Archive of Our Own

The small town of Falcon’s Creek, Indiana was a perfectly average small town in nearly every respect with somewhere between two and three thousand happy citizens living incredibly unremarkable lives. Falcon’s Creek didn’t have much in the way of landmarks to boast about. There was a single school district that every child in the area attended, a large mall that had just been put in, a scattering of parks and a large community pool, but nothing else that made it stand out on a map.

Because of the uneventful day-to-day that Falcon’s Creek usually enjoyed, many of the locals were left in a bored stupor, and bored people were nosy people, desperate for even the slightest change that might distract them from the drudgery of their own lives. That was why when two neighboring houses at the end of Walnut Drive were suddenly bought by two young couples, the locals couldn’t help but notice a few peculiarities about the new arrivals.

5. The Neighbors Across the Street

The two new couples were quick to visit with the rest of the families in the neighborhood, introducing themselves as Nancy and Steve Harrington and Robin and Edward Munson respectively. Though many of the families had been surprised at first that the two couples were apparently close to each other, they both quickly explained that the four of them had been friends in high school and college, all of them growing up in Hawkins, Indiana.

It wasn’t long before Bethany Scott received the two couples for a brief chat after lunch to welcome them to the neighborhood. Bethany and her husband Donald rarely had guests in their house after their two children had left for college, and Bethany found herself eagerly awaiting the chance to meet some fresh faces, even if they were a couple decades younger than herself.

When the day of the visit finally arrived, Bethany pulled down her best tea set, a gift from her late grandmother, and searched through her cabinets for her most expensive tea leaves that she had gotten on a trip to France with her husband a couple of months ago. Donald had told her she was making an unnecessary fuss over what would likely be a short visit, but Bethany had insisted that the last thing either of them wanted to do was make a poor impression on their new neighbors. She was just finishing straightening things that admittedly didn’t need much straightening when the doorbell rang.

“Oh!” She said, wiping her hands on her long skirt. “That’ll be them!”

“Who else would it be?” Her husband asked. He made no move to get up from his chair near the television.

Bethany sighed internally but plastered a smile on her face and walked over to the door. “Welcome!” She said, opening the door and looking over the two couples standing on the short paved walkway. “Come in, come in!”

“Thank you for having us,” one of the young women said.

Her brown hair was teased into a professional looking perm, and a pair of pearl earrings complimented the string of smaller pearls around her neck. She wore a lavender blazer over a cream colored blouse and a matching lavender skirt. The heels she wore were low enough to be casual complements to the outfit. Despite the measured smile on her face, the woman also had a no-nonsense tilt to her eyebrows and a piercing gaze without a single mascaraed lash out of place. Bethany thought she looked the picture of herself when she was a younger woman trying to make her way in the world.

“Your place is lovely,” a man who Bethany imagined was the young woman’s husband said as he moved past her into the entryway. “Steve Harrington,” he said, offering his hand to Bethany, who shook it, “And this is my wife, Nancy.”

“Well aren’t you two polite,” she grinned, dropping the young man’s hand and taking Nancy’s as well.

Steve Harrington was a handsome young man that Bethany imagined if she was twenty years younger she would find quite dashing. His appearance was as carefully cultivated as his wife’s, hair styled back to frame his face attractively. He wore a light blue polo and pressed pair of white slacks with some polished brown shoes. Together, they made an almost picturesque couple.

“Stevie here always minds his manners, don’t you, Your Highness?,” the other man said, grinning widely at Steve. The man in question made a face that made the other man laugh. He then turned to Bethany. “Eddie Munson. Not Edward, never Edward, just Eddie.” He offered his hand as well, and Bethany shook it, trying not to show her surprise at the man’s firm grip and the feeling of his many metal rings.

If Steve was the picture perfect boy next door, Eddie Munson was the exact opposite. His hair fell in stringy curls even longer than Bethany’s own. He wore a denim vest over a shirt with a colorful graphic T-shirt. Bethany could only assume that the word at the top proclaiming “Metallica” in spiky red letters referred to a band of some kind. His black jeans had rips in the knees (but surprisingly no wrinkles, Bethany wondered if his wife ironed them), and heavy looking black boots. He was dripping with metal jewelry around his fingers and looped around his neck, and she could see the edges of tattoos poking out under the collar of his shirt and trailing up his arms. One she could see clearly was a swarm of bats leading up from the inside of his right elbow.

“Eddie then,” Bethany said warmly. She knew a few other women in the cul-de-sac might balk at Eddie’s appearance, but he honestly reminded her of her son who had always been a bit of a misfit in their clean-cut little suburb with his dark clothing and love of music so loud it had made Bethany’s head hurt.

Eddie seemed to appreciate the lack of open hostility by smiling a little more genuinely at her before slinging an arm around the shorter woman at his side. “And this is my best girl, Robin.”

“Pleased to meet you. Yes, I am, uh, I’m Eddie’s wife,” Robin rushed out in one breath

She seemed much more nervous than her husband, stiffening slightly under Bethany’s gaze. Robin was a small girl with wide eyes that seemed to be uncertain what to focus on first. Her gaze darted from Bethany’s face to the entryway and back again. She looked uncomfortable despite the forced smile she wore, hands occasionally fiddling with the collar of her frilly, pink blouse or tugging the hem of her cream colored skirt down.

