studying my face for a second. It wasn't a question.
"Yes," I started carefully. "Everyone within a 30-mile radius knew you were moving to this side of Florida. But I'll keep the secret. I don't want people camping on my lawn to get a glimpse of you," I said, trying to keep myself together. I added a smile to make sure he understood I was not upset about having him as a neighbor. And right now, helping me as he was, I really was very happy and grateful.
He chuckled in response. "And here I thought I was being slick by choosing a quiet neighborhood," he said, returning to his work with the shovel. "I thought everybody that lived here was retired, and yet here you are. I'm happy about that, though. Somebody my age… it's nice to know," he said. He must have been a couple of years older than me, but I knew what he meant.
"But I am retired," I said, keeping the tone light. And, well, at least for the next few months I would be acting like a retired person. He looked at me incredulously, and I had to laugh a little.
"Just kidding. I'm not the only young person here, though. My brother lives next door with my parents and his friends come over all the time. But we're not usually nosy people around here, except Smitty," I said, pointing to my parent's front door neighbor.
"Point taken. I'll stay away from him," he said, nodding towards Smitty's house. He had been staring at me since I had laughed. I started to feel uncomfortable but not in a creepy way… more like the way I felt when an extremely good looking man, who clearly wasn't meant for me, looked at me with any kind of interest. He was probably thinking I was nuts, crying one second and laughing the next. At least that's what I told myself.
"I think we're ready for some plants," he said. He had already made the largest hole, the one meant for the large gardenia that was sitting patiently by my car.
"I assumed this is where you'd want it. Gardenias tend to attract ants, so you wouldn't want it too close to your door," he said. I nodded and mmm-hmmm'd. That's all I could manage after his stare. He expertly planted my gardenia, and continued planting to its left, while I planted to its right. We were done in half an hour. We had worked in mostly silence.
"Can I offer you something to drink? I have a pitcher of fresh lemonade, local lemons…" I said. I honestly didn't know how to be a hostess to someone like him. But he smiled pleasantly and followed me in the house. I offered him the use of my spare bathroom for his dirty hands, while I washed mine in my kitchen sink. By the time he came back I was setting down a tall glass of lemonade on my kitchen table, in front of a chair. I was hoping he'd stay and talk, if only to hear his smooth voice form the words in his gentle accent.
"Thank you," he said, sitting down with a sigh. "Now I feel like I accomplished something today. I was actually quite bored. Thanks for letting me help," he smiled at me another sincere smile and sipped his lemonade. He seemed to be a smiley kind of person. I liked that.
"I appreciate the help more than you know," I said, looking down at my hands wrapped around my own glass of lemonade.
"Why were you crying? Surely not because of the roots…" he asked, his voice gentle again. There was a hint of curiosity, but not the mean kind. He seemed truly concerned. So maybe he wasn't a snob… I dared to hope.
"It's a long and painful story," I answered. When I looked at him he didn't say anything. He would not press for information that I didn't want to give. But his face was open and I couldn't resist sharing a little bit.
"I lost my husband almost a year ago. He was a police officer, we lived in Louisiana. He was involved in a high-speed chase. He lost control of the car he was driving, and they couldn't… I was left to make the decision to take him off the machines. He died at the accident. His body was being kept alive by machines…" I trailed off. If I had been the proper grieving widow, this story wouldn't have been so hard to tell.
"What was his name?" Eric asked. His face full of understanding that I wasn't expecting.
"Bill Compton," I answered, looking down again. He put a finger under my chin to bring my face up, so he could look in my eyes again.
"And you miss him…" he guessed. At this I flinched. I did not miss my husband, at all. If I did, I wouldn't have felt guilty. It was the guilt that was eating me alive. Even though my face was up, I looked down, almost closing my eyes. I could see his hand under my face. He dropped it only to place it gently on my arm.
"I lost my wife two years ago. I understand."
Shock ran through my system. I wasn't expecting that at all. I looked up, eyes wide. I didn't know how to respond to a truly grieving partner. Was he going to freak like I just had? But his eyes seemed clear, resigned almost.
"She suffered a concussion while skiing. Her brain swelled slowly. Nobody knew until it was too late. She fainted a few hours later, and never woke up," he said. This time he was the one who looked down. "The first year was very bad," he continued. "I threw myself into my work, and that seemed to help, but not as much as I thought. Eventually you tell yourself it was their time to go, and it's your turn to let them go on to their next thing, whatever it is," he said. He looked back at me, his eyes sad but he seemed otherwise okay.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know," I said stupidly. As if I kept up with all the famous actors' lives. Right. I could barely keep up with my own life. That's how all the bad stuff had gone unnoticed. He didn't understand my expression, but this part of my story was not something I felt compelled to share with my new neighbor. It was embarrassing, to say the least. He was the first one to change the subject, sensing the point at which I would stop talking was right about now.
"This is very delicious lemonade. You said they were local lemons?" he asked. It wasn't a subtle change in subject, but I could sense he was trying his best. Definitely not a snob. He was truly trying to make me feel better.
"Your neighbor grew these actually," I pointed to a bowl in the middle of the table. It held two more lemons.
"Wait. These are lemons?" he asked, grabbing one. They were the size of grapefruits, and the right color. Unless one examined them and noticed the subtle oval shape of a lemon, one would automatically think of them as unripe grapefruits.
"I cannot get used to this place. This morning I saw an alligator in the canal, and yesterday there was an eagle perched on a light pole across the street!" he said, shaking his head.
"The alligator is back? Hmmm…" I mused. I was a little more used to the wildlife here already, having heard all of my mom's stories of her walks with Baloo, and seen what I'd seen in the past few months, but I understood his shocked expression.
"You mean that alligator has been seen before?" he asked. He wasn't panicking. He was amazed, his eyes wide like a little kid's.
"Oh, yeah. We have a regular zoo back there," I said pointing to the canal. "I've seen the eagle before too. She likes that pole. I think she's waiting for Smitty's dog to come out on its own. It's a small yappy thing," I added. He laughed and I laughed with him.
"I wonder what else I'll encounter," he mused.
"Do you have a boat?" I asked. I knew there wasn't one there yet, but it could be on its way.
"Yes I do. A sailboat. Why?" he asked, pleased at the turn the conversation had taken, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"When you take it out, wherever you're in clear waters, you will see manatees. We see them all the time at this one beach that's close to the mouth of the gulf," I said. He smiled and whispered "manatees," mostly to himself.
"You'll have to come with me and show me the beach when my boat gets here," he said to me, looking at me intently again, like he had done in the garden earlier. My uncomfortable feeling was interrupted by a loud sound of complain coming from my stomach.
"Whoa! I'm sorry. I forgot the time," I said, apologizing for my misbehaving gut.
"I did too. I apologize," he said, standing up. He had finished his lemonade completely and walked his empty cup to the sink. He seemed like he was about to wash it too, so I stopped him, though I was touched by the gesture.
"That goes in the dishwasher," I said pointing to it sheepishly.
"Oh, right. I forget," he said, mirroring my expression. He did open the dishwasher and put it in, then reached for my glass and put that one in too. After he closed it he turned to me with a serious expression.
"Not that I'm an expert, but I've been through it too. So if you need a sympathetic ear, I'm right next door, okay? Or if you need help abusing your garden, I'm available for that too," he said, turning his tone light. He gave me another gentle smile and squeezed my shoulder gently. For an English person, he sure liked to touch people. Maybe he just liked to touch me, I thought to myself, but quickly put that thought out of my mind. I didn't need that kind of complication: unrequited love.
A/N: So… what do y'all think? Should I keep going? This is my first attempt at AH.