As she watched, he steered the lawn mower around one of the shade trees in his backyard so fast, she was surprised he didn’t tip over. Then he proceeded to drag race up and down the yard, making a whole lot of racket to cut not a huge amount of grass.
After a few passes up and down the yard, along with another death-defying spin around a tree, he stopped the lawnmower and shut it off. “What?”
He was talking to her. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve been glaring at me with your hands on your hips the entire time I’ve been mowing. I assume I’m doing it wrong?”
She hadn’t realized she’d assumed such a damning position while she was watching. “It’s your yard.”
“But you disapprove.”
She laughed, throwing her hands up. “Again, it’s your yard.”
“I could do yours, too. It’d only take me a few minutes. You did make me shepherd’s pie, after all.”
“Thank you, but I enjoy mowing my lawn. With my lawnmower that doesn’t disturb the entire neighborhood or stink up the yard with exhaust fumes.”
“Ah. So it’s my big, bad lawnmower that’s annoying you.”
So much for a quiet, post-shepherd’s pie truce between neighbors. “Yes. It is.”
“Put your earbuds back in and turn the music up.”
She took a deep breath, then tried going about it a different way. “When you drive recklessly like that, I worry about your dog.”
“You mean the dog who hasn’t left the deck since I drove this around the corner?” Now that he mentioned it, Bear was still on the deck. “And I’m not reckless.”
“You almost rolled it over going around the tree.”
He laughed. “I did not. This thing corners so tight, it’s like being on rails.”
She had no idea what that meant, but she knew this conversation was pointless. After putting the earbuds back in her ears, she flipped through her playlist for some fun dance music and restarted her lawnmower.
There was no ignoring the big beast devouring the lawn next to hers at a record pace, but she did her best not to look over. She took her time, trying to enjoy an activity that usually relaxed her.
Before she knew it, the noise quit next door and she realized he was already done. She had to admit his way was a lot faster. But on principle, she refused to be jealous and give him the satisfaction of seeing it on her face. It wasn’t about speed, it was about taking pride in one’s lawn.
During one pass, she saw that Matt had positioned himself on a patio chair with a pitcher of lemonade in such a way he couldn’t be doing anything but watching her, with Bear stretched out at his feet. He raised the glass in a cocky salute when she looked over, and she refused to look that way again.
When she was finally done, at least an hour after he finished, she stowed the mower and the cord in the shed and looked out over her lawn. It didn’t look any different from his. They were the same length, more or less. Both green. Hers didn’t show any sign of having been lovingly mowed in an environmentally friendly way.
“You want some lemonade?” She turned to face Matt, who was still sitting on his deck. He pointed at the pitcher. “I have plenty, and mowing lawns works up a sweat.”
“It didn’t take you long enough to work up a sweat.”
When he grinned, she realized she’d given herself away. “I’d be happy to let you borrow mine if you want to take it for a spin next time.”
“Thank you, but I’d probably spin myself right into the trees.” She started toward her back door, wanting a tall glass of ice water.
“You sure you don’t want some lemonade?”
“No, thank you.”
She went inside and closed the door with a bang. Somebody obviously had no sense of boundaries. When people lived so close together, you had to pretend the other had some privacy. Not stare at them while they mowed and then bellow across the yard like a carnival barker hawking lemonade.
Standing at her sink, drinking a glass of water, she tried not to stare at the man playing fetch with his dog in his backyard. She, unlike him, had some sense of boundaries.
But she might have peeked a few times.
*
ON THURSDAY, MATT rode his quad down the main street of Whitford at the mandated ten miles per hour, getting a feel for the traffic pattern that brought the ATVs out of the woods behind the Trailside Diner and down through town to the Whitford General Store & Service Station, where they could get gas. He’d ridden the trails through the woods with Josh and Andy, but the access to town was vital.
Riders also had access to the municipal parking lot, where they could leave their machines and walk through town to visit other businesses if they were so inclined. The signage was clear, the residents gave him cheerful waves and he hadn’t seen any obvious red flags. Again he was impressed by how much thought the Northern Star ATV club had put into building their trail system.
Since he was there, he filled up with gas and then went into the store to pay. Fran Benoit was, as usual, behind the counter. Her thick, gray braid and flannel shirt seemed to be her daily uniform, and she was knitting what looked like a mint green baby blanket.
“Good morning, Fran.”