When she noticed the pile of shoes in the entryway she blurted, “Do you want us to take our shoes off?” Her eyes were filled with something close to emphatic pleading that nearly made Bethany laugh.

“If that’s more comfortable, dear,” Bethany said, “We don’t mind either way.” Robin quickly kicked off her heels in the entryway, Nancy, Steve and Eddie following suit at a much slower pace. “Well then, welcome to the neighborhood! I’m Bethany Scott and my husband Donald is in the living room at the moment.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Steve said, “Sorry it took so long for us to stop by here.”

She waved him off, leading the couples into her dining room. “Pay it no mind. I’m sure the four of you had your hands full unpacking all your things and getting your papers sorted.” She turned toward the living room to see her husband still in his chair. “Donald!” She called, trying not to sound too exasperated. “The company’s here.”

“I can see that,” Donald said without turning around.

Bethany’s smile turned slightly forced. “I’m sorry about him,” she said, “He’s… he’s been very excited about the game today.” He hadn’t really been, but it was the only thing Bethany could think of to save face.

“Oh, is that the Colts game?” Steve said, much to Bethany’s relief, “I wanted to watch that too.”

“Steve, we’re visiting!” Nancy hissed, smacking her husband on the shoulder.

“No, no, feel free to join him,” Bethany said, “Would either of you like a drink to take out there?” She turned to Steve and Eddie expectantly.

“Oh, uh,” Eddie said, “Yes, sports. I love sports. Uh, I’m good with just water.”

“Me too,” Steve said.

“Just a moment,” Bethany said.

Twenty minutes later Eddie and Steve were out in the living room watching the game as Robin and Nancy sat with Bethany at the dining table, a steaming hot pot of tea sitting on a coaster in the middle. Bethany stood to pour tea for the other women.

“So Hawkins,” she began conversationally, “That’s a few hours south of here, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Nancy said, smiling politely.

“Sugar, dear?”

“Just one cube, please.”

Bethany dropped a sugar cube into Nancy’s teacup with a small pair of metal tongs. She turned to Robin. “Any sugar?”

“Oh, no thank you,” Robin replied, looking slightly flustered.

She quickly reached for the tea and took a quick sip, wincing as the heat hit her tongue. She set the cup back down just as quickly before tugging at the lace edging of her shirt. Bethany imagined she was still a bit nervous after moving to the neighborhood, and felt a wave of sympathy for the young woman. It couldn’t be easy moving to an area where everyone already seemed to know each other. She resolved to try and make the new neighbors feel welcome.

“I have a cousin that used to live in Hawkins,” Bethany said, resting the tongs on the side of the sugar cube holder. “He left after that nasty earthquake hit though.” Both of the womens’ expressions faltered, and Bethany internally cursed herself for her lack of sensitivity. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. Did either of you…?”

“Our families managed to make it out alright, thankfully,” Nancy said, “But there were a lot of people we went to high school with who were injured or went missing afterwards.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how hard that must have been,” Bethany said, “I’m glad to hear that your families were alright though. I was so terrified for my cousin when I saw the videos on the TV. It must have been even worse to live through it.”

“It was pretty hard,” Robin said, “But, uh, we all came out of it okay. And nothing else bad happened, so. All good.” She smiled uncertainly, hands raising to make a half aborted thumbs-up motion.

“Of course,” Bethany said, taking that as her cue to drop the matter, “But I must ask, what made the four of you decide to move to our little town?”

“We needed a change of scenery,” Nancy said, “Hawkins is still in the rebuilding process and, well, we thought it’d just be nicer to get away from all those bad memories.”

“Completely understandable, dear,” Bethany nodded. “I’m glad you all chose this place though. It’s very peaceful here.”

“That’s what we’re hoping,” Nancy said.

“Are the two of you planning to start families here? It’s a wonderful place for children,” Bethany said. She took a sip of her tea.

Nancy and Robin exchanged glances, Robin getting an odd sort of smile on her face. “Steve wants a pretty big family,” Robin said. “What was it he said? ‘Six little nuggets’?”

“Yes well, we’ll see how that goes,” Nancy said stiffly.

“Worried about having children? It gets easier after the first,” Bethany said kindly.

“We were actually thinking about adoption,” Nancy said.

“Oh,” Bethany said, slightly shocked, “Any particular reason?”

“Nancy’s family has, uh, a genetic condition,” Robin said, “You know, pretty horrible. The kids are all gangly and deformed and, uh, have three eyes and stuff.”

“What,” Nancy said, “Oh, I mean, yes. Not the three eyes, but my family does have a genetic condition that I’d prefer not to pass on to my children so, uh, Steve and I have considered adopting instead.”

“I see,” Bethany said, a bit curious but not impolite enough to pry further, “Well, I think that’s wonderful. You’ll be giving a home to a kid that really needs one.”

“You’d be a good mother, Nancy,” Robin said, tone flooded with sincerity.

Nancy smiled softly. “Thank you, Robin.”

“Steve will be happy either way, I’m sure,” Bethany said.

