2021-11-20 - The neighborly thing

Granny Gail is moved in, and word has spread through the neighborhood as she settles. She's not in the same house, which is jarring for the people who knew her as the owner of the blue and white two story place down the road, but at her age, the modest single story house just makes more sense. It has less of a lawn and no stairs. There is some work to be done though. The picket fence needs some new white washing dearly, and the gutters look clogged even from the street. This is what teenage boys are paid to do through, right?

Gail isn't leaving everything to strapping young men though. No, she can be seen from the window facing the street up on a step ladder, hanging some curtains in the windows. A house isn't a home till the curtains are hung.

There are things that Alexander's mother takes very seriously. Being neighborly - no, that's not the right way to say it, it's Being Neighborly - is one of those things. She knows the birthdays and anniversaries of most of the townies in this part of town, and everyone gets regular cards, and even invitations to dinner now that she and her husband are retired. They have an active and large social circle.

Alexander, it is widely considered by many in the town, must have been left by the devil.

But devil-child or not, Alexander is still his mother's son, so when she calls and says that Mrs. Leigh has finished moving in, and she has baked a cherry cobbler, and would Alexander be a dear to run it by, he knows that this is not a request. More, he knows perfectly well that he's expected to offer to help with any menial chores or heavy lifting that the older lady might like, so when he shows up on the doorstep, he's dressed in work clothes - a faded flannel long-sleeve, jeans, and even a belt with work cloves and few simple tools - and he's holding a casserole dish with a glass cover. His mother has even demanded his hair be brushed before he goes Being Neighborly, so that looks relatively straight and neat, although still too long. He hits the doorbell with his elbow and waits.

Alexander should be able to see quite clearly the movement Gail takes at the sound of the doorbell. There's rustling of curtain fabric and the sound of her descending from the ladder. It's a few steps to the doorway and she throws it open, one hand holding a screwdriver settled on her hip and the other empty there. She is smiling, and she looks Alexander up and down, then up again to settle on his face.

"As I live and breathe. You're Thomas and Elizabeth's boy - Alexander, right? " She doesn't wait for him to confirm the identification but moves out of the doorway and waves him inside. "Is that Elizabeth's cobbler I smell? She must remember how much I loved that. Come come," she's not going to give Alexander a second option.

"Yes," Alexander says, bluntly, to the question. He walks in at the wave inside, asking, "Where do you want me to put the cobbler? It's cherry." He stares at the interior of the house with open, shameless curiosity. Eyes lingering on the ladder, he adds, "You shouldn't be on that without someone to spot you." Then he starts walking towards the kitchen, since that's the logical place to put a cherry cobbler.

There's no hi, how are you or Mom and Dad send their regards or anything like that. But then, Alexander's manners have always been...hit or miss. Mostly miss.

Gail's too old to worry about lack of manners. It's a waste of time, so she's happy enough to lead the way to the kitchen and gestures at the table. Here the signs of unpacking are mostly gone, other than broken down boxes in a corner and a trashcan full of the paper and protective wrap her belongings were stored in. "You sound like my daughters, always worried I'll fall again." She clicks her tongue to the top of her mouth in disapproval, "and if I remember right - you aren't anything like my daughters." Alexander might remember them, two brown haired girls without a lick of glimmer to them. One graduated high school about three years before Alexander might have, and another two years after.

"Sit sit, cobbler is best when it is hot, and you'd best sit down and have some with me." Gail points imperiously at the table. It's covered neatly with a floral table cloth. In the middle sits a lace dolly with a small bowl of flowers atop that. The picture of domestic bliss. Gail herself head towards the cupboards to fetch two plates, a serving spoon, and spoons.

"Yes, I remember them," Alexander says, his expression entirely neutral. He didn't like, and wasn't liked by, most of the people who grew up in his age group, but that doesn't mean he didn't know a fair amount about them. He stops, head tilting as if consulting some internal notebook in his head, and then says, "How are they doing now?" It sounds like he's reading the question off a cue card, but it still feels like genuine curiosity provoked it.

There's a hesitation at the pointing and what isn't really a request, but after a moment, Alexander slinks to the chair like someone who expects to be in trouble, and sits down. The dolly is stared at with deep distrust, like the lace might suddenly turn to snakes, or something. "Since I'm here, is there anything with unpacking that you needed help with? Ladder climbing, for example. I don't mind."

