Neighbors
by Nina Kiriki Hoffman
"Grandma, there's a delivery truck out front," Kyle said.

The grocery boy made a weekly delivery, and the postman brought occasional letters and bills and all the
curricula for Kyle's home schooling. Everything else they needed came from delivery trucks, except for a few
special supplies. Kyle was good with computers and tracking shipments. He always knew when anything was
coming, and he hadn't mentioned a shipment due today.

Anna set her brush on the easel ledge below her canvas and went to peer over Kyle's shoulder. "Are we
expecting anything?"

A man climbed out of the truck by the front gate.

Kyle shook his head. He backed his wheelchair away from his observation post at the window. He always
backed away when strangers approached. He was fifteen now, perhaps old enough to be better socialized, she
thought, but perhaps not.

The doorbell rang.

Anna glanced at Kyle. He had retreated to the dark hallway; only the toes of his shoes were visible in the light
from her still-life lamp. She went to the door.

The FedEx man was young. His hair stuck out in taffy spikes below his cap. "Please sign on line 28," he said.

"Who's it from? I wasn't expecting anything." She signed.

"Don't know, ma'am." He handed her a package about the size of a tea box. The address label was smeared.
The return address label read, "A Friend" in handwriting she didn't recognize. She frowned at it, then glanced at
the address label again. "But this isn't — " she called to the young man. He had jumped down the porch steps,
crossed the front yard, and was already in the driver's seat of his truck.

"Wait!"

The man touched his cap and drove away.

"What is it, Gran?" Kyle rolled into the room.

"Something for the Crandalls." How could the delivery man make such a mistake? Her last name was Grant; she
supposed the smear made "Crandall" look like "Grant." But the address — well. The smear had disguised that,
too.

The Crandalls, a man, a woman, and two bad-tempered children, had lived next door for six years. They had
interested Anna and Kyle on many levels, but they were fairly secretive; details had been difficult to collect.

They had moved out last week, in something of a hurry; they had hired extra help, dark brawny young men Anna
had never seen before. Kyle had entertained Anna while she painted by describing each item as it made the
journey from the Crandalls's front door to the back of their U-Haul. That day she had been painting one of her
special commissions, a still life of cheese cubes and a stuffed raccoon, and she had to paint fast before the cheese
dried. Polaroids weren't big enough to derive fine details from. Still, Kyle's report had made her look up from
her work more than once.

They had learned things about the Crandalls that day that living next door for six years hadn't taught them.

The exercise equipment must have come into the house in boxes to be assembled, but it came out whole, and
there was a lot of it, with some really heavy weights. Some of the chrome assemblies with leather straps and