Nancy jolted. “Oh. Yes. Steve. He’ll be very happy.” She smiled but it was a bit more awkward. “Always talking about kids.”

“And you, Robin?” Bethany asked, “Any plans for a family?”

“Me?” Robin asked, glancing at Nancy, “Oh, um, Eddie and I haven’t talked about it much yet, but I’m sure we’ll have kids or something someday. I think he wants to get a dog first though.”

Bethany laughed. “Why not both? Our oldest practically grew up with our dog.”

“You have a dog?” Robin asked, perking up.

“She passed two years ago unfortunately,” Bethany said, “But she was the most darling thing.” She pointed to a picture frame in the corner of the room that held a grainy photo of her oldest son, then age eleven, with a smiling black lab.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Robin said, “She looks like a very beautiful dog though.”

“Oh she was,” Bethany smiled, “And Harry, that’s my oldest, loved her to pieces. I’m sure she’s running around in doggy heaven waiting for him.”

“Absolutely,” Robin said fondly.

“Goodness, you’ve only been here for forty minutes and all we’ve done is talk about sad things,” Bethany said, “I’m sorry to have made such a sorry impression on you two.”

Robin waved her hands in front of her, nearly knocking over her teacup. “Oh, no, it’s fine! It happens sometimes!”

“We really have enjoyed speaking with you,” Nancy said, “It’s nice to get to know our neighbors. I think we’ll all get along.”

“I certainly hope so,” Bethany said, “I can’t imagine only speaking to Donald for the rest of my life.”

The next two hours passed in a blur as the conversation moved to lighter topics like the work Nancy and Robin were doing in town (Nancy was working for the local paper, Robin and Eddie were working at a local bar that often hosted live music shows and Steve would be a manager at the local grocery store), their plans for home decorating and remodeling and what restaurants were the best in the area. By the time the two couples were finally pulling their shoes back on and heading down the walkway to their houses Bethany was feeling optimistic about the two new additions to the neighborhood.

“Well, what did you think, Donald?” She asked as she walked back toward the dining room to collect the dirty teacups and plates.

“Seems nice enough,” Donald grunted. “The Harrington boy knew a bit about football.”

“Is that really the only thing you were able to learn about them?” Bethany sighed. She started carting the cups over to the sink, mentally reviewing the conversation she’d had with Nancy and Robin. The two girls were nice enough, but both of them seemed to be just slightly uncomfortable. Perhaps it was just the nerves of meeting their neighbor for the first time, but Bethany wondered if it was something more making them just a bit high strung.

She’d certainly never seen anyone jump in their seats the way they had when the lights had flickered.

4. The Community Pool Lifeguard

Trevor had been less than thrilled to be spending a majority of his summer break working at the Falcon’s Creek community pool, but he really wanted to have a car for himself now that he’d finally finished testing for his driver’s license, so Trevor had sucked it up and signed up to be a lifeguard for the summer. He ended up taking shifts five days a week under the sweltering sun to watch a bunch of rowdy kids, bored housewives and rambunctious teenagers run around the pool, or not run around it if Trevor’s whistle had something to say about it.

“No running!” He snapped through his plastic megaphone at two young boys that had been chasing each other. They both slowed to stop, the younger sticking his tongue out in Trevor’s direction while the older flipped him off. “Wanna get banned?” He barked at them.

“Eat shit!” The older yelled, but the two of them didn’t resume their chase, instead opting to jump in the pool.

Trevor huffed but took it as a win as he leaned back in the uncomfortable plastic chair. Despite the umbrella over his head, his legs were sticking out into the sunlight and he could already feel the tell-tale tingle of a sunburn in the works. He pulled his legs back as far as he could, but couldn’t hold the position long before his legs started cramping. He sighed and relaxed his legs again, resigning himself to another night of spreading aloe on the burns.

He grabbed one of the small towels he’d draped over the metal railings at the top and mopped sweat off the back of his neck, glancing around the pool disinterestedly. There were a few kids throwing water around in the shallow end despite the “No Splashing” sign, but no one looked to be in danger of drowning, so Trevor elected to ignore it.

His idle gaze scanned the slowly tanning rows of adults relaxing. Occasionally some of the women attempted to shoot him coy looks that made his skin crawl slightly. They knew he was still in high school, he thought. He went to school with some of their kids. Ugh. When he’d told his best friend Sam about it, the other had just slapped him on the back and told him that he should enjoy all those ladies thinking he was handsome. Trevor certainly didn’t feel handsome under their gazes. He felt more like a piece of meat dangling in front of some starving wolves. He managed a strained smile and half-wave as woman at least twice his age winked at him over a pair of gigantic sunglasses before very pointedly turning away.

Trevor’s eyes continued their journey across the pool deck, searching for anything else to focus on, when they landed on two couples who had commandeered four lawn chairs. He vaguely recognized them from when his mother had pointed them out at some neighborhood event. They’d moved into the two empty houses on Walnut Drive that he and his friends had ridden their bikes past in middle school countless times. His mother had referred to them as the Harrington’s and Munson’s respectively. The only reason Trevor had retained even that much information was because he’d been surprised at how young both couples were, probably barely out of college.

