The following week, I decided to speak to Dakota.
I didn't want an argument.
I didn't want to accuse her of chasing a married man when I had no real evidence of that.
I just wanted the coffee deliveries to stop.
It seemed like a simple request.
One afternoon, I saw her outside her house, watering a row of flowers beside the front steps.
She wore an old shirt and had her hair pulled back.
A green watering can rested against her hip.
I crossed the street before I could talk myself out of it.
"Hi, Dakota."
She turned and smiled.
"Jennifer! How are you?"
"Fine. I was hoping I could ask you something."
"Sure."
She set the watering can down.
I had rehearsed what I wanted to say on the walk over.
Even so, the words came out more awkwardly than I intended.
"It's about the coffee you've been giving Tony."
Her smile stayed in place.
"What about it?"
I tried to keep my voice light.
"It's very kind of you, but you don't need to keep buying him coffee every morning. We have plenty at home."
For a moment, she didn't answer.
Her eyes moved past me, toward our house.
It was only a second.
Then she looked back at me.
"Oh. I didn't mean anything by it."
"I know."
I was quick to reassure her.
"I just thought I should say something before it becomes a habit."
She nodded slowly.
"Okay. I understand."
I felt embarrassed.
Perhaps she really had meant nothing by it, and I had made her feel foolish for trying to be friendly.
"I hope you don't think I'm trying to be rude."
"No, not at all."
Her voice was polite.
A little quieter than before, perhaps, but I didn't know what to make of that.
We talked for another minute about her flowers and the weather.
Then I returned home.
Tony was in the kitchen when I came inside.
"Did you talk to her?"
"I did."
"And?"
"She said she understood."
He nodded.
"Good."
That was all he said.
I watched him put a glass in the dishwasher.
I wondered whether he felt relieved that the coffee would stop coming.
I also wondered whether I should apologize for making such a fuss.
Neither thought lasted long.
The next morning, I looked outside before Tony left.
Dakota wasn't there.
There was no paper cup beside her mailbox.
No one called out a greeting.
Tony walked to his car, opened the door, and drove away.
The street looked exactly as it had before she moved in.
I felt relieved.
It was a small thing, but I had grown tired of looking out the window every morning and wondering what I was supposed to think.
Now I could stop thinking about it.
The following day passed the same way.
So did the next.
By Friday, I had almost forgotten how regularly the coffees had appeared.
Tony mentioned it while we were eating dinner.
"Looks like my coffee service has been discontinued."
I gave him a look.
"Poor you."
"I suppose I'll have to learn to make my own."
"You've had eight years of practice."
He laughed.
Then he reached for my hand across the table.
"Happy now?"
I squeezed his fingers.
"Very."
We finished dinner and spent the rest of the evening watching television.
Nothing felt wrong.
Nothing seemed unfinished.
For several days, I didn't see Dakota except when she was taking out her trash or bringing groceries inside.
We exchanged brief waves when our paths crossed.
She was pleasant.
I was pleasant.
There was no awkward confrontation, no coldness, and no reason to think we would have trouble getting along.
I decided the matter was settled.
That was what made the following Monday so unsettling.
I had no warning.
No strange phone call.
No argument the night before.
Just another ordinary morning in the kitchen.
Tony had eaten breakfast and was getting ready to leave.
I was rinsing a plate when I heard his keys jingle outside.
Through the window, I could see him beside his car.
He was checking his phone before putting it away.
Then Dakota came out of her house.
She moved quickly across the street.
I stopped with the plate still in my hand.
She wasn't carrying a takeaway cup.
She held a small piece of paper between her fingers.
That was the first thing that made me pay attention.
The second was her face.
She looked nothing like the cheerful woman who had brought cookies to our house a few weeks earlier.
Her mouth was tight.
Her shoulders were stiff.
She glanced toward our house before speaking to Tony.
He turned to face her.
I couldn't hear what either of them said through the closed window.
Dakota held out the paper.
Tony didn't take it immediately.
For a moment, he seemed to be deciding whether to accept it.
Then he reached for it.
He unfolded the note.
I watched his eyes move across the page.
His expression changed so quickly that I nearly dropped the plate.
Whatever was written there had reached him before he finished reading it.
He looked at Dakota.
She said something.
He shook his head.
She spoke again, and he lowered his eyes to the paper for a second time.
Then he looked directly toward our house.
Toward the kitchen window.
Toward me, though I couldn't tell whether he had actually seen me standing there.
His hand closed around the note.
He folded it and pushed it into his pocket.
Dakota turned and walked back across the street.
She didn't wave.
She didn't look at our house again.
She went inside and shut her front door.
Tony stayed beside his car.
He stood there long enough for me to realize that he wasn't simply reading a message about a delayed appointment or an ordinary problem at work.
He looked frightened.
I had never seen him look that way over a piece of paper.
Then he opened the car door.
I put the plate down.
My hands were suddenly cold.
Whatever Dakota had written, Tony wanted to keep it from me.
And I was no longer willing to pretend I hadn't seen it.
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: The Note Was Small Enough to Hide in His Pocket, but the Words Inside It Changed the Meaning of Every Morning Before It
I Thought Our New Neighbor Was Simply Being Kind Until My Husband Read Something He Never Wanted Me to See
Part 2 of 8
