The New Neighbor

Dear Reader,

This is my first attempt at writing and this is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events and incidents are the products of the author's sometimes twisted imagination.

This story is the beginning of what could be a series if the audience would like more.

Constructive criticism, and feedback is truly appreciated. I would like this to be an interactive journey as much as this medium allows. Please feel free to send suggestions, ideas for future characters etc. However, as I have read some stories it seems as if anonymous trolls run rampant, therefore anonymous comments are turned off. I am hear for my enjoyment, not for others who have written or contributed nothing to the site to spew their venom.

I was a little unsure as to which category to place this story. If another category works, please let me know.

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Lane Grayson sits on the front porch of his new--yet old--home, the place where he's decided to start over. The evening air is cool against his skin, and the familiar weight of a cigar rests between his fingers. He watches the smoke curl up into the twilight, a glass of bourbon on the table beside him catching the last light of the day. His dog, a rust colored labradoodle named Matilda lounging at his feet. It's peaceful here, but there's a heaviness in that peace, a reminder of all that's been lost.

His wife, Kathryn, is gone now, her long battle with cancer finally over. It's been only a few months since she passed, but it feels like a lifetime. Lane still hears her voice sometimes, especially in moments like this. "Promise me, Lane," she had said, her voice weak but firm, "Promise me you'll move to Cumberland, take care of the grammy's house." It was her inheritance, the old family home she loved so much. She couldn't bear the thought of it falling into disrepair, of all those memories fading away. And Lane, despite the ache in his heart, had promised.

So here he is, in Cumberland, Maryland, trying to keep that promise. The house is worn and weathered, much like Lane himself, but there's a beauty in its age, in the stories etched into every creak of the floorboards. He's determined to restore it to its former glory, to breathe new life into the home that Kathryn loved so much.

As he leans back in his chair, the memories start to flood in. His life began, 58 summers ago, in Boone County, West Virginia, where the coal mines ran deep and the mountains were as tough as the men who worked them. After graduating from Scott High School, Lane had a chance to play college football, but like many in coal country, Lane followed in his father's and grandfather's footsteps, going to work in the mines. It was a hard life, one that demanded everything from you, but it was honest work.

After a couple of years of grueling work underground, and a narrow miss with a falling piece of slate that weighed well over a thousand pounds, Lane made a decision that would change his life forever. He joined the United States Air Force, leaving the dark, cramped tunnels for the wide-open skies. He started as Security Police, but it wasn't long before his Squadron Commander saw his grit and determination and pushed him to apply to PJ School. Two years of the toughest training in the military. It was more hard work, but Lane persevered and qualified as a Pararescue specialist--a PJ. The work was tough, dangerous, and it took him to places most people could never imagine, but Lane thrived on it. He was saving lives, making a difference, and it gave him a sense of purpose he had never known before.

Lane's gaze drifts to the horizon, where the last rays of sunlight are slipping away. Ten years ago, when Kathryn was first diagnosed, he retired from the Air Force as a Chief Master Sergeant. He'd fought in plenty of battles, but nothing prepared him for the fight they faced together. He left his military career behind to be by her side, to fight the only battle that truly mattered. But now, with Kathryn gone, all that's left is the promise he made to her, and the task of starting over--alone.

He takes a slow sip of bourbon, savoring the warmth that spreads through him. The old house creaks again, as if reminding him of the work ahead. But for now, Lane allows himself this moment of quiet reflection. He's a man who's seen and done more than most, but it's these simple moments, sitting on a porch in the fading light of day, that remind him of what really matters.

The neighborhood had changed from Kathryn's stories. The road is now paved, and the open fields have been replaced by huge homes that were empty most of the day while folks who thought nothing of a 90 minute commute went to work inside the beltway.

Lane took a deep breath and walked into the house as empty as his heart felt. Furniture would start to arrive tomorrow. The kids had taken most of the furniture in the house as he calmly explained to them that he needed a new bed, and a new sofa - that as much as he loved her - they were what she had picked out over the years. She had been the Queen of the Castle and what mama wanted mama got had been the way he had lived the past 35 years.

The next morning, right on schedule the truck pulled into the driveway from Pennsylvania. Lane had taken a detour from his route to Cumberland. Leaving Rochester, Minnesota where The Grayson's had lived for the past 4 years so that Kathryn would be close to her doctors at Mayo, Lane drove to Lancaster, Pennsylvania where he purchased Amish made furniture for the old house.

