New Neighbors

It was a strange house. Oliver and Fran thought when they moved to this tiny desert town that had gone bust when the military base shut down, and then more bust when the railroad rerouted, they'd see old houses, remnants of the rich days. Maybe old Victorians that needed some new paint, some restoration. A slim brick three-story here and there. And the insides would be linoleum from the fifties or maybe even hardware floors. Old kitchens with pearl white appliances and two-way doors leading to the dining rooms.

But the house they just bought had been updated a while back in the 70s by someone who believed too much in a style Oliver could only refer to as lima-shag, and the previous owners had also knocked down two of the kitchen walls, and every night Oliver could see Fran cooking for him.

Oliver was a well-groomed man in button-down sweaters, and Fran visited the beauty shop once a week to keep up her short curled hairstyle, and shag just didn't match them.

But their neighbors' house, it was the strangest. The kitchen and the living room formed one big room, and as dinner guests he and Fran were seated with glasses of red wine at some sort of gargantuan kitchen island, with flecked brown and tan granite countertops that looked like they belonged in a rock quarry somewhere.

Jack and Kate, their neighbors, were nice enough. He was a truck driver and she managed the local laundromat, and their three kids were all grown and gone.

"I'm so glad you could join us for dinner," Kate said. "I know it's difficult making friends when you move to a new town."

Oliver would have preferred scotch or a Bud but he sipped his wine and Fran said, "Thanks for having us. I know Oliver has been looking forward to the move for a long time."

Jack took out a bowl and scooped ricotta, parmesan, and mozzarella cheeses into it, and then expertly cracked two eggs into the middle. He stirred the mixture while Kate poured some spaghetti sauce into a glass dish. "So Oliver," Jack said, "What brings you all the way to Rio Seco from New York?"

"The people," Oliver said. "Or lack thereof. I've always wanted to retire where there's lots of land. Plus, Frannie likes the stars. Hey, what do you think of the Yankees this year?"

Jack said, "Oh, Angels all the way for me. I like Jeter and Posada though. Where do you think the Yanks'll be when they retire?"

"Girardi has to find a couple new good leaders," Oliver said, and leaned forward. "He's gotta lose guys like Swisher and build a new team, or no more post-season. You know if we got the Angels to give up-"

"Pass me that spatula, will you hon?" Jack said.

Fran asked Jane, "Dear, would you like me to help you with dinner?"

"Thanks, Fran, but you two just sit and relax," Kate said. "You're our guests." Jack and Kate layered the lasagne - sauce, pasta, meat, cheese, sauce - back and forth, passing spoons and bowls.

Though Oliver had eaten a lot of lasagne in his 71 years, he had never seen how it was made. Seeing it made by a truck driver who should be watching baseball with him in the living room bordered on the surreal. Next to him, Fran fidgeted in her flowered dress on the barstool.

Kate put the lasagne in the oven and then sat at the kitchen island across from them. Jack took out a glass and poured her some wine, then he started slicing french bread.

Fran asked again. "Dear, why don't we finish up dinner and let these boys catch the end of the baseball game?"

Oliver put one foot down on the travertine floor, ready to bolt for the TV. He looked at Jack. No man, even one held in such a strong domestic choke-hold, could ignore the free ticket dangling in front of them.

But Jack stirred the melting butter and garlic on the stovetop and waved his hand. "Kate's had a long day, and besides, I'm better with the garlic bread, right honey?"

Kate just raised her eyebrows and blew him a kiss, then turned to Fran. "There's a Friday night book club in town if you're interested. I'm leading next week's on Ahab's Wife and we would love it if you would join us."

Fran looked at Oliver. "I could put something in the oven for you on Friday. Do you mind if I go?"

"Um, sure, Frannie." Oliver drained the rest of his wine.

After dinner, to Oliver's horror, all four of them retired to the living room to talk. He had been looking forward to the baseball game when Fran and Kate would do the dishes, but Kate insisted that she and Jack would be rude if they cleaned up while their guests were there.

As they left the house, the stars glared in the sky as bright as Manhattan, and Fran looked up and sighed. "I'm going to like this town."

Oliver held her arm and led her down the stairs. "I'm going to start Monday on the remodeling. We need some more walls in that kitchen."

Frannie patted him on the arm.

"For cabinets," Oliver said.