Ann is surprised to see him hobble forward on crutches, with a bright white bandage wrapped around the top of his skull.

  She notices that his dress pants are stretched out around one of his thighs as if there’s a bandage or a brace underneath.

  “What the heck happened to him?” Marjorie whispers.

  Ann has no answer. She can only stare as her neighbor hobbles down the aisle to sit next to his lawyer.

  As soon as he’s seated, the bailiff announces, “All rise!”

  Roy struggles to his feet with the rest of the people in the courtroom. He winces as if in pain as they sit back down and the judge addresses the courtroom.

  “Mr. Kirk,” says Judge Walter Martinez, with a puzzled expression on his face, “may I ask what happened to you?”

  “I’ve been shot, Your Honor,” Roy says. “Twice. Once in the leg and once in the head.”

  Ann and Marjorie exchange surprised looks.

  “Did the police arrest who did it?” Judge Martinez asks.

  “I can’t go to the police,” Roy says. “I don’t trust them.”

  The judge makes a sour face.

  “Mr. Kirk,” he says, “if you’ve been shot, you need to speak to the police.”

  Roy doesn’t say anything.

  Ann watches in disbelief. What the hell is going on?

  Judge Martinez asks if Roy feels okay to continue the hearing, and Roy says that he does not want a delay.

  “I want to get everything out in the open,” he says. “Clear the air.”

  The judge explains that the city solicitor is going to call witnesses to testify about the condition of the house on Lawn Street, but the hearing can begin with a statement by Roy, if he wants to make one.

  “I do, Your Honor,” Roy says, rising and using his crutches to balance on one foot.

  “You may remain seated, if you like,” the judge says.

  “I want to stand, Your Honor. I want to stand up to the way I’ve been treated. By my neighbors and by this city.”

  Roy starts in on a diatribe about how he’s been shunned by his community. How Ann Hoover has turned his neighbors against him. How his house has been vandalized.

  “People have thrown firebombs at my house,” he says.

  Ann and Marjorie exchange another puzzled look.

  “Is this the house next to Ann Hoover?” Judge Martinez asks. “Or down the street, where you live?”

  “Where I live. But it’s because of Ann Hoover’s harassment that this is happening. I don’t know who attacked me—who shot me—but I’m sure it’s related.”

  Roy looks visibly shaken, his voice trembling. Even without the apparent physical injury, he looks completely stressed-out and mentally exhausted.

  Ann can’t be sure if he’s telling the truth or if his behavior is an act. She knows Roy well enough now to realize that he’s capable of emotional manipulation. But while it’s true that several neighbors are mad at Roy for the condition of his house, Ann can’t believe anyone would vandalize his house or throw Molotov cocktails, or whatever he means by “firebombs,” at his house. And if Roy’s been shot, there’s no way anyone in the neighborhood had anything to do with it.

  She doesn’t want to believe he would lie about being shot, or having his house vandalized, but at this point, she wouldn’t be surprised if the bandages were part of an elaborate hoax.

  Still, while her gut tells her that the injuries might be fake, everything else she’s seeing from Roy—his haggard appearance—seems real.

  The judge says that he’s very sorry that Roy has gone through these ordeals. However, he adds, this is not the venue to address those claims. If Roy has been vandalized and attacked, he needs to seek help from the police.

  “This hearing is only to address your property and whether or not you’ve adhered to building and health codes. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Roy says, sitting back down and muttering, “I just want you to know the whole neighborhood has turned against me.”

  Judge Martinez then shifts his attention to the solicitor.

  “I’d like to call my first witness,” the lawyer says. “Ann Hoover.”

  Ann takes a deep breath. She tries to put Roy’s crazy claims out of her mind. She needs to focus.

  This is her chance to get something done about the leaking, rat-infested dump she’s been forced to live next to.

  Chapter 21

  Hours later, Ann Hoover sits in the gallery of the courtroom, waiting for the judge to return after a thirty-minute recess.

