Naya moved to Garner two years ago but not by choice. She graduated top of her class at Duke and immediately acquired a top entry-level job at a company in Research Triangle Park. She had a nice townhouse in Cary, a steady paycheck and a pug named Myrtle and she was content. That was until Tyler Johnson appeared as a temp about six months into her new profession and she was a goner. They were married two years later and she found herself in Garner, moving into the house her new husband had grown up in.
Most mornings started early for her because of the heavy commute. She worked her way up faster than anyone in the company’s history in her four years there. They had a special meeting and gave her a certificate to commemorate it. Tyler was unable to come to it because of his own work…again. How much work did a farm manager have, anyway? Whenever he gave her a lunch call, which was rare, he was talking about how he had the afternoon off since most of the farms he oversaw were running smoothly.
Tyler had been distant lately. He didn’t volunteer to help her with dinner like he used to and when Naya bought a new red dress, his favorite color, he didn’t even notice. Tyler always noticed things like that. He was a detailed man, always finding that one spot on the car he missed or picking out the mystery ingredient Naya threw into dishes every now and then.
This was partly the reason Naya came home early from her business trip the night before. She picked out some new lingerie from the Victoria’s Secret in JFK, threw her trench coat over it in the airport bathroom, and busted through her bedroom door, hoping to ignite some sort of passion in her lackluster husband. But the bed was empty. Naya used her new lingerie as pajamas that night, falling asleep before Tyler even got home. Tyler must not have noticed, he didn’t wake her up when he got home.
She wasn’t expected at work this morning until after lunch when her flight was supposed to get in but she figured she’d go in early anyway. There was nothing this house held for her; nowadays work seemed more worthwhile than her home life anyway. She took a long draw from her coffee as she leaned against the kitchen counter, peering out her window as the pink rays of the sun began to peek over the trees. The doorbell rang, startling her. She set down her cup and shuffled to the door, running over in her mind whether today was the third Wednesday of the month when she was supposed to pay the paper boy.
She recognized the woman at the door from the bookstore in town. She was holding a dish in her hands that looked like it held burnt vomit. The lady had tears welling up behind her bifocals. Naya began to wonder if she had the wrong house. Behind the woman, coming up the path was the man from the 24-hour diner, carrying another covered dish.
“I’m sorry,” Naya narrowed her eyes at what she could only assume were casseroles. “What’s going on?”
Oh, darlin’,” the woman reached out to touch Naya’s shoulder. “We are so sorry for your loss. Tyler was one of my best customers.”
Naya’s stomach dropped. She was aware that her mouth was wide open but she suddenly didn’t have the strength to close it. Her hands began to shake and the familiar feeling of goosebumps began to spread across her skin. These people didn’t know what they were talking about; that or this was a dream. A couple from down the street began to make their way up the walkway to the porch, each holding plates wrapped in tin foil. Naya backed away; the porch was getting a bit too crowded for her.
Her shoulders began to shake and her face grew hot. It wasn’t until she felt the hot tears on her face that she even knew she was crying. The wail that escaped her nearly startled the people on the porch, but that’s probably because most people don’t encounter a recent widowed woman busting out laughing on her front porch.
“What the hell, people?” Naya giggled behind her hand. She turned through the doorframe, cupping her hand around her mouth to project her voice into the living room. “Hey, Tyler, are you dead?”
The crowd on the porch, which had grown to include the florist and the young girl from the bakery that always stared at her husband when they ran into each other in town, began to whisper amongst themselves. The poor woman in front of them was in denial.
Suddenly a voice from deep in the house traveled out the door and onto the porch. “Not since the last time I checked. Alive and kickin’. Who’s asking?” Tyler Johnson’s familiar voice startled the crowd. The following silence was interrupted only by the sound of a flower vase shattering on the paneled wood.
Part 5 coming soon!
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