Mrs. Harrington dropped the pink beach towel around her waist to reveal a striped white and blue bikini. Though Trevor was sure he’d feel guilty about it later, he could admit that she had a nice figure. He averted his eyes as she dove into the deep end of the pool. Back on deck, Mrs. Munson handed off a bottle of sunscreen to Mr. Harrington.

Trevor’s eyebrows raised. Mr. Munson glanced over from his lawn chair next to his wife, but didn’t even bat an eye as Mr. Harrington began rubbing sunscreen all over her neck and back where the red one piece swimsuit she wore didn’t cover. Mr. Munson said something to his wife that made her laugh, but didn’t make any moves to snatch the sunscreen out of Mr. Harrington’s hands or deck the other man in the face for touching his wife.

Huh.

After Mr. Harrington had finished with rubbing in the sunscreen on Mrs. Munson, he turned to Mr. Munson and held up the bottle in what was a clear offer. Mr. Munson laughed again, but turned to accommodate Mr. Harrington. Trevor privately thought that Mr. Munson needed more sunscreen given how red he was already looking, though oddly enough he seemed to get even redder as Mr. Harrington helped him apply more.

Abruptly, Mrs. Munson stood from her lawn chair and peered into the pool. “Nancy?” She called, voice concerned. Trevor jolted. He’d forgotten to keep an eye on Mrs. Harrington after she’d dove in. “Nancy?!” She yelled again, voice beginning to border on panic.

Both Mr. Munson and Mr. Harrington stood up, streaks of unabsorbed sunscreen still smeared on the former’s back now totally forgotten as the three of them stared at the water with no small amount of horror. Mr. Munson looked up to Trevor with something close to fear in his eyes. Trevor straightened on the lifeguard stand, already reaching for the red rescue buoy strapped to the side of his stand. His mind raced as he tried to recall all the American Red Cross CPR classes he’d taken. He hoped that Jamie was on desk duty to call an ambulance if necessary.

Mr. Harrington had just shucked his shirt off, ready to dive in, when Mrs. Harrington suddenly resurfaced near the pool ladder. She stared up at the three of them and said something that had all of them plopping heavily back down on their lawn chairs in relief. Mr. Harrington said something to her while shaking his head, and Mrs. Harrington laughed as she climbed out of the pool and crossed the deck to rejoin her friends.

Crisis averted.

Trevor let out an internal sigh of relief. The last thing he needed was someone drowning on his watch. He relaxed back against the stand’s chair, pressing a hand to his chest to try and calm his rapidly beating heart. He glanced back at the couples just to make sure, but it appeared that Mrs. Harrington was no worse for wear. If anything, Mrs. Munson looked more shaken by the whole experience as Mrs. Harrington rubbed a soothing hand over her back.

He shook his head. That was more than enough excitement for the rest of his summer. Trevor gave one last glance at the group and nodded to himself upon seeing they were all fine. Well, there were some alarming scars that criss-crossed Mr. Harrington’s chest and stomach, but they looked long since healed and Trevor wasn’t going to worry about something that had happened a long time ago.

3. The Neighborhood Block Party

George never looked forward to the neighborhood block party, held every year smack dab in the middle of summer on what felt like the hottest day of the year. His wife Dana seemed to enjoy the event much more, socializing with all her friends over their favorite television programs or whatever food they’d brought for the potluck, but George had mainly found himself stuck by the grill making idle small talk with the other neighborhood husbands about sports or work, both of which were far from stimulating conversations.

It didn’t help that the new faces that had recently taken up residence in their neighborhood were a good thirty years younger than he was, leaving him precious little in common with the new arrivals. He sighed at himself internally. When did he become such an old fogey?

He snuck a glance at his wife, who was giving him the evil eye before staring pointedly at the grill that a couple of people were hanging around. He grimaced upon seeing that it was the two new couples, but he knew he’d get an earful from Dana if he kept refusing to be social. So, after taking a fortifying sip of lukewarm beer, he trudged over to the grill under the pretense of examining the meat.

“Smells good,” he said without any preamble. The two men in front of the grill glanced at each other nervously and their wives gave a couple forced laughs.

“Steve’s always been pretty good at cooking,” Nancy said.

George raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

“That a problem?” The man with longer hair asked, frowning at George like he expected the next words out of his mouth to be something straight out of a commercial from the 50’s.

“Course not,” George said, “Every man should know how to cook.”

Though his own father might have disapproved on George learning his mother’s recipes, George had always been practical enough to realize how vital it was for him to know how to feed himself while also being dull enough to not care too much about what others thought of him for it. He might have gotten a bit of ribbing at the family reunions from his uncles for his culinary knowledge, but he’d always been the one taking home empty Tupperware after all his food had been picked clean.

His words seemed to reassure the man behind the grill. “That’s what I’m saying,” the man said, “I always tell Eddie here that he should learn. He can’t make anything aside from what fits in the slots of a toaster.”

“That’s because I have y- uh, Robin to cook for me,” Eddie said, stuttering over his words.

He raked a hand through his hair nervously, and George took in the many glints of metal rings on the young man’s fingers. His father probably would’ve also disapproved of that, but the grumpy old coot was long buried and George was of the opinion that if it wasn’t bothering anyone then it was none of George’s business.

