“You'll be gone before the month is over.”
Harrison picked up his lamp.
Then walked inside.
Celeste was waiting.
“Did she just threaten to remove us from our own house?”
Harrison placed the lamp on the floor.
“No.”
He looked toward Donna's house.
“She just introduced herself.”
Twelve Calls
Donna didn't stop.
Two days later, she called again.
A “suspicious vehicle” was sitting in the Noble driveway.
It was Harrison's Ford Explorer.
The engine wasn't even running.
Officer Brennan responded.
He checked the license plate.
Registered to Harrison Noble.
The complaint was unfounded.
Call number three came Thursday.
Celeste was painting the living room.
Motown played softly from a Bluetooth speaker.
It was two in the afternoon.
Donna reported a “major noise disturbance.”
An officer arrived.
Celeste stared at him.
“It's two o'clock.”
“I understand.”
“Who complained?”
The officer didn't answer.
Celeste turned off the music.
She didn't turn it back on for the rest of the week.
That silence hurt more than Harrison expected.
Call number four was worse.
A Black real estate developer arrived at their house to meet Celeste about a major interior-design project.
Donna called the police.
She claimed he was “casing the property.”
Fifteen minutes later, an officer arrived.
The developer quietly packed his briefcase.
He never returned.
That contract would have paid for the kitchen renovation they had been planning.
That evening, Celeste sat at the kitchen table.
“She cost me the Whitfield contract.”
Harrison sat across from her.
“I know.”
“I want to go over there.”
“No.”
“I want to ask her what we did.”
“I know.”
Celeste's eyes filled with anger.
“Then why aren't you angry?”
Harrison was silent.