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Then I sensed it—that uncomfortable tingling at the back of my neck that comes when someone is staring.
I looked uphill.
The neighboring house stood above the others on the street. It was large, elegant, and equipped with a second-floor balcony overlooking the lake. A woman in a silk wrap stood there holding a cup like a royal scepter.
She neither smiled nor waved.
Instead, she stared at my Chevrolet as though it had committed a personal offense.
“Morning,” I called, trying to sound friendly.
She waited before responding.
“Could you park it somewhere else?” she finally asked, motioning toward my car with two fingers. “It’s ruining my view of the lake.”
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I stared at her.
“I’m sorry, but this is my driveway. I have nowhere else to park.”
“That’s Valerie,” Harold murmured beside me.
Valerie tilted her head without changing her expression.
“Well,” she said, rolling her eyes, “I don’t care. Park that piece of junk somewhere else. I don’t want to see that eyesore from my balcony.”
Then she turned, stepped inside, and closed the balcony door with a soft but deliberate click.
My new neighbor had clearly decided she disliked me before we had even been properly introduced.
I remained there with my keys in my hand, feeling a quiet warning in my stomach. A complaint from someone like Valerie was unlikely to end with a single conversation.
Three days later, I was collecting mail at the edge of the gravel driveway when I heard heels grinding against the stones behind me.
I knew who it was before turning around.
Valerie had replaced her cup with a designer handbag, but her expression remained unchanged.
“We need to talk about your vehicle,” she said.
“We really don’t,” I replied, pulling several envelopes from the mailbox. “It’s parked on my property.”
“It’s hideous,” Valerie replied.
Heat rushed into my face.
She moved closer until I could smell her perfume, then examined me from head to toe.
“Let me be clear with you, sweetheart. Maybe people like you don’t belong in a neighborhood like this. Normal, wealthy people live here. Not single moms in rusted-out Chevrolets.”
Anger surged through me.
“My daughter and I live here now,” I said. “You’ll have to get used to the view.”
“We’ll see about that.”
She walked away, her heels clicking sharply, while I stood gripping a water bill until my hands finally stopped trembling.
I did not realize Olivia had overheard us until dinner.
She quietly moved peas around her plate before looking up at me.
“Mom, why does that lady hate us?”
“She said we don’t belong.”
I placed my fork on the table.
