It was the vibration Bree noticed first, followed by the driving beat and distance-muffled words to the music. The vibration made the water in her glass tremble and jump, and Bree stood and walked to the front window, as if she could see the sound in the air and where it was coming from.
Something drew her gaze to Lynette's house, unnaturally still in the early afternoon. Abandoning her lunch on the table, Bree crossed the street, the music getting louder as she did, confirming her suspicions that Lynette was the source of the racket. Evanescence, Bree thought. The music that Lynette claimed to only listen to when she was in her "pseudo-suicidal" moods.
A tendril of worry wrapped itself around Bree.
She got to the door and rang the bell, looking in as she did. The only movement was the vibration under her feet from the music. Bree knocked, then turned the door knob, surprised to find it locked. Now admittedly scared, Bree went around to the back of the house, finding the door locked there, too. As she wondered what to do, Bree went back to the front. Looking in a window, Bree's blood went cold when she saw Lynette sprawled out on the living room couch, unmoving, with an empty bottle of wine, and a half empty twenty-sixer of whiskey on the coffee table.
"Lynette!" Bree shouted, banging on the window. Lynette didn't move.
Unabashed fear fueling her, Bree ran to Susan's house.
"Susan!" Bree gasped when she brunette opened the door. "Something's wrong with Lynette, she's on her couch, she's not moving!"
Susan spared a moment to gape at the usually calm and collected Bree, before following her back to Lynette's house.
Between the two of them, they managed to pick the lock, and as soon as the door was open, Bree was rushing to Lynette's side. Bree touched Lynette's hand with trepidation, fearing the sensation of cooling skin.
Lynette jerked, opening her eyes to reveal alcohol-glazed confusion. "Bree?" she asked, then seemed to realize that Bree couldn't hear her. Fumbling with the remote, Lynette turned off the stereo, leaving deafening silence in the house. "Bree?" she asked again. "What are you doing here?"
Still overcome with relief that Lynette was all right, Bree's voice was shaky as she said, "I was worried about you, honey."
Neither woman seemed to remember Susan, but the brunette, while admitting that Bree appeared to have everything under control, wasn't quite ready to leave her friends.
Lynette sniffled and tears filled her eyes. "Thanks. I was just thinking about Mary Alice. I miss her, you know?"
Bree made a sound in the back of her throat. "Oh, honey, we all do."
Lynette continued. "I, I missed her eyes, and, and her smile, and her touch." Lynette looked up at Bree with eyes pleading for understanding and rescue from the pain she was in. "I miss her touch," she said again in a whisper. "She knew how to make me feel good… like a woman, desirable…"
"… loved," Bree finished absently.
Susan's eyes widened as she started to put the pieces together.
"Loved," Lynette agreed. "She was good at that. When, when Tom went on business trips, Mary Alice always invited me over the next day. We would have coffee or wine, and talk. She'd listen to my fears and dreams and resentments, and she'd run her fingers through my hair, and she'd tell me it would be okay." The tears finally spilled down Lynette's cheeks, and gentle fingers wiped them away.
"Shhh," Bree whispered. "It will be okay, sweetie. I know it hurts." Meeting Lynette's eyes intensely, Bree repeated, "I know," with conviction.
Finally getting a little too uncomfortable, Susan left quietly. Sometimes you could know just a little too much about your neighbors.
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