When the driver pulled up he shook his head, "I think we missed something here, sir."

Lane looked over his glasses as he looked at the driver's manifest. "According to this, you've got everything I bought."

The driver wiped the sweat from his brow, "Old guy said you bought furniture to fill the house. That's an awfully big house for a sofa, king sized bed, night stand, dresser, and a desk."

Lane laughed, "It's all I'm going to need for now. I'm redoing the house starting upstairs so this will fill out the downstairs nicely."

When the driver and his partner moved everything to the house he looked around and saw an old military desk chair that was made out of wood on casters and a large television that Lane told him was for nothing other than the Food Network, Hockey, and College Football.

This town had changed, and the folks that lived around Lane weren't all that dissimilar from folks he knew from his days in a holler. Everyone wanted to know everyone's business and by the end of the day the neighborhood texts would be full of questions about the new guy who is living in the old house.

Some of those questions were from the "Pickleball Crew" as they had labeled themselves in a group chat.

Tara and Sam Peterson, both in their 30's. Tara is graphic designer and Sam is an IT specialist for IBM. Monica Rivers and Sonia Morgan, a married couple also in their 30's. Monica is a high school teacher and Sonia an environmental attorney in Hagerstown, Maryland. Marcus and Jenna Washington. Marcus is a surgeon and Jenna an ICU nurse, both in their early 40's. Alex Mitchell and his partner Olivia Parker. Olivia is a professor in the Music Therapy program at West Virginia University and Alex is a civil engineer in Hagerstown

The first text of the morning came from Tara as she sat in her upstairs office looking over Lane's driveway.

Tara:

So, there's a new truck in the old Larkin place. Anyone know who it is? Getting furniture today, so looks like they are staying.

Jenna:

I saw it too! Full Size Black Dodge Ram. Didn't catch the plates, but there's a United Mine Workers sticker on the bumper.

Olivia:

United Mine Workers? Isn't that like... super old school?

Sam:

Could it be someone from around here? Those old union types don't usually move far. Also, he can't be that much of an old curmudgeon with a poodle.

Tara:

The dog is cute, but there is something about him that makes me nervous.

Alex:

Probably not from around here with a UMWA sticker, the cigar smelled anything but cheap. I got the scent when I was was walking Scamp last night.

Sonia:

I hope this guy isn't some old-timer with outdated ideas. We came here to get away from the crazy, not to have it move in next door.

Monica:

Y'all, let's not jump to conclusions. Maybe he's just an old-school guy. Besides, that house has been empty forever. Someone had to move in eventually.

Marcus:

True, but did anyone actually see him? Could be anyone. I'm all for minding my own business, but we've got Isaiah to think about.

Jenna:

I caught a glimpse. He's older, maybe late 50s? Looked like he's been around. Strong, kinda rough around the edges. Not exactly the friendly type, if you ask me.

Sonia:

Great. Just what we need, some grumpy old white guy bringing his big truck and 1950's trad wife ideals into our peaceful little neighborhood. I bet he'll have a problem with us too.

Monica:

Don't assume the worst, Sonia. He could just be keeping to himself. I'll bake something and take it over. Maybe he just needs a warm welcome.

Tara:

We can go together, Mon. Better to know who we're dealing with. And if he's got a history with the mines, maybe he's got some stories to tell.

Olivia:

Stories are one thing, but what if he's one of those guys with a chip on his shoulder? I don't want to deal with some macho ex-coal miner who thinks he can just do whatever he wants because he's seen some stuff.

Marcus:

I hear you, but let's just keep an eye out. If there's any trouble, we'll deal with it. But for now, let's give him the benefit of the doubt.

Jenna:

Agreed. We'll keep an eye out, but no need to be unfriendly. Everyone deserves a chance, right?

Sonia:

Fine, but I'm not holding my breath. Just don't say I didn't warn you all.

Sam:

Let's play it cool for now. I'll take a walk later and see if I can get a closer look. Maybe he's just here to fix up the place and leave. No need to worry until we know more.

Monica:

Sounds good. And if he does stick around, well... guess we'll find out soon enough. Just be nice, Monica. Not everyone's out to get us.

