Page 48 of The Good Guy on My Porch

“You can tell them I’m fine.” She leaned toward me, her body shaking. “You tell them I’m alright, Dilly, and you make them believe it. You owe me that, girl, after what you did to me.” She shook her head. “It won’t just be me they treat like some sort of freak, Dilly. When I tell them how you left me all alone when I needed you most, when I tell them what kind of daughter you really are, they will all hate you and abandon you the way they did me.”

I no longer cared what they thought of me, but I wouldn’t hurt my mother. I’d let her down more than once when I was a rebellious teenager and I wouldn’t do it again. I held up a hand like I was trying to sooth a wild animal. “It’s okay, Momma. I won’t tell anyone anything. I swear it. I just thought seeing some friendly faces might help you.”

She sank into the stained armchair, the armchair she wouldn’t let me clean because she thought the cleaners were toxic. “I don’t have any friends,” she said wearily. “I’m all alone.”

“You’re not alone, Momma. You have me.”

“Do I, Dilly? You left me before, how do I know you won’t do it again?”

“Because I promise. I’ll never leave you again. Never.”

I fixed her some tea and tucked her into bed and left, weary and sad. Across the hall, a door opened and an older man, a man I suspected was almost as much a recluse as my mother, stuck out his head. “Everything okay, Dilly? I heard shouting.”

“Yes, Mr. Montan. Just a disagreement.”

“You’re a good daughter, Dilly.” Mr. Montan closed his door, and the sound of his locks clicking into place rang out in the silent hallway.

I tried to be a good daughter, but I couldn’t help feeling that I was failing, over and over again.

***

“Hey, Oscar,” I said. He was sitting on the stoop, Buddy by his side. “Thanks for hanging out with Buddy.”

I sat on the top porch step, Buddy between us. I’d gotten a quick dinner out after work and then met Carrie at the bookstore, so I hadn’t had time to get home and take Buddy out. Sandra was on her porch, a low light illuminating the space, and she sent a wink my way. I waved over Oscar’s shoulder. Across the street, a few guys were throwing around a glow-in-the-dark frisbee across several front yards, laughing and yelling.

“I was happy to do it,” Oscar said. “Good shopping?” He pointed at my overflowing shopping bag.

“It always is at Willow’s bookstore.”

“Huh. I haven’t been in there, yet.”

I slapped a hand over my chest and gasped in mock-shock. “Please tell me it isn’t so. We must remedy this immediately.”

“How about tomorrow? I’ll pick you up after work, we can get dinner, and you can take me to the bookstore.”

“What about Buddy?”

“I’ll bring him,” he said. “I’ll drive.”

“Sounds good. Want to see the books I bought?”

“I do, but it will have to be inside. You missed the sunset and it’s too dark for me to read the titles.”

“I watched the sun set as I was walking home.” I’d watched the sunset and couldn’t help feeling that my carefully constructed house of lies was starting to crumble. I should have been terrified, but I felt an odd kind of relief. “Come on in and I’ll show you what I got.”

He and Buddy followed me inside. My place was cluttered, but I’d managed to do some dusting and vacuuming that week, so it was clean. I hated a dirty house and, with a dog, cleaning regularly was imperative.

I dropped the bag on the dining room table and spread out the books for Oscar to see. I’d expected him to give them a cursory glance and mutter something about them looking interesting, but he read each of the back covers and asked questions about them. Had I read anything by that author before? Did I actually enjoy reading horror? That sort of thing. I even let him borrow one of them, something I never did with new books, but he lived right next door, so I wasn’t worried. Not really.

He headed toward my front door, book in hand, but I didn’t want him to leave, didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts. Just didn’t want to be alone with myself.

“Want to go out? I could use a drink tonight.”

He spun and looked at me, worry creasing his brow. “Everything okay?”

I shrugged. I was tired of lying to him. “I had an argument with my mom. It’s no big deal. I promise I won’t keep you out late.”

I couldn’t make out his expression well in the dim light. “Sure,” he said. “I could handle a drink. What’s the happening place on a Friday at eight-thirty?”

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