Mrs. Billingsley and the New Neighbors
by Sally Stevens
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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3 |
conclusion
The visits next door did continue, when it had been sufficiently determined that Ivan was elsewhere. One afternoon Mrs. Billingsley was next door helping Leila Mae cut a dress pattern out of a bright pink and lavender floral cotton print. They were on their hands and knees in the middle of the living room floor, when the sound of the Harley rumbled in the distance and grew louder, obviously coming down the street toward the house.
“Oh, Lord, Mrs. Billingsley, that’s Ivan. What’ll I do? He’s been askin’ me every day what I do and where I go, and I haven’t been telling him nothing ’bout our visits because he was startin’ to get so riled up. He just don’t seem to like people, Naomi...”
“It’s all right, dear, don’t be concerned,” Mrs. Billingsley said, trying to calm her. “I will just explain that I just popped in, uninvited and—”
“No, you don’t understand. He don’t like to have anyone knowin’ my business. I told him you were different, not a busybody or anything like that. But he’ll know I’ve been lyin’ to him. I told him I was going to the dentist this afternoon and then over to the mall. He’s goin’ to be so mad! Naomi, would you mind hurrying home out the back way? Then I can just tell him I decided to do some sewin’...”
The motorcycle was now in the driveway, the motor revving and then, silence.
Leila Mae’s heart pounded. “Oh Naomi, it’s too late. Maybe I could say you just came over to borrow a cup of sugar...yes, that’s what I’ll tell him.” Just then the front door opened and Ivan walked into the living room, his black crash helmet under one arm, black leather gloves in hand, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
“Leila baby, get me somethin’ cold. Goddam clown who was supposed to meet me never showed, and—”
He saw the two women on the carpet huddled over the pink and lavender cotton flowers. “What’s this?” he asked, glowering at Leila Mae.
“Oh, honey, it was so hot I thought I’d just stay home and do some sewin’ and then Mrs. Billingsley just knocked a minute ago ’cause she needed some sugar for the cookies she wanted to make.” Leila Mae stammered. She spoke a little too fast and a little too cheerfully.
“That’s a funny place to keep the sugar, Leila Mae.” He spoke harshly to her, as if he were reprimanding a small child.
“Oh no, honey. She was just showin ‘ me how this pattern would fit better if I turned it around, see, like this...”
“I thought we talked about this. Better give me the scissors, baby. Thanks, Mrs. Billingsley for dropping in. Leila Mae’ll get you your sugar.” He took the large cutting shears from Leila Mae, who surrendered them meekly and went dejectedly into the kitchen, returning with a cup of granulated sugar.
“Thank you dear,” said Mrs. Billingsley, taking her cue from Leila Mae. “I’ll bring you back some cookies when they’re done.” She turned to leave before she found herself in the middle of an unpleasant domestic scene.
“’Bye, Naomi. Don’t worry about the cookies. Me ’n Ivan been trying to cut back on the sweets a little. I’ll talk to you soon.”
* * *
Several weeks had passed, and Leila Mae never came over to see Mrs. Billingsley after the incident with Ivan and the cup of sugar. Mrs. Billingsley had gone next door only once, on a sunny weekend when Ivan had disappeared on the bike for what she assumed might be a “road trip” day. Leila Mae had seemed distracted that day, their visit brief and their conversation superficial.
Leila Mae talked nervously about nothing, asking questions of Mrs. Billingsley about her life before she married Mr. Billingsley. She seemed to want to escape into someone else’s life. She smoked continuously, and her eyes darted frequently to the front yard like a scanner, watching for Ivan’s unwelcome approach. She assured Mrs. Billingsley several times that nothing was wrong, but she seemed anxious for the visit to end.
Mrs. Billingsley finally excused herself, fearful her presence was causing the young woman distress. Leila Mae walked her to the front door and as she was leaving, she asked Mrs. Billingsley if she might borrow some cutting shears, to finish cutting out the flowered dress, which had been abandoned since Mrs. Billingsley’s last visit. Ivan had put hers somewhere, and she hadn’t been able to find them. Mrs. Billingsley cheerfully offered to go across the drive and get them, but instead Leila Mae went with her and waited on the veranda until she came out with the scissors.
A week or so after this exchange with Leila Mae, Mrs. Billingsley realized there had been a distinct lack of activity next door, especially over the last twenty-four-hour period. She thought perhaps Ivan and Leila Mae had taken a little trip some place and, finally, after much consideration, decided that she would risk being once more an unwelcome visitor and would pop over to be sure everything was alright.
She walked across the driveway, up to the Trowbridges’ front door and reached up to knock on the frame of the screen door.
The inside door was jar, just an inch or two. Mrs. Billingsley knocked lightly and when there was no response, knocked again. It was not like Leila Mae to go out and leave the door open. She was much too aware of Ivan’s disapproval to do anything that careless. Perhaps she was working in the kitchen and didn’t hear the knock. Mrs. Billingsley opened the screen door, pushed the front door open another few inches and called inside.
“Leila Mae? Yoo-hoo, dear... Hello?” There was no response. She stepped inside.
The living room shades were drawn, the house silent and dimly lit. Mrs. Billingsley stepped back outside and walked toward the rear of the house, to see if Leila Mae might be in the yard. Something felt unsettled, out of place. She knocked on the back door. “Leila Mae, it’s Naomi, dear... Are you there?”