“You cook too then?” George asked the woman he assumed was Eddie’s wife.

“Oh, uh, yes!” Robin said, “All the time! Pretty much every meal! I, uh, my mom was always cooking and I helped her in the kitchen a lot, cut my fingers a lot too, but I learned a few things. Like soup! I’m good at soup!”

“She taught me a few recipes,” the other woman said, cutting through Robin’s unending stream of words smoothly.

“Not that I really needed too,” Robin said, looking relieved. “Nancy’s always, uh, picked things up really fast.”

“Which is for the best,” Steve laughed, “Robin used to get really nervous in the kitchen and overthink her cooking a lot.”

“Sounds like you four have known each other for a while,” George remarked.

“Oh, we’ve always been neighbors-“

“Golfing buddies!”

Steve and Robin exchanged panicked glances as they spoke at the same time.

“Neighbors who are golfing buddies,” Steve amended.

“Fore!” Robin said nervously while making what was clearly a bowling motion. Nancy elbowed her in the ribs while Eddie picked at the chipped black nail polish he wore. George thought they were all a bit peculiar, but put it all in the ‘None of his Business’ box.

“Sounds nice,” George said, “I have a few buddies around here, but we never go out much together. I’ve never been one for golfing and they don’t like going to music shows much.”

Eddie perked up at that. “Music shows?”

“Oh yeah,” George said, “Used to be real into those when I was your age. Can’t get out as often as I used to. Maybe I’m gettin’ too old for that kinda thing.”

“No way, man,” Eddie said, shaking his head so emphatically that his hair went flying, “I’ve seen guys your age at metal concerts or down at The Hideout before!”

“The Hideout?” George said, “That’s, eh, that’s downtown, ain’t it?”

“Yeah,” Robin said, “Eddie and I both work there.”

“That right?” George said, “Well, what kinda music they got?”

“A little of everything,” Robin said, “Uh, country, metal, punk, rock n’ roll…”

“What bands did you listen to?” Eddie asked, eyes bright.

“Well, my friends and I once piled into an old van and took a road trip out to a Lynyrd Skynyrd concert, but I actually met my wife at Jimi Hendrix,” George said, the memory making him smile even all those years later.

He doubted that anyone else at the block party could even imagine his wife Dana in the hippie outfit she’d worn to the concert that day, dripping with too much fringe and beads and hair flowing down to her waist, but George could see her in his mind’s eye, clear as day. They’d spent the whole day and well into the evening listening to music, smoking weed and making enough poor decisions to last a lifetime. Perhaps they actually had given that the most dangerous thing George seemed to do these days was decide whether the milk in the fridge was really that expired or if he could risk pouring it on his Wheat Thins.

“That’s sick, man,” Eddie said, pulling George back to the present. “I mean, Hendrix! He totally revolutionized the kind of sound equipment we use these days. I can’t believe you got to see him live!”

“It was a pretty incredible concert,” George said, “But enough about me, how are you young folks liking our little neighborhood so far? Too boring for you yet?” He smiled.

Nancy returned the grin. “Oh, we think it’s been lovely so far. Everyone here’s been pretty welcoming to us.”

“Yeah? That’s good,” George said, taking another sip of his beer. “What we lack in excitement we try to make up for with a good old-fashioned welcome for all types.”

The couples seemed to tense again at his words.

“That’s what we’re hoping,” Robin said, “I mean, not that anyone hasn’t been welcoming but, uh-“

“No need to mince words,” George said, shaking his head, “I know the world isn’t always kind to the kids. I just hope y’all can find something here worth sticking around for.”

Nancy smiled again, this one more genuine. “You know, I think we just might.”

2. The Book Club

Nancy Harrington hadn’t been in the community for very long, but she had already made connections with many of the local ladies in the neighborhood and started a small book club running right out of her house. Monica Murphy, for her part, couldn’t be more thrilled. She and most of the other women in the club had a few years, if not decades, on Nancy, but the younger woman never hesitated to smile at them or make them feel welcome.

“She’s one of the good ones,” Monica said to her husband as she was tucking into bed one evening. “I haven’t met many ladies who look like that and still stop to ask me how I’m doing or remember all our boys’ names.” Her husband had just grunted in agreement and gone back to reading his book, but Monica liked to think that he was glad she’d found some other women to talk to.

The book they were currently reading was The Famished Road, and Monica had been honestly shocked at how unflinchingly Nancy Harrington had taken to discussing it. At first some of the women had been more timid voicing their opinions, Monica included, but at Nancy’s prompting they all soon began to speak louder and longer until soon enough the day came that they were all engaging in heated discussions about the book’s portrayal of African spirituality, religion and even decolonization. Some of the opinions Monica heard she almost couldn’t believe were coming from the very same white women who she saw in church every Sunday with their perfectly pressed skirts and oversized hats.

That wasn’t the only change she’d noticed either. Some of the women had become more considerate, more critical of the rhetoric they’d seen on the news. She’d even seen a couple of them bite their tongues and think first about the things they said or scold their husbands to be more considerate which, in Monica’s opinion, was nothing short of a miracle. Nancy Harrington’s book club wasn’t going to magically fix the world, but it was definitely something that brought some change, which was no easy feat in Falcon’s Creek, Indiana.

