The Good Neighbor Read Online Free

reached Nairobi. Her distant voice echoed across the continents. “I’ve been worried about you.”
    “I’m fine,” I lied. My head still hurt, my thoughts fuzzy.
    “Why don’t you go home? You can stay there as long as you want. Your room is made up. There’s a key under the turtle stone.”
    She’d bought the gray stone turtle right before my father had moved out. I’d been nine years old. My mother and I had stayed in the house, a Craftsman-style bungalow in Portland, Oregon, until I’d left home at eighteen. Suddenly, I longed for my childhood bedroom with its serene view of a wooded ravine.
    “Sweet of you to offer,” I said. “But it’s too far away. We’ll find something here. It’s going to take a while to get back on our feet.”
    “I’ll come back.”
    “No need. We’re okay.” My mother would only get in the way. She would try to be helpful, but I would sense her itch to travel, and she was doing more good in her village in Kenya, where she taught sign language to deaf children.
    “I love you,” my mother said, a catch in her voice.
    “I love you, too.” I hung up, tears in my eyes.
    A series of visitors followed, including Pedra and Jessie Ramirez, who brought a vase of multicolored flowers and a greeting card with a picture of Wonder Woman on the front. The message inside read,
    Kind and caring,
    kick-butt, too,
    saving little Mia,
    that is you.
    Nearly everyone on Sitka Lane had signed the card.
    Come back to us soon. You’re a hero. We love you.
    I dissolved into tears. I didn’t feel like a hero. What if I’d climbed the ladder sooner? Could I have rescued Chad and Monique as well? What was done was done. Pedra, Jessie, and I cried together in my hospital room, holding one another, grateful for what had been saved, grieving for what had been lost.

    The next afternoon, while Johnny was out, the doctor returned to my room one last time before discharging me. He performed a quick neurological exam, testing my reflexes and responses—touch, hearing, smell, taste, sight.
    Was I no longer physically myself? Could I not trust my senses? Maybe not. I’d awoken in the night and spotted a silhouette in the doorway, the shape of a man, but Johnny had been in the bed beside me, snoring softly. Terrified, I’d squeezed my eyes shut, and when I’d opened them a minute later, the man had disappeared. Perhaps I’d been dreaming. Or hallucinating.
    After the doctor tested my balance and strength, he gave me a pass to leave the hospital. “But you need to rest,” he said. “No strenuous physical or mental activity for a while.”
    “I have a new book coming out. I’ve got signings scheduled—”
    “Cancel them.”
    “But it’s the way I make a living.” I couldn’t turn off my mind. In fact, my neurons and synapses felt more active than usual.
    “At least for a few weeks.” And then he was gone, as Johnny returned with shopping bags, which he placed on the counter next to a smattering of gifts from friends.
    “I’m free,” I said. “Let’s go to the house.”
    Johnny’s eyes darkened. “Remember, there is no house.”
    “Still, I need to see.”
    “If you say so. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.” He left his cell phone on the counter, went into the bathroom, and shut the door. A moment later, his phone buzzed. Unknown Number flashed on the screen. I answered, “Hello? This is Dr. McDonald’s—”
    A dial tone blared in my ear. The words CALL ENDED lit the screen in bright red letters. I heard the toilet flush, and Johnny came out. “Who called?” he said, washing his hands at the sink.
    “I don’t know. They hung up.”
    His lips turned down, his brow furrowed. “That’s odd. I’ve had a few hang-ups lately.” He tore a paper towel from the roll and dried his hands.
    “Someone stalking you?” I put the phone on the counter.
    “Happens sometimes. They’ll give up, eventually.” He threw the paper towel in the trash, stood behind me, and wrapped