“Okay. Okay,” I say, turning to get Mia.
As soon as she’s unbuckled, Mia hops down out of the car and takes in our new neighborhood. Her eyes rove the houses next to ours and then she turns and scans the ones across the street.
“Nice,” she says with a nod. “I hope there’s kids.”
“There will be children here in town,” I assure her. “You’ll make friends in no time.”
“I know that, Mom.” She doesn’t roll her eyes, but I’m certain her voice is a foretaste of years to come. “I just wonder if there’s kids living here, on our street.”
She looks around again. “Hey! That’s a tree house.”
I follow her pointing finger. Sure enough. Four houses up toward the back of the lot, the top of a wooden treehouse sticks up past the neighbor’s roofline.
The movers exit the moving van and lower the ramp. Mom emerges from the house, turning to stare at ourneighbor who’s still checking us out from his spot on his porch.
“Retired?” she shouts over.
Internally, I palm my forehead. Grabbing Mia’s hand and keeping my words between the two of us, I say, “Let’s go meet our new neighbor.”
She looks up at me. “Without a plate of cookies?”
“No time for that,” I say with a smile. “We’ve got to head Nana off at the pass.”
Mia picks up her pace.
Mom’s headed straight for the man who looks to be her age or a bit older. He’s eyeing her like a rabbit eyes a coyote. Wise man. Mom’s not mean, but she’s blunt, and sometimes that feels the same to the untrained palate.
“Hi!” I say, raising my hand in the air and waving.
His head turns in my direction.
Mia and I are basically at a trot at this point. Who knows what will come out of Mom’s mouth, and I have to live next to this man for the foreseeable future. First impressions are not my mother’s strong suit.
“Margie. Margie Caldwell,” Mom says to the man. She’s practically storming across his yard.
He looks at her, an expression that’s either amused or bewildered on his face.
“And I’m her daughter!” I say, tugging Mia along and beating my mom to the spot in front of my neighbor’s porch.
“And I’m her granddaughter,” Mia says. “My nana says crazy things sometimes. Don’t let it bother you.”
At this, our neighbor smiles. It’s a nice smile—warm and full of kindness.
“Jonathan Michaels,” he says. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Thank you,” I say. “It’s just Mia and me. We’ll be the ones you’re welcoming. My mom’s only here for moving day.”
Mom stands next to me, her arms crossed over her chest in a mirror pose to Jonathan, eyes roving over my new neighbor with the thoroughness of a crime-scene detective.
“I’m staying a week,” she says, her eyes never leaving Jonathan.
“You’re staying a … ?” This is news to me.
My sister, who lives here in Waterford, had agreed to drive Mom back to Maryville in the morning.
“Ma’am?” one of the movers shouts from across the lawn.
“Oh! Yes?” I temporarily forgot about the massive truck filled with everything we own. I was too busy rushing in to protect our neighbor from whatever my mom was about to say or do.
