Believe It Or Not (An Eddie Munson Story)

Little Lies

"Behave yourself," he pleas and I smile up at him.

"You first," I tease and he kisses my nose once before peppering my cheeks and chin with kisses. I giggle against him, squirming in his arms until I hear a small beeping sound. Eddie sighs and looks down at his watch, realizing he has to leave now. Otherwise, he will be late.

"Go," I tell him, nodding towards the van. "But come back home as soon as you can."

He nods and crosses his fingers over his heart, making me a promise before he kisses me once more. He pulls away and turns to hop up into the van. I watch as he pulls away, waving after him as he goes.

With one last heavy sigh, I turn and head inside. I wasn't kidding when I said there was a book I wanted to catch up on and I figure now is as good a time as any.

I've never liked a quiet house and the silence is even more prevalent now without Eddie thundering through the trailer. I click on the radio and set my book on the coffee table as I make myself a cup of coffee and grab a blanket. I settle in on the sofa, pulling the blanket over my legs.

My coworker, Jessie, has lent me "Dearest Mary Jane" by Betty Neels and she has gushed relentlessly about how much she enjoys it. Since lending it to me, she has asked me every chance she gets if I have made any progress. Each time I would tell her I hadn't gotten very far, her whole face would fall and I would feel terrible. My goal is to finish it completely over the next few days so we can talk about it.

At some point, Elvis has joined me on the couch, curling up and taking a nap in my lap. I'm several chapters in when a knock sounds at the door and I finally look up from the pages. I blink a few times, returning to reality as I set a bookmark between my pages. I set the text on the table and move to the door, my feet quietly brushing against the floor. I peek through the peephole.

There is a tall blond woman on the other side of the door. She looks to be about my age if not a few years older. It's hard to tell with the heavy amount of makeup on her face. Her straight hair is teased and is large atop her head. She's got on a bright red tank top and black jeans. Her nails are like daggers and she's got cheetah print pumps on her feet. I can hear her chewing her gum loudly through the door. I've never seen her before in my life and I momentarily wonder if maybe she is a neighbor. She definitely doesn't look like a saleswoman, but who knows. I tentatively open the door and step out, looking up at her.

She immediately turns at the sound of the door opening and her entire face lights up. When she sees me, though, her face falls and she looks stunned. My own confusion builds as she looks down at a folded piece of paper in between her fingers and then up at the housenumbers beside the door.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice high pitched and grating. "Is this 162 Brier Mills Lane?"

I nod, my eyebrows furrowing as she looks down at me.

"Is there something I can help you with?" I ask and she opens her red handbag to shove the paper deep inside. She shakes her head, frustration skirting across her face.

"I'm just looking for my boyfriend," she huffs.

"I think you have the wrong address," I admit. "We just moved in and the tenant before us was an elderly woman who lived alone."

The girl huffs again and pops her gum loudly, the sound almost scaring me.

"Figures," she mutters under her breath and I just stand there awkwardly staring up at her. She doesn't make any attempt to move away or to leave and I'm not sure what else to do.

"I don't think I caught your boyfriend's name," I say. "Maybe I can point you in the right direction."

The girl beams down at me, obviously relieved that I'm offering to help.