  She’s hungry, tired, and anxious. They’ve been in court all day. She testified. Marjorie Wilson testified. Other neighbors testified. The city solicitor brought in real estate experts to talk about the negative effect Roy Kirk’s place has had on neighborhood property values. He brought in the city housing inspector to talk about the ways in which Roy’s property is out of compliance. He did the same with a representative from the health department. Finally, he showed the judge the photographs Ann has taken over the past several months, including one from just a few days ago, showing a cluster of rats digging into a garbage bag in Roy’s weed-filled yard.

  Roy’s lawyer tried to rattle some of the witnesses—he asked Ann why she was harassing Roy—but for the most part he was unable to offer much defense as to why his client’s home looked worse now than when he bought it.

  Through it all, Roy sat at the defendant’s table, impassive and hardly moving.

  Judge Martinez is a fiftysomething man with a salt-and-pepper beard and a barrel chest. Throughout the hearing, Ann has been impressed by his no-nonsense, get-down-to-business demeanor.

  “I’ve considered all the evidence,” the judge says, his booming voice matching his appearance, “and I’ve reached my decision.”

  Ann’s heart accelerates. Her breathing feels shallow.

  “There is a preponderance of evidence,” Judge Martinez says, “that you, Roy Kirk, have been derelict in your duties as a homeowner.”

  Relief floods through Ann.

  “Your neighbors, specifically Ann Hoover, have done their due diligence in trying to get you to clean up and repair your property. She has asked you, encouraged you, and offered to provide you with the contact information for professionals who could help.”

  Ann risks a glance over at Roy, who seems like he’s watching a TV show that he finds particularly boring, not even looking at the judge deciding his fate.

  “In recent weeks,” Judge Martinez continues, “your house has undergone various inspections, and it has failed them all miserably. By all accounts, you have done nothing to remedy the problems.”

  Ann can’t believe it. The judge’s words feel like a vindication of everything she’s been saying since Roy moved in.

  Yes! she thinks. Let him have it, Judge!

  “Roy Kirk,” the judge continues, “this court hereby fines you in the amount of fifty thousand dollars.”

  Ann’s mouth drops open.

  She hadn’t expected that kind of penalty.

  Once again, Ann feels sorry for Roy. She knows he can’t afford this. If he had fifty thousand dollars lying around, surely he would have put it into the house.

  “Moreover,” Judge Martinez says, “I am hereby stripping you of your building license. I can’t have someone who so brazenly disobeys building laws and health codes operate as a licensed contractor in this city.”

  Ann hears murmurs from the neighbors around her.

  Judge Martinez goes on to outline a tight schedule for Roy to comply with Pittsburgh’s codes. If he doesn’t, he could incur more fines. As the judge explains the situation, the courtroom is as silent as a cemetery.

  It feels nothing like the court scenes Ann’s seen in movies, where, once the verdict is stated, there are cheers and celebration in the audience.

  There’s nothing to celebrate here. There’s nothing to feel good about.

  Ann feels a surge of anger. Roy pushed her into this mess. What was she supposed to do, just sit around and let him turn his property—and by association, her property—into a pigsty? She shouldn’t have to feel guilty.

  After the judge disappears through the door behind his bench, the room relaxes a bit. Roy huddles with his lawyer. If he’s upset, he’s hiding it well. Marjorie gives Ann a hug. Ted does, too.

  “That’s a big fine,” Marjorie comments. “And how’s he supposed to do the work if he doesn’t have a building license?”

  “He’ll need to hire someone,” Ted says, “which is what he should have done in the first place.”

  As they talk, Roy rises from his seat and, without a word, hobbles out of the courtroom on his crutches. Marjorie and Ted talk, but Ann’s distracted when she sees Roy’s lawyer motion for the city solicitor to approach.

  The two chat for a minute, looking more like old pals than adversaries. The solicitor walks back over to her.

