Still Waters Run Deep

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt: trying something new; real or fictionalized.

 

This week’s story was written by Phil Yeats. In September, 2021, he published The Souring Seas, the first volume in a precautionary tale about the hazards of ignoring human-induced climate change. The second volume, Building Houses of Cards, appeared in May 2022. Book three should be out soon. For information about these books, visit his website–https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/

 

Still Waters Run Deep

by Phil Yeats

 

Our neighbour, Marcus Grant, was a single guy, late twenties, or early thirties, and strange. Not weird, but colourless, like you might imagine for an actor playing a robot. He was pleasant when anyone met him on the street. He answered questions in a serious, factual way, but he said nothing insightful, and revealed nothing about himself. And one more thing. He was completely incurious about me or anyone else.

He owned a tiny one and a half story house with only seven hundred and fifty square feet of living space. It also had an unfinished but low-ceilinged basement. The ground floor had a kitchen, an entry hall with stairs to the second floor, and a bathroom across the front. A large open-plan great room overlooked the back garden. Its two bedrooms were upstairs.

His property was triangular, only twenty feet wide at the street, but a more standard sixty feet wide at the back. The modest footprint of the twenty by twenty-four-foot house gave the well-manicured lawns and gardens a spacious feel. Since moving in four years earlier, he’d added a large vegetable garden across the rear.

Every weekday morning, he left home at 7:45, dressed in a white shirt, grey business suit, and black shoes. His attire never varied, except for the addition of a grey overcoat in cold weather. He always carried a black umbrella when he walked from his house to the nearby subway station. Four days a week, he returned at 5:45 in the afternoon. On Wednesdays he arrived home a little later, between 6 and 6:15, carrying two large reusable grocery store bags.

On weekends and holidays, he worked in his garden. None of the neighbours could remember a single time he varied from this routine. He’d never taken a vacation, and seldom left his property other than his weekday trips to the subway station, and everyone assumed, an office somewhere downtown.

Everything changed two weeks ago on Thursday afternoon. At 5:45, he walked up our path. I opened the door before he knocked.

“I’m going away for two weeks starting Saturday. Would you or Tom empty my mail box once or twice and keep an eye on things?” He handed me a key. “In case you need inside.”

“Of course,” I replied as I accepted the key. I could hardly refuse. He looked after our place whenever we went away. I was honoured to return the favour.

He waved and departed, one of his normal minimal conversations. They accomplished their goals, but never allowed time for chitchat.

On Saturday afternoon, he left his place before noon, an unusual occurrence, but not unprecedented, and returned in the late afternoon, driving a car. That was definitely a first.

“That’s an electric vehicle,” Tom, who was standing next to me at our front window, said.

“Like one of those Elon Musk Teslas?” I replied. Our road had two hybrids, but no EVs.

“Think so. It looks like a Model 3 sedan, but it could be another make.”

I waved, but if Marcus noticed me as he disappeared inside his house, he didn’t respond.

Sunday morning, he loaded his shiny new Tesla with two suitcases and drove off.

 

On Saturday afternoon two weeks later, the metallic blue Tesla swung into Marcus Grant’s driveway. I picked up his mail and hurried over to welcome him home.

He noticed me as he emerged from the sleek little sedan. “Yo there, Mrs. Johnstone. I see you have my mail.” He gestured toward a young woman standing on the other side of the car. “This is my wife, Olivia. We’ve had a wonderful week, driving from her family home in Nova Scotia.”

I was floored, and it probably showed. New car, new wife—his brief vacation must have been their honeymoon trip.

 

*****

The Spot Writers – Our members:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/