Free In All Deep Places by Susan Meissner

else on the block, which meant none of the neighbors had known her in better times.
    The day the we moved in, my mom told me she was given a pan of lasagna by the family across the street, a plate of brownies by the retired couple who lived on the other side of her new house, and a loaf of homemade bread by the widow who lived three doors down.
    It was the widow, Ella Liekfisch, who warned my mother not to expect much of a welcome from Nell Janvik.
    “Nell’s had a rough life,” Ella had said in low tones, as if the walls in our new house were listening. “Her oldest son, Kenny, was killed in Vietnam last year.”
    “Oh, that’s so sad!” my mother replied, telling me she instantly felt compassion for the woman named Nell she had not met yet.
    “That’s not all, either,” Mrs. Liekfisch continued. “Her husband ran off on her when her boys were just kids. Never heard from him again. And the younger boy, Darrel, he’s been in and out of trouble since the day his daddy left. He’s living in California with some woman he’s not even married to. I’ve heard there’s a baby and everything. And usually one or the other is in jail for something.”
    My mother must have shown on her face that she wondered how Mrs. Liekfisch knew all of this because the older woman suddenly told her.
    “Nell bowls. She’s in a league with a friend of mine. When Nell’s drunk, she talks. Or so I’ve heard.”
    “Sounds like she could use a friend,” Mom said.
    “She could use a friend, but she doesn’t want any more than the two or three she has, and she doesn’t attract any others, I can tell you that . “I’ve never seen her smile unless she’s been drinking—and that’s the honest-to-God truth.”
    “Well, thank you so much for the bread, Mrs. Liekfisch,” my mother replied. “It’s wonderful to be welcomed so warmly.”
    “You just call me if you need anything, now,” Mrs. Liekfisch said as she turned to go. “And I can sit for that sweet little one of yours anytime!”
    My mother said she stepped outside with her new neighbor and watched her walk past the green house, following her with her eyes and dodging the movers carrying in her sofa. Her eyes strayed from the retreating form of Mrs. Liekfisch and stayed on the green house for several moments before she went back inside.

    My parents had been in the house for nearly three weeks before either one even saw Nell Janvik. Nell worked the swing shift at the paint factory and slept most mornings away. At 2 PM her TV would come on, and it would stay on until a few min utes before four when she left for work. When her windows were open, the smoke of her cigarettes would waft across the yards and drift into our kitchen. Apparently, my mom did not meet her face-to-face until they both happened to be on their porches at the same time one day, getting the day’s mail.
    As my mother tells it, she had called out a cheery “hello!” And Nell seemed to become instantly irritated at having been noticed. She glanced up with a peeved look on her face.
    Nell was a few inches shorter than my mom but many pounds heavier. She had let her hair begin to turn gray any way it pleased. Mom supposed that Nell was in her early fifties, but the haunted expression on her face made her look older. She found out later Nell was only forty-six.
    “I’m MaryAnn Foxbourne,” Mom had said, as she closed the dis tance between them.
    “Nell Janvik,” Nell said without emotion, a cigarette dangling from one hand.
    “Nell. That’s a nice name. Is it short for something?”
    “Penelope,” Nell said gruffly, shoving her mail under her arm and starting to open her screen door.
    “Nice to have met you!” Mom said, hoping she sounded like she meant it.
    Nell grunted a wordless reply and then disappeared inside her house.
    My dad did not meet Nell until a week later, when he came home from a Saturday news event to see her struggling with a garage door that wouldn’t open all the way. She was