Still no reply. She turned the door handle and opened the door effortlessly. The kitchen was quiet. An ashtray stood on the kitchen table, surrounded by an overflow of ashes. Dirty dishes were strewn about the counter, along with bits of trash, fast food containers and several empty beer cans. It was unlike Leila Mae to let things get quite so out of hand.
Mrs. Billingsley walked through the tiny dining room, with the card table still piled high with papers and clutter. The living room was heavy with the stench of stale cigarette smoke. Magazines were scattered on the floor. A dirty coffee cup sat on the coffee table next to another overflowing ashtray. The place obviously hadn’t been tidied in days.
Then, on the floor by the front door, she saw a small canvas suitcase and, tossed over the back of the chair, was Leila Mae’s navy-blue acrylic knit poncho and the tooled leather shoulder bag she carried whenever she went into town.
Relieved, Mrs. Billingsley called out once more. At least she had happened in before Leila Mae made her getaway. She could bid her an affectionate goodbye, wish her luck and extract a promise from Leila Mae that she would stay in touch. She had not realized until that moment how attached she had grown to the young woman.
“Leila Mae, I’m so glad I caught you before you...” Her voice trailed off, as she turned through the hall doorway into the front bedroom and stumbled over the small wooden box lying on the floor, open and empty, just inside the doorway.
Then she saw Leila Mae. The girl was sprawled across the unmade bed, her long hair tangled and covering her face. The cutting shears lay on the floor, fallen from the lifeless hand which dangled over the edge of the bed, and a red stain spread over the bedclothes.
“I sort’a been expecting you, Mrs. Billingsley.” Ivan’s voice spoke low and haltingly, in an emotionless tone. He was sitting in an armchair by the side of the bed, staring mindlessly at the young woman’s body.
Mrs. Billingsley stood in the doorway, her heart pounding. Frozen in shock, she was unable to move, to run out of the room or to go to Leila Mae’s aid. But something told her it was too late for that.
“I couldn’t let her leave, Mrs. Billingsley. I been tryin’ to take care of Leila Mae. I know you thought I wasn’t very good to her, but you don’t know all the story. I should have told you, maybe. I know you cared about Leila Mae. But I couldn’t take a chance. I was glad she had you for a friend, Mrs. Billingsley.
“But you shouldn’t have let her have those shears. She don’t never mean nothin’ bad, but she can’t help herself. See, I knew I could keep her from hurtin’ anyone else, and I would’a kept us on the move if I’d had to. But if she went off alone, she would’a hurt somebody for sure, and then they would have taken her away again.
“She would have been so frightened, Mrs. Billingsley. She knew I’d take care of her. I had to stop her from leavin’. And she just went kind of crazy when I stopped her. She ran in here and locked herself in, all upset and cryin’. And I thought she’d eventually settle down. She finally did, and I thought she’d just fallen asleep finally and I’d talk to her in the morning. But in the morning it was still so quiet, and she wouldn’t answer me. I had to break the door in. It don’t matter whether you tell anyone now. It’s all over.”
Ivan slumped in the chair. He looked half the size of the tall, threatening man Mrs. Billingsley had encountered that first day at the screen door. His eyes were swollen and red.
“What do you mean, Ivan? She would have hurt somebody? Leila Mae wouldn’t hurt a fly—”
“Oh yes, Mrs. Billingsley, she would have tried to again, anyway. We had to leave Tennessee on account of what happened. Leila Mae just couldn’t take it anymore. I think what happened with her pa drove her right out of her mind. They never did nothin’ to him. Her mama was afraid to tell people what he’d done.
“We lived next door to them, back in Tennessee, my family and me. Leila Mae was just my little sister’s age and the sweetest thing I ever knew. But there was just something so sad about her. Even back then, I knew I was takin’ a chance stayin’ with her. She got troubled in her mind and tried something again in Paris.
“Little girl lived next door. Leila Mae was baby-sitting. I should have known better’n to let her be there alone, but everything had been so peaceful, and Leila Mae was doin’ so good after her stay at the hospital. I came home just in time. Everything was okay, but the little girl was screamin’ so, and we just had to run. I feel like we been runnin’, Mrs. Billingsley, till there maybe wouldn’t be no more places to run to. I couldn’t let her take off by herself. I couldn’t do that.”
Mrs. Billingsley turned away from Ivan and Leila Mae. Her thoughts were racing, and she had a hard time at first, trying to understanding what Ivan was telling her. She didn’t know what to say to him. Finally, she touched his arm gently, shook her head as the tears came and said softly “I’m so, so sorry, Ivan...”
Then she just left them there, the two of them alone together as they had been for so long and walked out of the bedroom, out of the little house and back home across the driveway.
* * *
Mrs. Billingsley placed the receiver of her kitchen phone back in its cradle. She went outside, through the front door and sat in her wicker swing on the veranda. After a few minutes she heard the sound of sirens approaching and, minutes later, an ambulance pulled down the driveway next door.
She pushed the ground with her toes and set the swing in motion. She thought about appearances. She thought about secrets. She thought about the music critic with the patches on his sleeve. But this time, he had a face; she could see it clearly. And it looked an awfully lot like Ivan’s.
Copyright © 2025 by Sally Stevens
