She trailed off when she realized he wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he was fanning the air between them. “You sure you don’t want to head to the deck?” he pressed. “The mosquitoes are vicious around the bushes here.”
“What I was trying to say was-”
“There’s one on your earlobe,” he said, pointing.
Her right hand shot up instinctively.
“The other one.”
She swatted at it and saw a smear of blood on her fingers as she pulled her hand back. Gross, she thought.
“There’s another right by your cheek.”
She waved again at the growing swarm. “What’s going on?”
“Like I said, it’s the bushes. They breed in the water, and it’s always moist in the shade…”
“Fine,” she relented. “We can talk on the deck.”
A moment later they were in the clear, moving quickly. “I hate mosquitoes, which is why I’ve got some citronella candles going on the table. That’s usually enough to keep them away. They get much worse later in the summer.” He left just enough space between them so they wouldn’t accidentally bump. “I don’t think we’ve formally met, by the way. I’m Travis Parker.”
She felt a flicker of uncertainty. She wasn’t here to be his buddy, after all, but expectation and manners prevailed, and she answered before she could stop herself. “I’m Gabby Holland.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah,” she said. She made a point to cross her arms as she said it, then subconsciously brought a hand to her ribs where a dull ache remained. From there, it traveled to her ear, which was already beginning to itch.
Staring at her profile, Travis could tell that she was angry. Her mouth had a tight, pinched look he’d seen on any number of girlfriends. Somehow he knew the anger was directed at him, though he had no idea why. Aside from being tackled by the dog, that is. But that wasn’t quite it, he decided. He remembered the expressions that his kid sister, Stephanie, was famous for, ones that signaled a slow buildup of resentment over time, and that’s how Gabby seemed to be acting now. As if she’d worked herself up to this. But there the similarities with his sister ended. While Stephanie had grown up to become a certifiable beauty, Gabby was attractive in a similar but not quite perfect kind of way. Her blue eyes were a little too wide set, her nose was just a bit too big, and red hair was always hard to pull off, but somehow these imperfections lent an air of vulnerability to her natural good looks, which most men would find arresting.
In the silence, Gabby tried to collect her thoughts. “I was coming over because-”
“Hold on,” he said. “Before you begin, why don’t you sit down? I’ll be right there.” He started for the cooler, then rotated in midstride. “Would you like a beer?”
“No, thank you,” she said, wishing she could get this over with. Refusing to sit down, she turned with the hope of confronting him as he strode past. But, too quickly, he dropped into his chair, leaned back, and put his feet on the table.
Flustered, Gabby continued to stand. This was not working out as she’d planned.
He popped open his beer and took a short pull. “Aren’t you going to sit?” he asked over his shoulder.
“I’d rather remain standing, thank you.”
Travis squinted and shaded his eyes with his hands. “But I can barely see you,” he said. “The porch lights are shining behind you.”
“I came over here to tell you something-”
“Can you move just a few feet to the side?” he asked.
She made an impatient noise and moved a few steps.
“Better?”
“Not yet.”
By then, she was almost against the table. She threw up her hands in exasperation.
“Maybe you should just sit,” he suggested.
“Fine!” she said. She pulled out a chair and took a seat. He was throwing this whole thing completely out of whack. “I came over because I wanted to talk to you…,” she began, wondering if she should start with Molly’s situation or what it generally meant to be a good neighbor.
He raised his eyebrows. “You’ve already said that.”
“I know!” she said. “I’ve been trying to tell you, but you haven’t let me finish!”
He saw her glare at him just the way his sister used to but still had no idea what she was so wound up about. After a second, she began to speak, a bit hesitantly at first, as if wary that he was going to interrupt her again. He didn’t, and she seemed to find her rhythm, the words coming more and more quickly. She talked about how she’d found the house and how excited she’d been, and how owning a home had been her dream for a long time, before the topic wandered to Molly and how Molly’s nipples were getting bigger. At first, Travis had no idea who Molly was-which lent that part of the monologue a surreal quality-but as she continued, he gradually realized that Molly was Gabby’s collie, which he’d noticed her walking occasionally. After that, she began talking about ugly puppies and murder and, strangely, something about neither “Dr. Hands-on-me” nor vomit having anything to do with the way she was feeling, but in all honesty, it made little sense until she started gesturing at Moby. That allowed him to put two and two together until it dawned on him that she believed Moby was responsible for Molly getting pregnant.
He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t Moby, but she was on such a roll, he thought it best to let her finish before protesting. By that point, her story had veered back on itself. Bits and pieces of her life continued to come tumbling out, little snippets that sounded unrehearsed and unconnected, along with bursts of anger randomly directed his way. It felt as though she went on for a good twenty minutes or so, but Travis knew it couldn’t have been that long. Even so, being on the receiving end of a stranger’s angry accusations about his failures as a neighbor wasn’t exactly easy, nor did he appreciate the way she was talking about Moby. Moby, in his opinion, was just about the most perfect dog in the world.
Sometimes she paused, and in those moments, Travis tried unsuccessfully to respond. But that didn’t work, either, because she immediately overrode him. Instead, he listened and-at least in those moments when she wasn’t insulting him or his dog-sensed a trace of desperation, even some confusion, as to what was happening in her life. The dog, whether she realized it or not, was only a small part of what was bothering her. He felt a surge of compassion for her and found himself nodding, just to let her know he was paying attention. Every now and then, she asked a question, but before he could respond, she would answer for him. “Aren’t neighbors supposed to consider their actions?” Yes, obviously, he started to say, but she beat him to it. “Of course they are!” she cried, and Travis found himself nodding again.
When her tirade finally wound down, she ended up staring at the ground, spent. Although her mouth was set in that same straight line, Travis thought he saw tears, and he wondered whether he should offer to bring her a tissue. They were inside the house-too far away, he realized-but then he remembered the napkins near the grill. He rose quickly, grabbed a few, and brought them to her. He offered her one, and after debating, she took it. She wiped the corner of her eyes. Now that she’d calmed down, he noted she was even prettier than he’d first realized.
She drew a shaky breath. “The question is, what are you going to do?” she finally asked.
He hesitated, trying to draw a bead on what she meant. “About what?”
“The puppies!”
He could hear the anger beginning to percolate again, and he raised his hands in an attempt to calm her. “Let’s start at the beginning. Are you sure she’s pregnant?”
“Of course I’m sure! Didn’t you hear a word I said?”
“Have you had her checked by a vet?”
“I’m a physician assistant. I spent two and a half years in PA school and another year in rotations. I know when someone’s pregnant.”