Sonia:

Yeah, yeah. We'll see. If he puts one of those damn flags in his yard though, the gloves come off.

That afternoon, Tara could hardly wait for the others to get home. Curiosity had been eating at her all day since she'd seen the old truck pull up at the house down the road. As she stepped out of her house, she spotted Lane in his driveway, unloading a set of tools from the back of his truck. His dog, Matilda, a rust-colored standard poodle, sat obediently nearby, her tail wagging lazily as she watched her owner work.

The first thing Tara noticed was Lane's bib overalls and faded t-shirt--definitely not the typical attire for the kind of neighborhood where BMWs and Mercedes lined the driveways. But that didn't faze her. Despite the rumors buzzing around the group chat, Tara felt a pull, a strange mixture of curiosity and something she didn't quite want to admit.

Taking a breath, she strolled over, forcing herself to smile brightly. "Hey there! I'm Tara, from across the street. Thought I'd come over and welcome you to the neighborhood," she said, glancing down at Matilda, who looked up with warm, trusting eyes.

Lane turned around, a little startled by the interruption, but smiled politely. "Afternoon," he drawled, his Appalachian accent thick but smooth, like molasses dripping off every word. "Name's Lane. Nice to meet ya."

Tara noticed how his eyes crinkled when he smiled--warm and worn, but somehow still strong, just like the man standing in front of her. She cleared her throat. "That's a beautiful dog you've got there."

"Matilda," he said with a grin, looking down at the poodle. "Matilda's a good girl. Keeps me company, y'know?"

Tara tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, shifting on her feet. "So, what brings you to this part of town? I mean, I don't think we've seen anyone around that house in a while."

Lane set down the toolbox with a thud and wiped his hands on a rag. "It belonged to my wife's grandparents," he began, his voice softening as he spoke. "Made a promise to her that I'd take care of it... after she passed." He let the words hang in the air for a moment, then glanced around the neighborhood, his gaze lingering on the modern homes surrounding the old place. "Doesn't fit real well around here anymore," he chuckled, shaking his head. "But a promise is a promise. I'm gonna refinish it from top to bottom--keep the old bones, but give it new life and maybe give me a purpose along the way."

Tara listened, nodding, but there was something about Lane that had her attention far more than the words. His hands were rough, calloused from years of work, yet they moved with a kind of precision and care. His eyes, a deep shade of green, seemed to carry the weight of a man who'd lived through more than he cared to share. And that voice--low, steady, with a hint of something raw underneath. His beard was gray with a few whisps of red still finding space to peek through.

She shifted again, feeling an unfamiliar heat rise up inside her. What was it about him? He was older, clearly rough around the edges, but there was an undeniable magnetism about him. Maybe it was the way he looked at her--not with the usual arrogance she'd come to expect from the men in this neighborhood, but with a quiet confidence. Or maybe it was the simple way he spoke about his wife, the sincerity in his voice when he talked about keeping his promise.

Tara swallowed, forcing herself to focus. "That's... really nice," she said, her voice coming out softer than she intended. "I mean, that you're doing this for her. For the family."

Lane gave a slow nod. "It's all I've got left of her," he said, his eyes distant for a moment. "Keeps me busy. Gives me somethin' to hold onto, y'know? Maybe, someday our kids will have an interest.

She nodded, though her mind was drifting. There was something undeniably attractive about the older man. His ruggedness, the deep timbre of his voice, and the way he seemed so solid, so grounded--it stirred something unexpected inside her.

She forced a smile, fighting off the thoughts running wild in her mind. "Well, if you ever need a hand, or... you know, someone to show you around, don't hesitate to ask."

Lane smiled, but it was the kind of smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I appreciate that, Tara. Good to know I've got a friendly neighbor."

Friendly. Right. She nodded, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach. "Well, I should probably let you get back to work," she said quickly, stepping back. "Nice to meet you, Lane. And you too, Matilda," she added, giving the dog a little wave.

"Nice meetin' you, too," Lane replied, watching her as she walked away.

As she returned to her house, Tara couldn't help but steal one last glance over her shoulder. There was something about him--something that made her heart race in a way she hadn't expected

The moment Tara walks through the door, she heads straight for her phone.. Her fingers fly across the screen, setting up a group text with the girls--Sonia, Monica, and Olivia. She's not about to drag the men into this, especially not after what just happened and especially her husband.