"As whiny now as they were then, though I do have several very adorable grandchildren." Gail says this with pride, just running right over his cue-card statement and taking it as genuine god honest need to know. Thankfully her hands are full of the dishes and soon the cobbler so she can't pull out the pictures of the grandchildren and make him look at all of them.

Gail goes to put that cobbler from him and pauses when her hand is about a foot away. Her expression seems to soften, and she settles the plate a little bit further from him than manners would allow, making him reach for it. Then she'll go and settle herself and her cobbler on the far side of the table. Not exactly comfortable gossip distance, but her expression makes it clear she's doing it deliberately. However, she doesn't call it out. "Well, I could use a second hand with the curtains. And the gutters, but not all that needs to day. "

There's the briefest hint of a smile that comes to Alexander's mouth when grandchildren are mentioned. "That's nice. How old are they, now?" This time, it's a little more natural, and his gaze shifts to watch her. If he feels the stirring of her abilities, he doesn't mention it--nor does he mention when she keeps her distance. He just reaches for the plate and places it before him. "Thank you. For the cobbler. Don't tell Ma, though. It's supposed to be all for you," he adds, with another of those brief, flickering smiles.

What conversational manners he doesn't have, he makes up for in eating manners. He's actually quite neat in how he cuts it and takes a small bite, chewing and swallowing, and wiping his mouth with a napkin before saying, "If you need any landscaping done, talk to August Roen. He's not town," because sometimes that matters, "but he's good people. Won't fu--overcharge you or anything." He clears his throat. "I can help with the curtains. And come back by for the gutters before we get a freeze."

Gail rattles off a good set of numbers stretching from just into the college back down to just-walking, kept vague because the player with never remember them all, as well as each name attached to said grandchildren. It's a good mix of boys and girls, and each name shows how much Granny Gail loves them individually. Alexander might be bunk at conversation, but Gail makes up for it! "Ronny and I chose to stop at two, but my girls feel no such compulsion. I would have stayed, perhaps, if only my girls had not come to rely on me." A DEEP sigh of a parent wondering where they could possibly have gone wrong in life.

The almost slip into cussing has Gail levering a stink eye onto Alexander, but since he DID catch himself she won't call him out. "I met that young man across the street, the foreign lad, Ravn Abildgaard, and I believe he mentioned this Mr. Roen also. I'll look him up in the phone book." Someone tell Granny they don't make phone books any more. She probably still doesn't even have a cell phone - just that white phone on the wall with the long curly cord hanging between cradle and receiver. "I will need some. At my age the desire to pull a sprinkler about to cover the yard fades and it is much more desirable to have one of those fancy electronic systems."

Then she's just going to turn the conversation back to the topic of Alexander himself. "Your mama use to fret so about you - but I hear the years seem to have settled a bit?"

If there is one part of conversation that Alexander does excel at, it's listening. As Gail goes through the list of grandchildren, ages, and whatever other details she shares, his attention is entirely focused on her. He even stops fidgeting with his fingers along the edge of his table. It's almost like he expects someone to quiz him on the information, later - but with her gift, she can likely tell that there's just a hunger there, for information. Like the world is one large, unfinished jigsaw puzzle that Alexander is constantly looking for pieces to fit into.

But the stink eye brings back the fidgeting, and his gaze falls to the cobbler. He hastily takes another bite, like it might stave off disapproval. "Ravn's nice," he offers, once he's swallowed. "He's a good guy." A bob of his head to agree with the sprinkler talk. Although, whatever relaxation he was feeling goes away immediately when the conversation turns back on him. Wary defensiveness flares, and his expression shuts down. "Everything's fine." It's definitely not the 'fine' of 'yes, my life is great', and more the 'fine' of, 'none of your business'.

Gail can tell - and this is part of why she does chatter as much as she does about those children and grandchildren. But now she HAS turned the conversation back to him and she keps it pinned there. There's some rough empathy in that expression. "I am sorry," the apology coming quite out of the blue. "I did not want to step on Elizabeth's toes when you were younger. If there is anything that make a mother more touchy, it is saying that they might be misguided on some things."

Alexander doesn't particularly like that the conversation remains pinned on him. And Gail's words trigger a moment of what can only be called rage in the younger man. It's more than obvious to her empathic senses, the dangerous, sizzling heat of the emotion - but he's not even very good at keeping it off his face. The only thing he does manage to do is keep from yelling or snarling at her about it. Instead, his voice is dangerously flat as he says, "I don't want an apology." He puts the fork down and stands up. "You said you wanted help with curtains." He turns and stalks off to the other room without another word.

