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<\/p>\nConnecticut 1997-98<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Driving the streets of Connecticut I coveted the grassy yards and picket fences I\u2019d once dismissed. I imagined our little family in one of these charming houses, the screen door slamming behind Molly as she came in from playing in our yard. I wanted a patch of my own to plant flowers and vegetables, to nurture my family in a normal<\/em> life with friendly neighbors who didn\u2019t harbor bizarre ancient hatreds. After four years in a war-zone I wasn\u2019t even sure if I recognized \u2018normal\u2019 and my previous dreams of adventure had been replaced by a longing for stability and a home.<\/p>\n We decided to buy a house while we still had enough for a down payment and quickly fell in love with a white cape in a quiet neighborhood. As soon as we drove up to the corner property just shy of a quarter of an acre set back from the street, I knew we\u2019d found home. Stepping inside the privet hedge that surrounded the property felt bucolic in spite of the drone of the nearby highway. On a September afternoon, the greens erupting into a flame of color, the owner, a woman in her eighties, stood on her small porch pointing out the variety of trees and shrubs on the property.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat are these?\u201d Neil asked gesturing towards some bushes in front of the porch.<\/p>\n \u201cAzaleas in different shades of pink. And in the back there\u2019s a whole row of peonies,\u201d she said and turned to me, \u201cI\u2019ve lived here for 45 years. There are a lot of good memories in this house. It\u2019s been a very happy home.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI hope it will be for our family too,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n With glass doorknobs, hardwood floors and a sun porch, the 1930s cape was an antique compared to the boxy split-levels in the neighborhood. Satisfied that we would love her home as she did, the woman accepted our offer. We became homeowners just in time for Molly\u2019s second Halloween.<\/p>\n The house needed an electricity upgrade, the bathroom\u2019s pink sink had to go, the tiny hot water heater barely provided enough water for one quick shower. I paid for these things. Neil still didn\u2019t seem to have money. Since he started selling cars, I thought he would be contributing more but it was never enough. I dreaded the mailman for the bills he delivered.<\/p>\n In life-before-Neil, I had loved opening my mailbox at the end of the day and never flinched at the sight of a bill because I knew what to expect, never had outlandish balances and paid them within days of receipt. Same thing with phone calls. Seeing a flashing light on my answering machine when I came home at the end of the day made me happy. What friend wanted to talk? What invitation awaited me? I hit the \u2018play\u2019 button even before taking off my coat.<\/p>\n This was no longer true. Now telephone calls and mail triggered anxiety. Even though Neil now earned more money than I did, his spending continued to be out of control but I could not figure out what<\/em> he was buying. New charges and eventually, collection notices filled the mailbox. He didn\u2019t seem to care about whether they were paid and hid bills. If I didn\u2019t get to the mailbox first, balances remained outstanding until the following month doubled and with late fees.<\/p>\n When the phone rang, I held my breath, dreading a collections call. One regular caller frightened me but he wasn\u2019t from a collections agency. Neil knew the guy but never picked up to speak to him and the man seemed to know we were there as he snarled out his message.<\/p>\n \u201cNeil! Pick up the fucking phone. Neil! Neil! It\u2019s Chet. I need to talk to you \u2026 now! You better call me back. I\u2019m getting sick of this, Neil! I need my money. You better fucking call me back!\u201d<\/p>\n That voice chilled the house. Sometimes I came home at the end of the day to multiple threatening messages on the answering machine and quickly hit the \u2018off\u2019 button so Molly would not hear the foul language. One night, after checking she was asleep, I kissed her dewy, toddler forehead and went downstairs to confront Neil. Still in his Landrover uniform of khakis and polo, he was sprawled across the couch watching English comedy reruns. He turned to me with a smile.<\/p>\n \u201cPoppet asleep? Would you like a cup of tea?\u201d<\/p>\n I picked up the controls from beside him and muted the television then walked over to the answering machine and pushed play. As Chet\u2019s nasty voice came on, Neil put a hand to his face, fingers massaging his brow, eyes closed.<\/p>\n \u201cWho is this guy?\u201d I asked, a sick feeling in my stomach.<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s no one. I owe him some money \u2013 I\u2019ll get it to him soon. He\u2019s fine. Don\u2019t worry, he\u2019s a nice bloke, he just sounds bad.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re joking – a nice guy? He\u2019s scary and I don\u2019t want him calling here anymore. What do you owe him money for? And how much money are we talking about here?\u201d I was shaking, afraid of his answer.<\/p>\n \u201cOnly a grand. Mike, the guy from security in Zagreb introduced me to him. He lent me some cash when we needed to fix the car and I didn\u2019t want to ask you for it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhen was this?\u201d<\/p>\n I searched my memory. In contrast to the fancy Land Rovers Neil got to drive, our car was old and needed constant repair \u2013 maybe he was telling the truth.<\/p>\n \u201cBut why would you go to someone like him for money? That\u2019s crazy!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s a mate. That\u2019s just how he is. He\u2019s really okay. I made a mistake in borrowing from him but he\u2019ll get his money. I\u2019m expecting a big paycheck next week. I have a few big sales.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s not a \u2018mate\u2019, he\u2019s a wack job. Friends don\u2019t speak to each other that way – this guy\u2019s a creep, don\u2019t you see that? I don\u2019t want him calling here anymore. Please, just get him out of our life.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI will, I will! I promise. Now, can I make you a nice cup of tea?”<\/p>\n He kissed the top of my head and hurried out to the kitchen.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Connecticut 1997-98 Driving the streets of Connecticut I coveted the grassy yards and picket fences I\u2019d once dismissed. I imagined our little family in one of these charming houses, the screen door slamming behind Molly as she came in from playing in our yard. I wanted a patch of my own to plant flowers and … Continue reading Chapter 15<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6218","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pPzTS-1Ci","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6218","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=6218"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6218\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6224,"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6218\/revisions\/6224"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=6218"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=6218"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/triciatierneyblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=6218"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}![](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/triciatierneyblog.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/08\/img_3147.jpg?resize=660%2C495\")
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