Good Neighbours

After careful manoeuvring around glass cabinets and instructions given through gritted teeth, Sam and his brother had finally gotten that damn armchair out the door and into the ute. The best part of Sam's day was watching his brother back out of the driveway. Not only did Archie insist on waking up at the ass crack of dawn on Sam’s designated sleeping-in day, but he overstayed his welcome by many, many hours.

The armchair, Mum's chair, was the comfiest in the lounge room. When they were younger, they used to fight over who got to squeeze in beside her when they watched TV after dinner. Sam flexed his bony to loosen up the tension that had crept in with the heavy lifting. He didn't think that it was worth that much trouble. It’s not like they’d ever see Mum sit in it again.

He turned to face the midday sun and rubbed his eyes. Sundays were restricted to one hour of socialising so he could prepare himself for the oncoming week. This was something his brother disregarded, because how hard could playing chess for a living really be? Not that he’d have another match for a while yet. Not until he packed up Mum's stuff.

Before his mother had suddenly died of a heart attack three weeks ago, she diligently maintained the flowerbeds that encircled the house. Roses, pansies and a myriad of other flowers flooded the perimeter of the property, brightening the weatherboard house with a crowd of pinks, yellows and oranges.

Sam laid down on the lawn. The soft grass pillowed his head. He should’ve put on sunscreen if he was going to stay out here, but the warmth of the day wrapped around him like a blanket. He closed his eyes and reached out, feeling the short blades of grass run along his palms.

A loud bang made him jump. His eyes shot open to the searing sunlight. Shielding his face, he caught the neighbour’s screen door slamming shut as they trudged out to the bins on the curb. He checked his watch. In a dressing gown at 12:31 p.m.?

Another bang made him cringe as the red bin lid slammed shut. As the neighbour walked back, he realised it wasn’t Mrs Turner. It was Maddy.

Maddy, who he could never look in the eye. Pretty Maddy who used to sit on the porch every day after school and draw. She’d moved away for uni. Was she visiting?

“Maddy!” He called, before remembering talking to her made him nervous.

She jumped, looking around at the street for who called when she saw him. Only then did he realise how silly he must look, sitting dumbly in the front yard dressed in a button down and business pants. His face was hot. Was he getting sunburnt?

He raised his hand and waved at her once. Nice and short, perfectly acceptable for neighbours.

She leaned forward, seeming to squint at him. He began to doubt if she even remembered him, but she finally raised her arm, about to return his wave, before she froze and charged back inside.

Sam didn’t call out to Maddy as the screen door slammed shut behind her. After a few seconds of sitting there frozen, wondering if he was seeing things, he realised the hand Maddy raised to wave at him with only had three fingers.

***

After the screen door swung shut behind her, metal buzzing from the impact, Maddy clutched her hand to her chest. If you could even call it that. The thing on the end of her arm didn’t look like a proper hand. Two angry red stumps where her pointer and middle finger should’ve been, skinnier and bonier than her other hand.

Shit.

She pushed her feet into slippers to combat the cold wooden floors and passed years of framed school photos on her way to the kitchen. She should’ve been more careful, but Sam had startled her. She’d avoided his mum’s funeral, knowing she’d only face a barrage of questions about the accident, so she hadn’t seen him since his return.

Now all she had to do was avoid him until she finally moved out, which at this point was a completely imaginary event.

What was he even doing out there? He wasn't even dressed to be out in the yard. He looked like he was about to start Monday in the office, not jumpscare women taking the bin out.

Maddy pulled a fresh bin liner off the roll, not looking at her hands as she shook it out. She had spent the last six months avoiding nosy former classmates, surely she could evade her quiet, nerdy neighbour?

A bolt of pain shot through her mangled hand. She leaned against the bin with her good hand and bit her lip, breathing deeply through the pain. Cold only made the aches worse and this house was very poorly insulated. It didn't help that her parents had refused to get aircon, her mother insisting that the fireplace warmed the house enough. That was all well and good until they boarded a cruise ship last month and Maddy realised she couldn't hold an axe properly anymore. The massive logs were still sitting by the backdoor.

When the pain eased, she finally managed to win the battle against the liner and shove it down into the bin. Today was chores day. The dirty dishes had escaped the sink and were spreading across the bench. If her mother were here she’d be berated for it, even if the bench was normally a mess of mail and catalogues anyway.

If her mother was here, she’d probably push her back out the door and not let her in until she’d talked to Sam. You need to start getting out more Mads! The worst thing she could possibly think of right now was speaking to her neighbour. He’d ask about the fingers. Everyone did.

She moved around the dining table that was too big for space to the window that looked onto Ms Phillip’s – Sam’s – house. Three nights ago he’d left his kitchen window open and his sobs had echoed into her house. Her mum was not her favourite person, but Maddy would be a wreck if she didn't step off that cruise ship in two weeks. Maybe she should’ve at least said hello back.

She turned away from the window, shutting the blinds to try and trap some heat in. It was better this way.

Her hand cramped again. She stared at one of her drawings, framed and hung on the wall next to the fridge, as she waited for the pain to pass.

She hadn’t drawn a thing since waking up in the hospital. The doctors told her she was lucky to have only lost two fingers as if it was a blessing she couldn’t hold a pencil properly. When she found the bastard that did this to her, she was going to make him wish he’d never so much as looked her way.