Even though Monica was learning a lot about Nancy and the other women in the club, she knew precious little about Nancy’s husband, Steve Harrington. Any time the girls began to arrive at Nancy’s house, Steve would be quick to excuse himself with a charming smile and an easy, “I’ll leave you lovely ladies to it.”

Monica didn’t really think much about Steve’s behavior. In fact, it was nice to have the house just to themselves so that they could discuss their worries and concerns without any fear of it getting back to their husbands, but Monica thought she wouldn’t mind if Steve stayed for a while. The man appeared to be very thoughtful and considerate and, just based on the women he’d married, didn’t seem at all intimidated to be around opinionated women. She dearly hoped for Nancy’s sake that Steve would keep up that attitude.

It was just as Steve was leaving one day that Monica’s eye caught on something, an unassuming instrument case in the corner of the room. “Oh, I didn’t know that either of you played trumpet!” She remarked, recognizing the shape and size of the case.

Her middle child played trumpet in the school band and nearly drove Monica and her husband out of their minds practicing all hours of the day. Eventually Monica had had to put her foot down and insist that he only practice between the hours of five and eight lest they start bothering the neighbors with all that racket. She loved her boy more than anything but some of the noises that instrument could make were loud enough to wake her dearly departed mother in heaven.

“Oh!” Steve exclaimed, staring at the instrument case as if it were his first time he’d ever laid eyes on it. “Yes! Trumpet! Uh…”

“Steve used to play in middle school,” Nancy said.

“I did?” Steve blinked, “I mean, I did! I was never very good at it though.” He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously.

“One of my boys plays at school,” Monica said proudly, “He’s hoping to make first chair now that he’s going to be an eighth grader this coming year.”

“That’s wonderful!” Another woman in the club exclaimed, “Maybe he’ll get a solo for the fall recital then!”

“That’s what he’s hoping,” Monica laughed. She turned back to Steve. “Maybe you could give him a few pointers.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Oh, I don’t, uh, I mean he’s probably better than me at this point. I haven’t touched a trumpet in years.”

“That so?” Monica asked, only slightly disappointed. Part of her understood, though. She herself had taken piano lessons from first to eighth grade and if you asked her to play today she could probably barely make her way through ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’.

“But!” Steve said, “Robin also used to play in high school!”

“Mrs. Munson?” Monica asked.

“Yes,” Nancy added, “She was in marching band. She could probably help your son out.”

Monica smiled. “I’ll have to ask her sometime then.”

“I think she’d be really good at teaching your kid,” Steve said, nodding feverishly. “But don’t let me cut into your book club time! I’ll just head over to Eddie’s.”

Nancy nodded. “Be safe, dear.”

“Who knows what trouble I might run into in the fifteen whole steps between our houses,” Steve said, smiling wryly.

“Knowing you, probably bats or something,” Nancy said, smiling in a private way that indicated some kind of inside joke. Steve laughed waved to the club one last time and ducked out the front door.

“You two are just darling together,” Monica said as Nancy sat back down in the armchair.

Nancy startled a bit at that. “You really think so?”

Monica nodded. “You two talk like you’ve known each other forever.”

“He’s very important to me,” Nancy said, smiling lightly, “I don’t know how I’d get by without him.”

From there the conversation turned toward the book they’d been reading and the most recent chapters, but Monica couldn’t help but think about how Nancy and Steve seemed to fit together. It was almost like the two of them could read each other’s minds, like they anticipated what the other needed before they’d even asked for it. For Monica and her husband that had been a skill they’d developed years into their marriage after overcoming what had seemed like unendurable hardships together. As far as Monica knew though, Nancy and Steve hadn’t been together for very long at all. Perhaps their years together at high school had been more intense than Monica had thought.

1. The Local Kids

Peter had never thought that much of the Harrington’s or the Munson’s after they moved into Walnut Drive. His mother had pointed them out at the last neighborhood barbecue, but Peter had been preoccupied with trying to squirm away from his parents’ sides to go hang out with his friends down by the creek. He’d managed it after about thirty minutes, taking advantage of the adults getting involved in some boring conversation about weather proofing their houses or whatever to slowly make his way to the edge of the yard before dashing back into the woods and down the muddy path toward the creek. Ethan had waved him over to where he and the others had found a shallow puddle full of tadpoles, and from then on Peter had put all thoughts of the two new families on the street from his mind.

He was forcefully reminded though as he and his friends peddled their bikes down the street and were caught off guard by a loud guitar chord piercing the normally quiet atmosphere. Peter, who’d always been the slowest biker of their group, had braked hard and turned to see Mr. Munson out in his garage. His car had been pulled out to park on the street and the garage floor was cleared aside for an old looking rug, a tiny, beat up amp, a chair and a few scattered notebooks.

Mr. Munson was adjusting a few of the tuning pegs on his glossy, black guitar before he strummed another loud chord. Peter found himself transfixed as the man began to tear through a complicated sounding riff, fingers flying up and down the fretboard so fast that they were nearly a blur. Peter didn’t recognize the song that he was playing, but he found himself listening intently to the aggressive music. Mr’s Munson’s hair flew in every direction as he head-banged his way through the guitar solo.

