Page 2 of The Broken Heart Playlist
I look away. I can’t judge her. I imagine she’s lonely, and I know that feeling all too well.
“Didn’t you do the same thing, Mom?” Lisset asks. “Take muffins to everyone on the street before you bought our house?”
I absently stroke her hair, which I still need to braid for school. “Yes, I did.”
But my gift had an entirely different purpose from Jenna’s.
Although I’d spent my childhood in Brown Oaks, I moved away twelve years ago when I was nineteen. Four years ago, when my life imploded, I decided to move back home. My grandmother, parents, and sister still lived here, and Lisset needed family around her.
The house I’m living in now was up for sale, but I didn’t know any of the people in the neighborhood. Before I put in an offer, I visited every single house on this street, introducing myself with the polite smile I’ve been manufacturing for years and a gift basket of homemade raspberry muffins. My entry into their homes and their lives.
In their living rooms, softened by my thoughtfulness and careful compliments, my future neighbors were all too eager to spill details about their spouses and children and the community.
They were charmed. I was informed.
And although you never really know what people are hiding behind their smiles, I was as satisfied as I could be that none of the residents on the street posed any discernible threat. Soon after, I signed the papers, and Lisset and I moved in.
I never visited any of the houses again. Oh, I was always courteous and friendly, because I needed their curious eyes watching our neighborhood, but it stopped there.
My attention is drawn again to the scene outside my living room window. Jenna and the man are still talking. She says something to him, and his head tips back on a full laugh.
My mouth tightens in irritation, which confuses me. I have no reason to be irritated.
“Why don’t you go fill up your water bottle?” I instruct Lisset in what I hope is a bright voice. “And get your snacks for school.”
I’ve already cut up carrot and cucumber sticks and placed them in containers in the fridge. Her cheese and lettuce sandwich is in a ziplock bag. There’s also a snack box in the pantry full of raisin boxes, granola bars, and energy balls she can dig through if she wants anything extra to take to school. Every now and then, I sneak a small treat into the snack box, enjoying Lisset’s surprised squeal when she spots it.
Realizing how abrupt I can be when I’m scared, I scoop her up and hug her tightly. “Love you, Lis.”
“Love you too, Mommy.”
Once Lisset disappears into the kitchen, I call my sister.
Tess answers on the first ring. “Wow, it’s not even eight in the morning. Is this an emergency or do you miss me?”
“Do you know who’s moving into the Martinez house?” I ask, wasting no time on pleasantries. Tess typically has her finger on the pulse of gossip in Brown Oaks and I tend to rely on her for information.
“No,” she answers, effortlessly slotting into our pattern. “It happened very fast. I’m still surprised they moved. I thought they were happy there.”
“They were, but according to them they were made an offer on the house they couldn’t refuse.”
“Interesting.”
“Worrying.”
I thought I’d have more time to investigate who was buying the Martinez house. Tess is right; it all happened so quickly. And now here I am, completely unprepared.
“So you have a new neighbor,” Tess says. “Do you know who they are?”
“So far, I’ve seen only a man with the moving truck.”
“Old or young?”
“He looks around my age.”
“Hmm, early thirties then. Is he single?” she asks, curiosity ringing in her voice.
“No idea.”