  “This isn’t over,” he tells Ann. “Roy’s going to appeal.”

  “What does that mean?” Ann asks.

  He explains that Roy might do some work on the house, clean up some of the mess. That way, when they go to appellate court to discuss the appeal, Roy will be able to argue that he’s making an effort to address the issues and that the fines should be reduced or even waived.

  “I’d be okay with that,” Ann says. “I don’t want to bankrupt the guy. I just want him to finish what he started.”

  “We’ll see what happens,” the lawyer says. “Maybe this was the wake-up call he needed.”

  Ann remembers thinking the same thing when they kicked him off the housing board.

  How many wake-up calls does one guy need?

  Chapter 22

  Rebecca Portman pounds on Roy Kirk’s front door.

  “Roy, it’s me!” she yells. “Answer the door, damn it!”

  She hears footsteps coming, and then from the other side of the door, Roy hollers, “Go home, Rebecca! It’s not safe here for you.”

  Go home?

  No way.

  He won’t answer his phone. She doesn’t even know if their engagement is on or off—frankly, she’s not sure she wants to marry him anymore. But she still cares about him, and wants to make sure he’s okay.

  “I’m not leaving until you open this door,” she says. “Do you understand me?”

  After a short pause, Roy finally says, “All right. Hold on.”

  But instead of opening the door, he walks away, deeper into the house. She balls her fist to hammer the door again, but then hears Roy coming back down the hall.

  He opens the door quickly, and she gasps when she sees a bandage wrapped around his head.

  “Roy, what the…?”

  Roy steps out on the porch and shuts the door behind him. Rebecca is stunned—why won’t he let her inside?

  And why is he wearing a bandage on his head? His bushy hair sticks out around it like those old pictures of tennis player John McEnroe wearing a headband over his long hair.

  Roy goes over to the porch railing and leans against it. He’s wearing sweatpants, and it looks like there’s something bulky underneath the fabric on one of his thighs. He seems to be in serious pain.

  “What’s going on?” Rebecca asks. “I wanted to know how the court hearing went.”

  “Terrible,” he says, pointing to his skull. “And someone shot me.”

  “My God,” she says, her heart racing. “Did you go to the hospital? Did you call the police? Why didn’t you call me?”

  Roy tells her it’s not safe for her to be over. The whole neighborhood has turned against him and is trying to drive him away.

  “What did the police say?”

  “I can’t go to the police,” he says. “They’re on her side.”

  Rebecca is at a loss for words. What is going on?

  Roy changes to a more soothing tone. He tells her not to worry. An appeal is scheduled, and he’s going to make all the repairs by then. The judge will rescind the fines, and everything will go back to normal.

  “And then we can get married,” he says. “But first I have to fix this.”

  “Let’s go inside,” she says.

  “I can’t let you in. It’s too dangerous here.”

  “If it’s not safe here, you should come to my place,” she says. “Let me help you.”

  “I have to do this alone,” Roy says, and reaches to embrace her.

  Rebecca falls into his arms, unsure what to make of what Roy’s saying. She remembers how understanding he was when he bailed her out of jail, how supportive he was. He was there for her in exactly the way she needed.

  She tells herself that she needs to be there for him, too.

  If she can do that for him, and if he can fix the mess he’s gotten himself into, maybe there’s hope for them yet.

  “I love you, Roy,” she says.

  “I love you, too.”

  As Rebecca walks toward her car, parked a few houses down, she turns and sees Roy still standing on the porch. He lifts his hand and gives her a wave.

  She waves back.

  He blows her a kiss.

  She blows one back to him, then keeps walking. When she arrives at her car, she looks again to the house, expecting him to still be standing there. But the porch is empty, the light off. Later on, she’ll remember this moment.

  The way he blew her that good-bye kiss.

  And then was gone.