“Whoa, he’s really good.”

Peter jolted and looked over to see Ethan next to him, the other boy leaning forward on his own bike’s handlebars. He must have circled back around when he noticed Peter not following the others. He was a good friend like that, always checking to make sure Peter was keeping up rather than leaving him to struggle after everyone alone.

“He is,” Peter said, eyes drawn back to Mr. Munson’s guitar as if they were magnetized.

He found himself wondering how long the man would have had to practice to get that good at guitar. Peter didn’t do much these days except when his friends invited him out to play. Whenever he was stuck at home he would usually end up reading the same books he’d already read a dozen times or flipping through boring daytime gameshows. He wondered if he could convince his parents to get him a guitar for Christmas.

“Do you know what song he’s playing?” Ethan asked.

Peter shook his head. “I don’t know much music aside from the Beatles.” His mom always played that when she was cooking or cleaning.

“We should ask him,” Ethan said, swinging his leg over his bike and dismounting.

Peter jolted. “What?! No! We can’t just ask him!”

“Why not?” Ethan asked, walking his bike to the edge of the street and kicking his flip stand down.

Peter awkwardly toddled on his bike after him. “Because-! Just because!”

“Because why?” Ethan asked.

Peter huffed and did a stagger jump to dismount his own bike. “Stranger danger! We don’t know him!”

“Well, we’re not gonna get to know him by never talking to him,” Ethan pointed out, frustratingly reasonable.

Peter rolled his eyes as he flipped down his own kickstand. “He could be a murderer or something!”

Ethan snorted. “Yeah Peter, they just let a murderer move into Walnut Drive.”

“You never know!” Peter insisted, though he flushed a little in embarrassment.

“Come on, he can’t be that bad,” Ethan said, already walking toward the Munson’s driveway.

“Ethan!” Peter hissed after him. Ethan made no move to stop or turn around. “Ethan!” 

Peter deliberated with himself for a few seconds, part of him yelling that he should just hop back on his bike and leave Ethan to deal with potential serial killer Mr. Munson, but a larger part of him felt guilty for even thinking about abandoning his friend when the other had always stuck around for Peter. After letting out a frustrated breath, Peter finally abandoned his bike and hurried after his friend.

By the time the two of them made it to the top of the driveway, Mr. Munson was sitting down on the chair, chugging water from a plastic bottle. He looked up and grinned when he saw the two boys approaching.

“I was wondering how long you two brats were gonna watch,” he said, though he said the words in such a way that it didn’t sound like an insult.

Peter still reddened wondering how long Mr. Munson had seen them both watching him. “Sorry,” he apologized reflexively.

“Nothing to be sorry about, little man,” Mr. Munson said with a wink, “I’m always happy to put on a show for an adoring crowd.” Peter floundered, not really sure how to respond.

“We wanted to know what song you were playing,” Ethan said, never one for subtlety or easing in to a conversation.

“Ethan!” Peter hissed.

Mr. Munson laughed. “What you just heard where the soothing sounds of Metallica.”

“They weren’t very soothing,” Ethan said.

“Ethan!” Peter was now elbowing his friend.

Fortunately Mr. Munson just laughed louder. “Course not. They’re meant to be exciting. Angry. Makes you want to get up and do something.”

“Like what?” Peter asked against his better judgement.

Mr. Munson shrugged. “Scream. Run around. Break something. Destroy the government.”

“What?”

“I was wondering why I was suddenly able to hear myself think,” another voice said. Another man emerged from the house into the garage. Peter recognized him vaguely as Mr. Harrington. The man smiled at Mr. Munson and handed him a wet washcloth. “I should’ve known the only reason you stopped giving me a headache was so you could corrupt the youth.”

Mr. Munson grinned at the new arrival and took the cloth to wipe off the sweat gathering on his forehead and neck. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Mr. Harrington glanced at Peter and Ethan with mild alarm, but when neither of them said anything, he smiled. “You two are Peter and… Ethan, right?”

“Yeah,” Ethan said, “I saw you at the grocery store before.”

“Oh right!” Mr. Harrington said, “You were shopping with your mom.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “What are you two doing here?”

“Clearly my incredible playing drew them here,” Mr. Munson said, “Like moths to a metal flame.”

“I know what metal is,” Peter said, “Is that what you were playing?”

“Sure was!” Mr. Munson said with a wide grin, “Where’d you hear it?”

“It was playing in the record store,” Peter said, “My mom wanted to buy another album when I heard it on the speakers. I don’t think my mom liked it, though.”
Mr. Munson sighed. “Shame. I would’ve loved to meet someone around here with more discerning tastes.” He lowered his voice to a mock-whisper, “Stevie here doesn’t have any taste either.” He jerked a thumb toward Mr. Harrington. “This guy only listens to ABBA.”

“There’s nothing wrong with ABBA!” Mr. Harrington protested loudly as Peter and Ethan giggled.

“Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart,” Mr. Munson said, reaching a hand up to drop the now sweaty wet rag on the back of Mr. Harrington’s neck and making the other squawk in disgust.

