The Bequest

When I walk to the van, Roscoe follows me again. He tries to hop up when I climb in. "No, boy. You can't come." He looks reproachful, I swear.

When I close the door, he drags himself one slow step at a time onto the porch and drops in front of the door like a sad sack. I actually feel guilty when I leave. I drive up the road until I notice a gravel side road. I nearly miss it, my tires skidding as I swerve to make the last-minute turn. This van is much taller than anything I've ever driven and for a split second, the tires on the right side actually lift off the ground.

My heart feels as if it might give out for a moment, but after the wheels drop back down, it starts beating again. I crawl my way up the drive, terrified of any other driving mishaps. It takes what feels like forever, but finally I round the bend and see a rundown wooden farmhouse. You can tell it was gorgeous once, with stunning hunter green trim on a caramel-colored house. The two front windows are stained glass, and they look like they were made by a master craftsman. But the lawn is overgrown, and one of the shutters is hanging askew. It makes it look sad, unloved even. I'm not positive this is the right place-Jeff was hardly specific-but I park the car out front and walk to the door.

The house looks even worse up close. The paint on the front porch is peeling, the wood clearly rotting in a handful of places. The glass on one of the front porch lights has a bird's nest in it, and a bright red bird squawks loudly as I draw close. When I press the doorbell, it makes a fzzt sound, as if the electrical isn't working quite right.

I knock instead, as hard as I can.

If this woman really is old, she may be hard of hearing.

"Coming," a female voice shouts.

A moment later, the door flies open, and a very short woman squints at me. "Who are you?"

"I well, my name is Amanda-"

"My name's Amanda."

"Right, that's actually why I'm here. I'm Amanda Brooks, and I'm staying next door, at Jedediah Brooks' ranch."

She frowns. "Alright."

"I think a package of mine might have inadvertently..." I notice she's wearing a puffy, Lololime vest. "Uh, I was supposed to get quite a large package yesterday, and it never came, even though the tracking shows that it was delivered." She stares at me blankly for a moment, and then cackles. "You were, huh?"

I nod.

"Well, I imagine there was a mix-up, and it's my fault too, for not checking the label. I have a very eager niece, you see, and she's always sending me things. I figured this was a strange sort of care package though, even from her."

A strange sort of shuffling sound draws my attention and I look behind Mrs. Amanda Saddler at a black and white pig. It's wearing a hot pink Lololime scarf around its neck.

Oh, my.

"I'm afraid I've scattered most of the things hither and yon," she says. "Let me see what I can find."

I follow her around the house as she hands things to me. Some of it's western style, but a lot of it looks like it's from their new line. "There was something else I put somewhere..."

Before I can point out the scarf on the pig or the vest she's wearing, she throws her hands into the air and runs out the back door. I'm left scrambling after her, my arms full of pants, capris, shirts, and headbands. I notice the latest backpack near the back door and snatch it to stuff everything into. Once we reach the back yard, I'm completely shocked.

The front yard was neglected, but it appears to be due to the amount of time she spends back here. There's a beautiful garden coming in, and there's a pristine line on which dozens of pieces of clothing are hung. I wasn't aware anyone hung their clothes to dry anymore.

"I'm so sorry, again." She's moving toward the center of the garden, her pig trotting along behind her, the fringe on the end of the pink scarf dragging in the dirt, and I finally see why.

The scarecrow's decked out in exclusively Lololime, from his pants, to his shirt, to his bright, lime green hat. I should jog over and help her take things off, but I can't help myself. I whip out my phone instead, and I snap a few photos, careful to include the pig.

By the time I reach her, she's almost halfway done. I help her extricate the straw stuffed arms from the shirt, tearing a tiny hole in the back. Or maybe a bird pecked that hole. Who knows? When she pulls the bandana from the scarecrow's neck, I almost stop her, but then I realize it's part of their new line, the bandana texture incorporating the recognizable Lololime logo. "Thanks."

