The Neighbors Read Online Free PDF

women who would snap themselves in half with the least bit of effort. They followed him around like baby ducks, pointing out items that he had zero interest in. But he liked the attention, and they liked fawning over the “nice young man” visiting their store. After forty-five minutes of walking the over-stuffed aisles with them, Drew decided on a mattress, a bed frame with no headboard, a badly refinished chest of drawers, and a slightly cockeyed bookcase—all for sixty bucks.
    Asking the women to help haul a mattress across a parking lot would result in two dead bodies in the bed of his truck, and digging a pair of graves for a couple of doting grandmas wasn’t an efficient way to spend his afternoon. So, armed with the store’s only dolly, Andrew struggled with his purchases alone. The mattress was the hardest part. He dragged it through the store andonto the sidewalk, then hoisted it upright just as the wind picked up, nearly tearing it out of his hands and into the street. The grandmas watched him through the window with their hands pressed to their mouths, waiting to see if he’d be lifted off his feet like a kite. They knocked to get Drew’s attention, offering pantomimed advice. By the time the mattress was on the truck, he was exhausted, but it was only the beginning. The bookcase was next.
    After half an hour of struggling in the hot prairie sun, Drew collapsed inside the cab of his truck and blasted the air as high as it would go. With the AC mercifully battering his face, he thought about how he’d have to wrestle all this crap out of the truck and into the house
without
a dolly, unless by some divine fate Casa de Mickey was equipped with such a utilitarian device.
    He could breach the perimeter of that white picket fence and ask the neighbors. A house like that was destined to have a fully stocked garage. Maybe they’d invite him inside, if only for a minute. Or maybe he and Mr. Perfect Neighbor would unload his truck while the missus brought freshly squeezed lemonade out to them on a silver tray. Invigorated by the idea, he pulled the seat belt across his chest and pushed the Chevy into first.
    A Sonic drive-in sign distracted him. His stomach rumbled. He’d just about kill for a strawberry shake, and nobody could tell him he hadn’t earned it.

    Harlow clicked up the cracked walkway of the house next door, grimacing at the dead lawn. It ruined the neighborhood like an ugly girl ruined a group photo. Most of the houses along Magnolia were charming—naturally, none so much as the Wards’—except for this wreck. Then again, it was her mother who had taught her that trick: standing next to the ugly girl in the picture made Harlow even prettier. That patchy lawn made hers look immaculate. Those sagging gutters made 668 Magnolia Lane look like an absolute dream.
    She fluffed her hair, pulled a single Kleenex from her bag, balanced the plate of cookies on top of an open palm, and pressed the doorbell through the tissue with a grimace.
Ridiculous
, she thought.
How do UPS men not die of contamination?
She waited, pressed the bell again, and rolled her eyes when there was no reply. Everything was far more complicated on this side of the picket fence.
    She walked along the edge of the house toward the backyard, the sad excuse of a lawn crunching beneath her feet. She nearly stumbled when one of her heels sank deep into the ground, grumbling beneath her breath when she had to lean against the dirty siding of the house to retrieve her shoe. Stopping in front of a window covered by a bedsheet, she pounded on the glass. She wanted to yell, wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, but she stood tight-lipped on the lawn instead, her teeth clenched behind her cherry-stained mouth. The bedsheet rustled. There was a crash—something falling to the floor—a flurry of clumsy footfalls, and finally a violent pull on that makeshift curtain by the occupant of the dark room inside. Wild-eyed, Mickey Fitch glared out