Page 32 of The Man Next Door
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Iwanted to know more. I couldn’t believe Gavin could possibly be responsible for Simon’s sister’s death. I’d never been to Simon’s, but a visit was definitely in order.
He seemed surprised to see me, but was quick to invite me in. I slipped off my sneakers, eager to check out the place.
His dad, a portly unkempt middle-aged man, was sitting on the sofa, busy watchingThe Price is Right.The house was oddly very orderly, not a single thing out of place. A pretty glass vase of flowers sat on the coffee table. The carpet was cleaned. The books were lined up perfectly on the bookcase, seemingly organized by size. The kitchen counter was spotless. The towel on the oven rack seemed brand new. I’d never seen a home like this. Mine was always a chaotic mess. Izzie’s house was almost as bad. Her mother’s art supplies and paintings took up the whole place, and her dad’s tools were everywhere. Jimmy’s place was by far the worst, ashtrays and empty beer bottles on the floor, crusty dishes in the sink, stuff growing in the carpet, and a slight smell of cat urine. But this, this was unlike anything I’d ever seen before.
I trailed a hand along the keys of the old upright piano in the living room, too big for the space. “Do you play?” I asked him.
“Yeah, my mom is a music teacher.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that.”
“Who have you got with you?” his dad growled.
“It’s my friend, Abby,” Simon told him. “We’re just gonna go to my room.”
“You’re clean now? No lice on you?” his father asked me.
I frowned at him. “I’ve never had lice, Mr. Cook.”
“You’re still friends with that little hussie?”
“Yes.” I looked away, wanting to punch him in the face.
Simon grabbed some cookies from the cupboard, and his dad shot up. “What are you doing? Don’t you be eating any more cookies. You’re already a fat ass and you’re only fourteen years old.”
Simon still had the cookies in his hand. “But it’s just two cookies...one for Abby...”
His dad twisted his wrist, and the cookies fell to the floor. Simon’s eyes welled up. “Now get lost,” Mr. Cook scoffed, but we both just stood still, stunned.
“Go,” he barked.
Simon and I ran to his room as fast as we could.
I was still shaking five minutes later. “Why didn’t he just ask you to put back the cookies politely?”
“He just gets a little mad sometimes. It’s just the way he is.” He twirled a lock of his golden hair, always kept a tad too long. “You know… with what happened with my sister and all.” He looked out in the distance, avoiding my gaze as tears made their way down his freckled cheeks.
“I see,” I said. It was sad but I was glad we were on the subject of the accident because that’s why I was there. “Uh… do you remember the accident?”
He raised his head slowly up at me, and there was so much sadness in those big beautiful blue eyes of his, it broke my heart. “Yeah… I wish I didn’t.”
“So… uh… your car was hit by a drunk driver. That’s what I heard.”
He nodded. “Yep. Some asshole speeding, totally wasted.”
“What did this asshole look like?” I asked, and he shot me a dubious look, probably wondering why I would care what the jerk looked like. “Uh… old… like eighty or something. He was a small man, way smaller than my dad. He got arrested and thrown in jail, so that was a good thing, I guess.” He stared at the floor again, at his gold trumpet and his scattered Legos. “But that couldn’t bring her back, though.”
“What was her name?” I asked, secretly relieved that the intel I had gathered pointed to Gavin’s innocence.
“Samantha,” he said, “but we’re not allowed to say her name around here.”
Later that day, I baked some blueberry muffins for Simon. And for Gavin too. I baked for everyone, but these muffins were special. They were a pretext to see Gavin again. I knew I should listen to my dad and Pete and stay away from the man, but everything about him was magnetic, everything from his dark bedroom eyes, his soft masculine voice, to the tattoos covering his arms. He intrigued me and made me feel foreign emotions I couldn’t quite understand at the time. But today, I easily recognize them as attraction and desire.
He’d just stepped out of the shower when I knocked on his door. He was quick to answer and greeted me with a huge smile, staring at the basket of muffins in my hands. “For me?”
I handed him the basket, giddy. “Yes.”