Peter tilted his head. He wondered why Mr. Munson kept referring to Mr. Harrington as ‘sweetheart’. He’d heard his own father refer to his mother with the term before, but both of them insisted it only for someone you loved very, very much, something they’d made abundantly clear when Peter had accidentally used it once for Ethan. He looked between Mr. Munson and Mr. Harrington and mentally shrugged. Maybe his parents had been wrong, or maybe it just meant different things in different places.

He put all thoughts of that out of his mind though when Mr. Munson turned back to the two boys.

“But anyway, do you brats wanna hear some more metal?” Mr. Munson asked, grin sharp.

“Yeah!” Ethan said, looking excited.

“Yes, please,” Peter said, quieter.

Mr. Harrington sighed. “Try not to blow their eardrums out, Eddie. I don’t want any calls from their parents complaining that your music somehow made a couple kids deaf.”

“Don’t worry, these two are already primed and ready to rock out,” Mr. Munson said.

Mr. Harrington shook his head but smiled as he walked back toward the door to the house. “Don’t believe a word he says, okay kids?” Peter and Ethan both nodded, but turned excitedly back to Mr. Munson once Mr. Harrington was out of sight.

“How do you do that thing?” Peter asked, “You know, the thing where you tilt the guitar back and it goes ‘bwaaaah’”

Mr. Munson laughed. “Let me show you a few chords first.”

As Mr. Munson talked Peter and Ethan through their first impromptu guitar lesson, Peter wondered idly why Mr. Harrington was over at the house. He clearly wasn’t there to stay for Mr. Munson’s guitar practice, but he didn’t look like he was in a hurry to be anywhere else either. Maybe that’s just what adults did, Peter thought, go over to each other’s houses for no reason. Peter wondered if he could still do that at his age, if his parents would allow him to hang out at Mr. Munson’s house more often. He hoped so. Mr. Munson seemed to know all sorts of cool things.

+1. One Half of a Love Story

Judy was old, and she knew it. There were days when she woke up and had a hard time just getting her shoes on, days when she had to walk with a cane, and days when her heart ached so badly that she could hardly glance at the empty space on the bed where her love used to be. Often her house seemed too big for one person, too many empty spaces and lonely mementos. Because of this, on the days that were good days for her, Judy resolved herself to taking walks around the park near her house in an effort to not spend her time wasting away in her silent house.

These walks usually took place at odd hours, usually on days when her back protested too much to stay in bed or when she awoke from a dream so full of longing that she couldn’t bear to stay indoors for one more minute. Sometimes she would be out in the middle of the day when the kids were all at school and their parents at work, while other times she would walk in the middle of the night, her only company the stars and moon overhead. Tonight was one of the latter.

Judy glanced up at the stars and felt the ghost of a hand brushing her hair back behind her ear.
You outshine them all, my love. An echo of a voice said in a way that had always made Judy blush and laugh like a teenager even after all their years together.

She imagined calling the voice a flatterer, and shoving them lightly. She imagined a tinkle of laughter that she used to wish she could bottle up and put on her nightstand to listen to whenever the longing became too much. She imagined a pair of lips pressed against her forehead before the other began to point out all the constellations that Judy constantly mixed up despite her best efforts to learn them.

For a moment she thought the gasp she heard came from herself, from the way her heart had lodged itself in her throat, but she soon realized the sound had come from nearby. She looked over to see a white gazebo sitting on the side of the path, nearly glowing the moonlight. Inside were two couples, both staring at Judy with panicked expressions.

They rushed to straighten themselves in front of her, but Judy had turned quickly enough to see the way that the boy’s fingers had been interlocked and how one of the girls had been holding the other around the waist. The couples both quickly sprang apart, hands smoothing clothing and fixing hair, sitting up as straight as school children caught misbehaving by a stern teacher. Even with their fast reaction, the four youths knew they had been seen and they all stared at Judy, eyes wide and bright with fear.

“Well, that won’t do,” Judy said, voice coming out with a bit of a wheeze from disuse.

One of the girl’s eyes shone, watery, while the other wrapped an arm protectively around her shoulders, lip quivering despite the steely look in her eyes. The boy with long hair tensed like he was about to get up and run down the path while the other’s expression turned pleading, silently begging Judy to continue on her way and forget what she’d seen.

This won’t do at all, Judy thought, repeating her earlier words internally while shaking my head.

“You kids,” she began. They all tensed.

“Please,” one of the boys said, voice nearly breaking on the word.

“Back in my day,” Judy continued as if she’d never heard him. “We gave anyone who looked at us funny one of these before telling them to mind their own fucking business.” She lifted a bony, liver spotted hand to raise a middle finger.

One of the girls let out a surprised, high pitched shout of laughter before quirky covering her mouth while the other girl’s eyes widened until they were the size of moons. The boy who had spoken’s mouth dropped open and hung there, while the boy with long hair looked as though someone had just hit him between the eyes.

Judy lowered her hand. “No need to look so surprised,” she said, “You’re nothing Falcon’s Creek hasn’t seen before.” She cackled at their dumbstruck expressions before turning and continuing on her way back down the path toward her house.

The wind rushed past her and she lifted her gaze to the stars overhead once more, a smile on her lips.

My dear Ruth, I miss you every day I’m alive. Even if I can’t be in the stars with you yet, I still see pieces of you everywhere.