Tara:

You guys. I just met him.

There's a pause, then the texts start flooding in.

Olivia:

Who?? The new guy?

Sonia:

Please tell me he's just here to flip the house and he's not as weird as he looked. I saw the truck pull in with a bunch of tools earlier and he was wearing bib overalls. It's 2024, who the hell wears bib overalls?

Tara bites her lip, thinking about Lane's weathered face, his thick accent, the way his hands gripped the tools with that quiet strength.

Tara:

He's... not what I expected.

Monica:

Wait. Are we talking about the old guy with the ancient house and the United Mine Workers sticker?

Tara's heart races a little faster as she types. She tries to downplay it, but she knows the girls can always read between the lines.

Tara:

Yeah, that's him. But honestly, he was kinda... nice? Like, really nice. A little rough around the edges but in a good way.

Sonia:

Nice? Girl, he's walking around in bib overalls. What kind of "nice" are we talking here? The guy looked like he just stepped out of a time warp.

Tara smirks and shakes her head, quickly defending him. She pictures Lane, standing there with that quiet determination, those deep green eyes locking onto hers for just a second too long.

Tara:

The bibs are fine. Actually, they suit him. It's...

She hesitates for a moment.

I don't know, there's something about him. Hard to explain.

Sonia:

Bib overalls aren't exactly my thing, but you do you, boo.

Tara doesn't reply right away, scrolling through the chat. She's holding back, unsure of how to explain the way Lane made her feel. The conversation shifts for a bit, Sonia still poking fun at his clothes, while Monica and Olivia throw in some harmless jokes about Tara's taste. But before she can overthink it, her phone buzzes with a private text from Monica.

Monica:

Alright, spill. What's really going on?

Tara stares at the message for a moment before her fingers start moving, her pulse quickening as she confesses the truth.

Tara:

He's... I don't know. I found him... appealing? Like, in ways I didn't expect. I mean, I'm married, right? But still, there was something about him that just got under my skin. His eyes, his voice. It was like I could feel it in my bones, his eyes just look into your soul, you know?

There's a brief pause before Monica's reply pops up, light and teasing.

Monica:

Well, well, well. Didn't see that coming. You're telling me this guy had you swooning? Girl, we're definitely going over there together now. He won't be able to charm the gay one.

Tara snorts, feeling a wave of relief at Monica's playful response. She can almost hear her laughing through the text.

Tara:

You sure about that?

Monica:

Oh, absolutely. He may have you all flustered, but I'll make sure to keep it in check. We'll stop by tomorrow. You can ogle all you want, and I'll keep him in line.

That evening, as the sky fades into a dusky blue, Lane walks next door to Marcus and Jenna's house. The warm lights from their porch give the whole place a cozy, inviting feel, and when he knocks, it's only a moment before the door swings open.

"Hey, neighbor!" Marcus greets him with a grin, his deep voice filled with the kind of friendly charm that makes Lane instantly comfortable.

"Evenin'," Lane replies, tipping his worn cap. Jenna steps up behind Marcus, smiling warmly as well. "Hope I'm not interruptin' anything," he adds, his Appalachian drawl rolling smoothly off his tongue.

"Nah, just winding down for the night," Marcus says, waving him inside. "What's up?"

Lane glances over his shoulder toward the big tree in his yard, its branches stretching lazily toward the Washingtons' property. "Well, that big ol' tree in my backyard... turns out it's invasive to the area. I'm about natural things being in natural places. I'm thinkin' about cuttin' it down, but figured I'd check with y'all since it provides shade to your place."

Marcus raises an eyebrow. "You're talking about that big thing? Half of it hangs over into our yard,, so you'd actually be doing us a favor."

Lane chuckles softly. "Didn't want to go rippin' it out without checkin' first. Thought maybe the shade was nice for y'all."

Jenna crosses her arms, leaning against the doorframe with a playful glint in her eye. "To be honest, a little more sun by the pool wouldn't hurt."

Marcus nods in agreement. "Yeah, we've been meaning to get it looked at. I know a tree service that can take it down, no problem."

Lane shakes his head, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I appreciate it, but I'd rather bring it down myself. I enjoy doing that kind of stuff. Keeps me busy."