Gail sighs - feeling all of what rolls off of him, and she doesn't get up to follow him. "No, I suppose you wouldn't." She'll give him his space for now. The curtains DO need to be hung. The sounds from the kitchen are simple domestic ones. Plates clinking as she picks them up, the sound of water running, and a scrub brush against the plates. Saran wrap being pulled out and the rest of the cobbler being placed in the fridge.

Only then does Granny Gail leave the kitchen and move back to the living room. Unlike so much new construction this retains the out-of-date layout of distinct rooms for living, dining, and kitchen. He'll hear her long before she gets to the front room. Her limp echos even upon the carpeted floors.

The only good thing about Alexander's temper is that it doesn't last when it's not being fed. The red heat of it fades almost as soon as he's out of the room, replaced with the more solemn shades of shame and regret. As she goes about her work in the kitchen, he apologizes in the best way he knows how: he hangs the curtains. He's not a particularly tall man, but still has better reach than Gail, and he's strong. It doesn't take very long before they're up.

He's just coming down from the ladder when she re-emerges into the living room. A glance at her, then away. "How does this look?" Then, after a moment. "Sorry. For snapping at you. It's not your fault."

Gail stands at in the doorway and she'll give his word the respect it deserves first and foremost. The curtain gets eyed critically. It seems well enough done that she gives it a nod. "I appreciate it. If I remember Elizabeth right I am sure she told you to make yourself useful. I do thank you - I really should take it easier than I once did."

With that she takes herself across the living room and settles in an armchair. The elephant in the room to be addressed. "I have lived in Gray Harbor my whole life young man. You were not the first, nor the last, who will snap at me."

"She did," Alexander admits, with a shrug. "But I don't mind. I prefer to be useful." He shakes his head, dismissing the thanks, and doesn't sit down even when she does. Instead, he roams nervously (and nosily) through the room, peering into boxes, straightening things that look like they might fall, and taking in the decor with a thoughtful, curious eye. There's another shrug. "Doesn't matter. Shouldn't have done it."

Granny's living room is as old lady as one could ever WISH for. A lot of of florals, and matching layering. A few more lace dollies. There are pictures too, but not yet hung on the walls. A young couple with the man in Vietnam fatigues, and the young woman in a white dress.

"You've a kind heart then Alexander." Not young man, she'll use his name for EMPHASIS this time. "Not all manage to retain that. " She also leans forward, hands coming forward to clasp about one another before her.

Alexander isn't, generally, the type to judge someone's decor sense, but there is an air of dubiousness to him as he contemplates the sheer...old lady-ness of the room. Like maybe he can feel wrinkles and an urge to join a bridge club seeping into his bones just by standing here. The photographs draw that intense focus of his for a moment, but when she talks, his attention returns to her. "No, I don't. Not really." It's not angry this time, just rejecting the observation. He comes to stand before her, a bit like a boy standing before a principal, and says, "Is there anything else I can help you with, Mrs. Leigh? If not, I should be leaving."

"Now, I am afraid I must insist. Granny Gail or just Gail if you must Alexander Clayton. I've lived too long to spend a single second longer being Mrs. Leigh-d."

Yes, she does point and shake her finger at him very deliberately.

Alexander stares at the shaking finger. He frowns at it. Then, reluctantly, says, "Gail, then. We're not related." There's another huff of air from him, like an exasperated cat, before he says, "So, there's nothing more you need right now? I'll come back later in the week to get the gutters." A pause. "Hope you settle in all right. No one's been murdered in this house for at least forty years, so it was a good choice if that sort of thing bothers you."

"Aren't we though?" Gail returns, "We have Gray Harbor in our blood." She pushes herself to her feet to move towards the front door. A good hostess always sees guests out. Especially guests Good Neighbor shanghai-ed into assisting with manual labor. "I knew the man who lived here when he died. A nice family, and I have no worry of ghosts. They'd be well warned to remember I knew some of them and remember their embarrassing moments." Yes, Gail did just say that Gray Harbor's ghosts should be afraid of HER.

The door is opened up and she waves him though. "No need to bring tools for it. I still have all of Ronny's old things. I never could quite let something useful go if it was still in working condition."