"I really am so sorry," she says.

I think about asking for the vest and the scarf, but I decide that if a pig will wear a scarf like that, it should keep it. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure it's been a while since there's been another Amanda living out here." "Never happened before, far as I know," she says. "Glad to have you in the neighborhood, so to speak."

"Do you happen to know how we could get internet service more quickly?" I ask.

She rolls her eyes. "That Jed. Why didn't he get the broadband installed? He's always been such a pig-headed fool."

Seems like a strange insult for someone who has a pet pig, but I don't argue. "I do wish he'd already done it." Wait. "Do you have internet?"

She leans a little closer. "I love Netflix."

My smile's involuntary. "Do you, now?"

"Don't tell anyone I told you this, but I've watched Bridgerton a dozen times." She cackles again, and I think I may love her.

"Well, I'm happy to hear that you've got a way to get in touch with the outside world."

"Now don't you go condescending to me." Her eyebrows pull together.

"I would never-"

"I'm an old lady, I know, believe me. I've been living here for eighty-one years, and I may make it eighty-one more, you just wait and see." Now I know I love her. "I hope you do."

"And if you have time, please come by again." She squints at me again. "You got kids?"

I nod. "Two girls."

"Well, if they like Netflix, bring them over, any night. We don't have to watch Bridgerton. They got all kinds of good shows, and they're always adding more. You can watch them any time you want. There's one called Crash Landing on You that I loved, but it's in another language. You can watch all the episodes close together, or you can just do one a day. Whatever you want. This particular show's got subtitles, but you get used to them. Think your girls would be willing to do that?" She's explaining how Netflix works. I want to keep her. "How about I write down my phone number," I say. "And you can call me when you have a free night."

She makes a cooing sound, high-pitched and almost shrill. "When I have a free night?" She slaps her knees. "You're hilarious. I'm always free. But I'll take your number anyway."

She won't let me leave until she's loaded me up with peas, broccoli, and spinach. I'd have a carload of radishes, too, but I lied and said I was allergic. No matter how cool a lady she is, I'm not eating radishes. I'm turning over the engine when I realize that I haven't gotten permission to post a photo of her.

By the time I reach the door again, that bird is cawing and she's already swinging it open. "My cardinal always tells me when I've got company." She squints at him. "That's enough, Arizona." "Arizona?"

"Not a sports fan, clearly." She quirks one eyebrow and I feel judged.

"Uh, no, not really."

"Ah, I forgot to give you the vest!" She's fumbling with the zipper. "You must have thought I was trying to rip you off."

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I shake my head and wave her off. "Not at all. Keep it, please."

Her hands stop sliding the zipper. "Really?"

"Absolutely. But I do have a favor to ask. Two, actually."

"What's that?"

"I took a great photo of you in front of the scarecrow. I can show you, if you'd like. I wanted to know whether I had your permission to post it on my social media feed, with the hashtag #trendynewneighbor." "A hash what?"

I explain the basics of what a hashtag is.

"If you think anyone will want to see an old lady and her pig, you go right ahead. Any young men leave positive comments, you send them my way." She winks. "But what was the other favor?"

"Is there any chance I could use your WiFi to post it?"

"Of course! And you can come over any time you need to post something, or if your girls need their internet fix."

I might hold her to that. "Thank you so much!"

The photo is cuter than I even realized, with the pig looking back at me, the Lololime tag showing clearly on its shoulder. I explain in the text that my closest neighbor, a few miles away, shares my name, and that the postal worker got confused. "Now I feel bad that I didn't let her keep it all." Then I use the hashtag I mentioned and a dozen more.

Before I've even pulled out of the drive, my #loveyourneighbors post is already blowing up.

And I get a text from Heather.

-THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED. THAT SHOT OF THE NEIGHBOR IS SHEER BRILLIANCE. I'LL SEND YOU A NEW BOX. LET HER KEEP IT ALL.