Thy Neighbor As Thyself: A Novella

By Leigh

The story of the crises within five households on the same street, all within the course of a week. As changes occur and discoveries are made, these previously-aloof neighbors connect with each other in new and unexpected ways.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amber Leigh
• Release date: Aug 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9780578746739

Book preview

Thy Neighbor As Thyself

A Novella

by

Amber Leigh

Thy Neighbor as Thyself

Copyright © 2020 by Amber Leigh

All rights reserved. No portion of this eBook may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other – without prior written permission of the copyright holder, except for brief quotations in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Scripture quotation is from the King James Version of the Holy Bible.

Cover Design by GermanCreative/Illustration from Depositphotos

www.amberleighauthor.com

ISBN: 978-0-578-74673-9

Published in the United States of America

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

One

Windermere Street was in a suburban, upper-middle-class midwestern neighborhood. As it was quite a short street, branching out from a longer, angling one, it had little traffic. The area was an oasis of tranquility on the outskirts of an otherwise bustling college town. Here, students and professors lived alongside young families and retired couples, in a state of fairly undisturbed harmony.

And it was a retired couple who lived in the most admired house on Windermere. It wasn’t the largest house; it was merely perfect, in a picture-postcard sort of way. Almost immaculately white, it had brick-red tiles on the roof and shutters of a robin’s-egg blue. Bright flower beds accented the front of the house and the end of the driveway, where a little Swiss-chalet mailbox stood. Painted on it was the name Cotter, in dancing yellow letters.

One Wednesday morning in early April, Reverend Stephen Cotter returned to this cute little house from walking his Golden Retriever and glossy black Labrador…which he did every morning, weather permitting. Approaching the driveway, he stopped to admire the velvety diagonal pattern on his newly-mown lawn.

Rev. Cotter was quite robust for being seventy-two. He attributed this to his cheerful outlook and his forty-odd years of work as a minister – a calling he’d much cherished. Though he was retired now, he still felt close to his work. His church was only a few streets away, and his older son now had his place there.

He found breakfast waiting in the kitchen, as usual. Samson, the Lab, trotted to his water bowl. The Retriever, Goldie Bear, settled at the reverend’s feet and gazed hopefully up at a plate of scrambled eggs. Deborah Cotter, the reverend’s wife, poured herself some coffee, and sat down across from her husband. Her naturally rosy face was redder than usual.

Lydia just called. She’s bringing the kids over around four, but Eric’s coming to get them later. Again.

He noted her arch tone. I suppose she won’t be getting the kids because of that new thing she’s been involved with? That, um…

"Film club, supplied Mrs. Cotter. And it’s hardly new. Since last fall, at least."

The house to the Cotters’ left was smaller. Its white paint had a dingy gray tint, and the shrubs in front were slightly overgrown.

Inside, however, it was much neater, and comfortable enough for the single young woman who called it home…at least for the present.

Tahira stood before the mirror by the front door, and ran a brush through her hair. She was about to leave for a nearby medical clinic, where she worked as a receptionist.

It had been nearly seven months since she moved into the house. Mrs. Mills, an elderly widow, used to live there, and took Tahira in when she had nowhere else to go. Then in December, when Mrs. Mills went to live with her daughter in California, she gave Tahira charge of the place in return for rent payments.

One thing Tahira had learned from her deceased parents – both doctors – was the value of hard work. And it would take plenty of that to become a doctor herself, with a practice of her own. Thankfully, she was able to switch her credits to the nearby university in time to sign up for their night courses that spring.

Our parents were apostates, as far as I’m concerned. Father allowed Mother too much freedom.

His harangues were once again tormenting her in the night, turning run-of-the-mill dreams into nightmares.

Tahira ran her tongue along her inner bottom lip, feeling the slight ridge of scar tissue there.

Mr. Sumbal is rich and could have a hundred girls more beautiful than you, but you are the one he wants. We’re lucky.

She left the house, locked the door behind her, and went to open up the garage.

Morning, Tahira!

It was the old reverend next door. He and his wife sat on their porch swing, drinking coffee, and he lifted his hand in greeting. Morning, his wife added, smiling.

She smiled back, timidly. Good morning.

Five doors down from the Cotters, at the opposite end of the street, nineteen-year-old Brett left the sprawling, single-level house to go to the university. Then he would spend time with his girlfriend, hang out with his buddies, and then come home to play around on his computer before going to bed. It was pretty much the same thing every day.

Such were the thoughts of Brett’s roommate, Todd, as he listened to Brett backing out of the driveway. Todd had classes that day, too. But his started later than Brett’s, and so he had an excuse for remaining behind.

Todd did try to study last night. There was an exam coming up, and he put a lot of effort into finishing just a single page of his assigned reading. But after an hour passed and he’d gotten no further, he closed the book and crawled into bed.

It began a couple of years ago…a steady loss of his former enthusiasm for life. But now he felt like a zombie, and he didn’t fully understand why.

All his grades – usually so high – were plummeting. He didn’t tell his parents about it, or any of his friends. None of them were very close to him, anyway. And he’d dumped his girlfriend…an outgoing, leggy blonde from the girls’ basketball team. His friends thought he was crazy, but Todd gave them no explanation. How could he explain something he didn’t understand himself?

At the spacious house across the street – the largest house on Windermere – Paul Thorpe emerged from his front door. His girlfriend got into her car and slammed its door shut. As he watched her leave for work, he wore the sour expression that had become more characteristic of his face over the years.

And it had been years. Six, to be precise. When the firm he worked for offered him an opportunity to live and work in the States for a while, he took it. Of course, he’d never thought too highly of Americans. He’d run a big Union Jack on the flagpole beside his garage, not caring what any of his neighbors thought of it. Paul enjoyed the defiant way it flapped in the breeze.

His frown deepened as he remembered the miserable divorce that prompted the move. An overseas experience, he’d figured, might be a refreshing change for him and his children. But now his time there was nearly up, and Paul was ready to go home. He’d be lying, though, if he claimed he hadn’t enjoyed himself at all during his time there. He had Marcela, more than anyone else, to thank for that.

It was three years ago when, like a breath of fresh tropical air, Marcela had wafted into his life. She was just what he needed at the time, and his kids soon became fond of her. But she and Paul came to realize they differed from each