A short story about a young couple and their across-the-street neighbor, Jack. It’s all about Jack and Jill. Because the hubby was always busy.
Jill and I are transplanted Minnesotans of Swedish extraction now living in Ft. Worth, Texas. She is thirty-one, and I am thirty-two, blond, blue-eyed, and fair-skinned we are not uncommon in Texas but stick out in the Hispanic neighborhood we live in. And so does our across-the-street neighbor, Jack.
Jack Yoshimori, that is. A Japanese American from California, of all places. Being the odd people in our neighborhood, we bonded via necessity. Just about all our neighbors seemed to be Hispanic and ex-military cowboy types. And they sure took to making fun of us civilians. Even their women thought that Jill was not one of their own.
I traveled a lot and was often not home when things needed to be done around the house. Jill had mentioned how she wished she had a man to do those things, with her being all of five foot one and small-framed at that.
“Look, I said, thinking of a quick solution. “Ask Jack across the street.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Yes, quite. He is a good guy and a friend.”
The next time I came back from a trip, I noticed the gutters were repaired and painted.
“Who did that, Jill?”
“Jack across the street.”
“See, I told you he was a good guy and reliable, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” she said while making dinner.
The next time I came back from a business trip, the broken pipe in the basement was fixed.
“Who did that, Jill?”
“Jack across the street.”
“Good man,” I replied. “Let’s have him over for diner.”
“It’s OK,” Jill said, “He knows we are grateful because I sent him flowers to say thank you.”
“That’s nice, honey,” I said, glad she took care of such things. “You know how my career is taking off, and I can’t say no to my boss.”
The next time I came back from a business trip, the grass was cut.
“Who did that, Jill?”
“Jack across the street.”
“Wow!” I said. “That Jack is certainly stepping up.”
Jill said nothing as she worked on grading her student exams.
I got on Amazon and picked out a set of tools Jack had told me he liked some time ago and had them shipped to his house. I added a card with a “Thanks for all you do for Jill” message.
As I was leaving for work a week later, Jack was working on his car and waved a wrench at me with a smile.
The next time I came back from a business trip, Jill’s car was fixed. She had asked me to either do it or take it to the shop, but I had gotten caught up with work, and it slipped my mind.
“Who did that Jill?”
“Jack across the street.”
“Right,” I replied remorsefully. “I’m sorry…”
But I never finished the sentence as Jill walked out of the room and slammed the door.
The next time I was away for a business trip, I called Jill around dinner time, but there was no answer. My call went to voicemail. I never received an answer that night.
When I returned from my business trip, Jill seemed distant.
“Jill, I called you the other night. What happened?”
“I was taken to dinner and dancing.”
“Who did that Jill?”
“Jack across the street.”
“Oh…” was all I managed to say. “I’m sorry, but I…”
“I know,” she cut me off. “Your career is taking off. You said.”
“Are you upset?” I asked.
That night we made love. After five minutes of giving her my best, I rolled over. I fell asleep, but I think Jill was awake staring at the ceiling.
Two weeks after, when I came back from a business trip, Jill sat me down.
“Honey, we have to talk,” she said.
I felt a knot in my throat. Talk?
“Dingus, I’m pregnant.”
“That’s great, honey,” I replied. “Who took you to the doctor?”
“Jack across the street.”
“That Jack is a hell of a guy,” I replied.
“He sure is,” Jill said with a distant look.
I could tell she was worried about something, but I had work to do that day and couldn’t stick around to talk. I work so hard. I hope she appreciates it.
Nine months later, I came home. Jill had given birth and was radiant at the hospital, breastfeeding the baby.
I stared at the dark-haired, Asian baby boy and pounded my fist on the table.
“Oh shit! That Jack from across the street!”
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This story is the property of the writer Kalimaxos.
Any unauthorized reproduction or reprint without authorization from the author is strictly prohibited.
