Free Ashes by Kelly Cozy Page B

herself, almost lured by the sound of beloved cartoons and the desire for companionship, but stopped. That feeling of being a stranger was on her, as was the sensation of being on-stage, caught in the spotlight, that had dogged her since the bombing. She didn’t want to be introduced as the survivor from the Los Angeles bombing last March. She wanted to make friends the way normal people did it. Commiserate over the quality of the tomatoes at the produce section. Say hello when bringing the garbage cans out to the front. That sort of thing. Knock on the door and ask where the grocery store was.
    The doorbell’s ring took matters out of her hands. She put down her banana and coffee, opened the door.
    “Hi neighbor!” sang out a voice. The woman standing on the doorstep was maybe a few years older than Jennifer. Her reddish-brown hair was frizzy in the damp coastal breeze. She had a baby balanced on her left hip, a plate with an angel food cake on it in her right hand, and another child standing by her side, hanging onto the skirt of her denim jumper.
    Jennifer wondered how she’d managed to ring the doorbell with her hands so full. “Hi,” she said, feeling at a loss for what else to say. “Here, you’ve got your hands full,” she said and took the cake. “Thank you.”
    “Just a little welcoming treat,” the woman said. “When I moved in, I had so much unpacking I couldn’t find my way to the stove for a week. I’m Suzanne.” She held out her hand and Jennifer shook it.
    “I’m Jennifer.” She realized there was nowhere to ask people to sit, nor was she sure where all the dishes had gotten to. Great, she couldn’t even offer her new neighbor some coffee. Off to a wonderful start. “I’m sorry about the mess.”
    Suzanne waved dismissively, adjusted the baby. “You should see my place. These two look sweet but leave them alone for five minutes and boy! It’d be even worse if I had them 24 hours.”
    Jennifer was puzzled. Was this some strange custody arrangement? But Suzanne must have seen her look; she smiled. “Oh, they’re not mine. Bill — that’s my husband — and I don’t have any. Yet.” Suzanne paused for a moment, as if thinking of something. “This one,” she patted the older child’s head, “Is Hannah. Say hello, Hannah.”
    Hannah, who had not stopped staring around Jennifer’s house and its disarray with her huge dark eyes, made a noise that sounded vaguely like a greeting. Jennifer smiled and Suzanne was unfazed. “Shy girl. And this is David,” she said, jiggling the baby on her hip as he spouted an infant’s doggerel. “David’s not up to hello yet.”
    “I’ll take ba-ba-goo as a hello,” Jennifer said.
    “They’re Mrs. Reisman’s, from three doors down. She went down to Vancouver to see her mother and left these two with me. Have you met the Reismans yet?”
    “I haven’t met much of anyone. I just got here a couple days ago. Which reminds me, can you tell me where the grocery store is? I’ve been living off what I get at the little quick mart.”
    “Oh, don’t do that. You get anything that’s perishable at that place and you’re asking for trouble. Look, why don’t you come over for dinner tonight? Bill and I can tell you what you need to know. How’s that sound?”
    For a moment Jennifer could not reply. No doubt Suzanne thought it shyness, but it was need, and loneliness, and the desire for companionship uncomplicated by the past. For a friend to whom she could just be Jennifer, the next-door neighbor. Who never had to know about that other woman, the one that had been left behind in Los Angeles. “I’d love it.”
    “Great!” Suzanne said with a grin, and after a few more pleasantries she was gone in a swirl of denim skirt and cluckings to David and Hannah. Jennifer caught glimpses of Suzanne throughout the day, pushing Hannah on a swing set in her small backyard, handing the children over to a woman in a silver minivan later that