Simon sighed before opening his duffel bag and searching through his contents. "Seems to all be here." He zipped it up before patting it. "Thanks for getting it," he sheepishly told me.
I nodded my receipt of his message but otherwise stayed quiet as I observed his next move. Which I hoped was him hightailing it out my door.
"So, uh, speaking of your mom...can I say goodbye to her before I leave? She's the only one who's been nice to me this weekend."
Instead of replying, I sighed and picked up his mug to rinse out. Given my mom's pattern of chatting people's ears off, I had a feeling it would be a long morning.
Chapter 9
Simon
Istoodonmyfront porch, indecision crowding my features as I battled with my inner conscience.
When I first stepped outside and spotted Francine, I almost walked back into the house. I could usually fake my interest when she cornered me for a chat, but I wasn't in the mood today.
However, the longer I stayed on my porch, the more I realized that Francine was too preoccupied to lift her head and spot me. I could've stealthily made my way to my car and driven off. Yet...I couldn't.
Because Francine was crying.
She was kneeling in her garden, and if I had given her a cursory look, I would think she was busy gardening. Yet her tools were on the ground alongside her garden gloves. Her head was bowed, and she was wiping at her face intermittently while sniffing quietly.
I moved gradually down the steps towards my car; my eyes focused on Francine, who still hadn't noticed me.
I climbed into my vehicle, and since I had a Tesla, it was ready to go. I could throw it into reverse and roll out the drive. Carry on with my evening without a care in the world.
My hand hovered over the reverse button.
"Fuck!"
I turned my car off and climbed out before peering over my fence.
Yep, still crying.
I cleared my throat lightly so that I wouldn't startle her. "Um, hey, Francine, are you okay?"
Her white head shot up, and I noted her red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. My gut clenched uncomfortably. A crying woman - no matter the age - typically caused me to run for the hills. But as I watched my elderly neighbor slowly stand as she attempted to smooth her hair, I experienced something deep within me that felt awfully like...compassion.
"Oh, yes, dear." She fixed me a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Don't mind me."
Usually that would be enough to get me on my way. I'd done my bit and checked on her. Nothing more needed to be done. Except I couldn't leave.
"Are you sure? Can I get you a cup of coffee or tea?"
What the hell? Apart from my parents, I had never offered to make anyone a cup of coffee. Usually, it was women I had spent the night with attempting to push a beverage into my hands when I just wanted to escape.
This time Francine's smile was more genuine. "Oh, you are a good boy," she beamed. "I'm fine, thank you, dear. I'm just having a moment. You see...well, it's just my son was supposed to visit this weekend. He hasn't visited his father since he went into the hospital."
Hospital? What the... "I didn't know Henry was sick." I was pleased that I managed to remember his name.
"Oh. I could've sworn I told you...never mind, maybe I didn't. My head has been all over the place since his stroke."
I cringed as I experienced a wave of guilt. I would bet my bottom dollar that Francine had told me about her sick husband. I was probably too busy internally rolling my eyes and checking my watch. I felt like an ass.
"My son promised to mow the lawns. I know they've overgrown a bit." Francine's face heated in embarrassment.
Fuck, of course, there was a reason why her lawns weren't done. I should've known. My neighbor was always house-proud and regularly kept her yard neat. I should've guessed that something out of the ordinary had happened.
"I had a company come in to do it once. They were quite pricey, but I guess I don't have any choice now but to use them again. Henry usually does it, you see. But his condition's worsened. He's had his third stroke now, and i-its not likely that he will come h-home."
