Read Online A House by the Side of the Road by Jan Gleiter - Free Book Online

it wouldn’t fit in place. Turning, she kicked it with the bottom of her foot. No use. When she pulled on the drawer above, it moved smoothly, almost loosely, in its tracks.
    She yanked the loose drawer all the way out and set it on the floor, then removed the bottom one. They looked to be exactly the same size, but they probably weren’t. Reversing them solved the problem. Both drawers closed all the way.
    She sat down again and pushed off her shoes, glancing out the window at the honeysuckle and the side yard. It was a beautiful afternoon. It was pleasant to live here, not to worry about shutting and locking the windows when you left the house just because the screens could be slid out of their tracks by an eight-year-old. Except on the chilliest nights, she could leave the window open a good foot all the time.
    She looked at the dresser more carefully. No, she told herself. Don’t be stupid. If anyone had come in, he would have done more than remove the drawers from a dresser and accidentally reverse them while putting them back. Besides, why would anyone want to remove the drawers from a dresser?
    Still, she got up and went into her study. The computer, the only valuable thing she owned, was just as she’d left it, her desk seemingly untouched.
    I guess being alone can make your mind do funny things, she thought. But she found she was shivering, although the room was warm.
    *   *   *
    By late afternoon, the missing pickets had been replaced and the loose ones reattached. The tedium of the work had been relieved by a game of catch with Jane. Still, it had been too many hours of bending and wrenching and pounding nails. Meg straightened and sighed, a dull ache tensing the muscles in her lower back. She looked around. When the fence was painted, it would look good.
    A red pickup came along the road, crossed into the wrong lane, and stopped on the shoulder. The driver rolled his window all the way down and leaned out, lifting a Pittsburgh Pirates cap as he did so.
    â€œLooks like the new hammer worked pretty well,” he said.
    â€œSure did,” replied Meg. She was unreasonably pleased to see him again.
    â€œSo this is your place? There used to be another woman living here.”
    â€œShe moved,” said Meg. “It’s mine now, fence and all.”
    â€œWell, welcome, neighbor.” He smiled. “My name’s Jack Deutsch. Like a Hollander, but spelled e-u-t-s-c-h. I’m about a mile down this road.” He pointed ahead of him. “On the other side.”
    Meg shifted the hammer to her left hand and held out her right across the fence. Jack stretched out of the cab to shake it.
    â€œMeg Kessinger,” said Meg, “I’m glad to meet you.” She wished she weren’t still wearing her Boy Scout shirt which, by now, was looking rather disreputable, and that she had on a better pair of jeans. “I just moved in a couple of days ago.”
    â€œMet the Ruschmans?” he asked. “Next place down?”
    â€œYes,” she said. “All four of them.”
    â€œYou couldn’t have better neighbors. The people in the next house on your side”—he pointed over his shoulder back down the road—“don’t live here much of the year. But if you need something Christine doesn’t have, feel free to bang on my door. My name’s on the mailbox by the road.”
    â€œThanks,” said Meg, confident that thinking of something Christine didn’t have was a challenge she was equal to. “And I’ve met John Eppler and Michael Mulcahy, who is, I guess, kind of across the road from you.”
    â€œI’m a little further,” said Jack. Meg got the impression he’d been tempted to add “not further enough.” “Anyway,” he went on, “if you run out of nails or need a heat gun…”
    Meg laughed. “I’ll definitely be needing a heat gun, though there are places