  Part 3

  Chapter 23

  March 24, 1997

  Ann sits at her piano, her fingers moving over the keys. The notes reverberate around her, filling her home with the beauty of Chopin on a rainy night. It’s after dinner—later than she would normally play—but she’s trying to keep her mind occupied.

  Tomorrow, she’ll be back at the Allegheny County Courthouse. Roy has appealed the judge’s decision and has a new day in court.

  Since last month’s ruling in the Court of Common Pleas, Roy has done virtually no work on the house.

  He hasn’t fixed the roof.

  He hasn’t cleaned up the trash out front.

  He hasn’t even been around.

  Until tonight, that is. He pulled up in his truck around dusk, and she spied him through the crack in her blinds as he unloaded tools and adjustable work lights just as the rain began to fall. The bandage on his head was nowhere in sight. She saw him unspool the extension cord and, as always, stroll down the street to his other house. He walked without crutches, and with no sign of a limp.

  Soon after, she heard him making a terrible clamor.

  From the sound of it, he’s been down in the basement slamming walls with a sledgehammer. It’s as if he’s aware tomorrow is not going to go well—he’s going to lose another battle—and all he can do is make noise in some kind of petulant, juvenile display of dissatisfaction. Either that, or he plans to bring the whole damn building down on himself.

  Ann wants to ignore him, which is why she’s turned to her piano.

  If he is going to make a racket, she is going to make music.

  As she glides her fingers over the keys, she hears the phone ring.

  “Hello,” she says, answering it as she peers out the window at the pouring rain.

  “It’s Marjorie. How are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine,” Ann says, and she means it. “Roy’s making a terrible racket next door, but I’m ignoring him.”

  Despite the commotion, she is actually in high spirits. She feels there’s no way Roy’s appeal will hold up. He’s done nothing to warrant a different ruling. And now that his bandages have disappeared, she knows for certain he was lying about that. Any sympathy she had for her neighbor is now gone. He’s a liar. He’s a charlatan. He’s brought all of this on himself.

  And even though he’s no closer to fixing up his property, this has become a war of attrition, and Ann knows that eventually she’ll win. He’ll have to sell his house or have it repossessed. Someday she’ll have a neighbor who will take care of the property. A neighbor she can feel comfortable living next door to.

  And she’ll feel proud that she didn’t let Roy Kirk walk all over her.

  She stood up for herself.

  It’s just a matter of time before Roy Kirk is out of her life altogether.

  She doesn’t say all this to Marjorie, just that she’s confident and relaxed.

  As they talk, Ann notices that the noise coming from next door has ceased. She checks the window and sees that Roy’s truck is still outside. Maybe he’s worked himself to the point of exhaustion.

  Marjorie confirms that she and Ted will come by in the morning to pick Ann up for court. They’ll all ride to the courthouse together.

  “Sounds good,” Ann says before hanging up. “See you bright and early.”

  She considers going back to her piano, but she wants to get a good night’s sleep before tomorrow morning’s hearing. She climbs the stairs to the top floor and puts the pan beneath the leaking ceiling, as she now does every time it rains.

  As she’s changing into her pajamas, she hears a loud crack of thunder, followed by a new noise. Like a stack of bricks falling over.

  It’s strange how sound carries in these row houses—this time Roy’s racket sounded like it was coming from her own basement.

  She listens carefully but hears only the steady drone of the rain against her roof.

  She tells herself that she’s spooking herself unnecessarily. In the bathroom, she washes her face and brushes her teeth.

  She freezes.

  Did she hear the creak of a wooden step coming from the stairwell?

  You’re just being paranoid, she tells herself, rinsing off her toothbrush and dropping it into the coffee cup she uses to house it.

  As she steps over the threshold back into her bedroom, she catches a sudden movement out of the corner of her eye. Before she can turn her head, pain explodes through her skull.

  Her world turns black.

  When she comes to, she blinks her eyes, trying to figure out what happened, where she is. She feels her body sliding across her bedroom floor. A hand is gripped firmly around her ankle.