The Cul-de-Sac War by Melissa Ferguson

Author:Melissa Ferguson [Ferguson, Melissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2020-11-09T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Bree

“Yes, Cass, I have walked through my options. And this is the only logical plan of action.”

On the other end of the phone line, Bree heard a sharp whistle and the telltale noise of sneakers squeaking against the linoleum flooring of a gymnasium. Bree pulled the phone from her ear while Cassie yelled, “Go, Star!” before her voice shifted with scary speed. “Sorry, Bree. Anyway—this idea is completely insane. Surely you have more sensible options.”

“You tell me then,” Bree replied, holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder while pulling up the workout leg warmers Birdie had supplied. She pulled the phone away from her ear to check the time: 11:42 a.m. Almost game time. “You try. Tell me what you’d do in my position.”

“You could sit down with him and have an honest conversation.”

“I have. And by the end of that conversation, I was balled up on the floor of his kitchen trying to hide inside my own jacket. Then he laughed, and then he promised to move that fence, which he didn’t do, and then he laughed some more—”

“C’mon, Ref! Fine,” Cassie said, cutting off Bree’s rant. “Then just do whatever every neighbor on the face of the earth does. Ignore him.”

Bree hopped down the porch stairs. “I do that already. Regularly.”

“No, I mean really ignore him.”

“I did. Cass, he got a card in the mail from my parents—and he sent one back. They’re corresponding now. They’re planning a trip here in three weeks to bring their dog to his house for ‘dog-training camp.’”

Bree flung open her car’s passenger door, twitching away when Russell presented himself beside the vehicle. The English mastiff stood on the line, barking. She frowned at him, slipped into the passenger seat, and popped open the glove box.

The dog kept barking.

“Honestly, Bree, how bad can this guy be if your parents love him so much?”

“You know their value judgments mean nothing. Remember Flapjack Jack?”

Cassie went silent. Neither she nor Bree could forget the man her parents tried to set her up with at an IHOP. The man whose face suddenly popped up on the restaurant’s corner television with the headline “Escaped Inmate from Louisiana State Penitentiary Last Seen in Stolen Blue Civic Heading North on I-81.”

They all looked from the screen, to the matching man, to the parking lot. And the blue Civic he’d parked there ten minutes earlier.

For at least two years, her parents pressed pause on setting up their daughter.

As she and Cassie talked, Bree slid a CD into the car player, her eyes ticking up to Chip’s farthest right-hand window while she did so. She could see Chip sitting there at a plastic pop-up table. The room was empty of everything except his computer, chair, and a slew of papers covering his makeshift desk. He was on the phone. He stood, and she scooted out from her seat and shut the door.

The dog’s barks grew louder, in rhythm with his vertical jumps.

“Hush,” Bree said, her ears crackling with his reverberating barks.

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