My Neighbor Kept Dumping Her Trash by My House Because She Didn’t Want to Pay for Garbage Pickup – But She Wasn’t Ready for What I Did Next
Helen’s habits weren’t limited to me.
At a neighborhood barbecue, I watched Susan ask her to keep the children out of her flower beds.
Helen smiled immediately. “Of course. I’m so sorry.”
An hour later, they were drinking lemonade together as if nothing had happened.
“That’s what adults do,” I told George. “You say something, you move on.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re terrible at nothing.”
George nodded toward Helen.
Helen’s habits weren’t limited to me.
She was standing beside the food table, admiring a small wooden picture frame.
Helen had picked it up. “What’s this?”
“Careful.”
She looked at me, surprised by my tone.
I took the frame from her and set it back. “My husband made it.”
“Oh. Your late husband?”
I nodded.
The frame wasn’t beautiful.
“Oh. Your late husband?”
One corner sat slightly higher than the other, and there was a tiny groove where he’d slipped with a tool. That was why I loved it.
Helen studied it. “You could have the photograph put into something nicer.”
I laughed because I assumed she was joking. She wasn’t.
I touched the uneven corner.
“That’s the point. He made it.”
She lifted both hands. “Fine. Keep your crooked frame.”
I assumed she was joking. She wasn’t.
The next morning, the wooden frame was gone.
I searched everywhere.
I opened moving boxes I had already unpacked, checked drawers, and even looked behind the mantel.
Nothing.
Eventually, I did what I always did.
I let it go.
The wooden frame was gone.
