Tara was sitting on the lawn in the front yard, very deliberately licking a Popsicle. She studied the odd chemical color of the frozen treat for a moment, then popped it back in her mouth when an unfamiliar car entered the cul-de-sac. This was rare in itself, but the fact that it was a large truck was even stranger.

It took the yellowish truck stopping across the road for it to click. It was the Brigmans’ moving truck, followed a minute later by a car that Tara’s father would’ve used the word ‘rust bucket’ for.

It was a sedan, pea soup green, that left a cloud of black smoke everywhere it passed.

Out of habit, Tara checked if her father’s car was present. If it were, she’d definitely have to make sure that he knew there was a new customer on the block. However, her father appeared to be out, leaving Tara to watch the upcoming show.

Backing up the curb, the moving truck knocked over the mailbox, that still had the Summers name on it. When the driver was satisfied with his parking, two extremely disinterested men left the cab and started the arduous task of unloading the truck, all under the supervision of Mrs Brigman, who sat down on the hood of her rusty car to have a good view.

Twenty minutes, and half a chewed Popsicle stick, later, the truck was empty and the movers were about to leave. This was when the show suddenly turned interesting.

Mrs Brigman rushed to stop the movers, who only made some apologetic gestures, said some things Tara couldn’t hear, then got in the truck and drove off, leaving Mrs Brigman to yell some words Tara was sure her mother would not have wanted her to know.

When she became aware of Tara, and her hearing the tirade, she gave the girl a sheepish wave. Tara found little else to do but return it. The woman out let out a sigh so deep Tara was convinced she could hear it, then looked at the sky. Tara followed suit. It was a pure blue sky, with no promise of rain, so there was little chance of the furniture getting wet.

Mrs Brigman checked her watch, sighed again, then opened a box, seemingly at random, and produced a book. She made sure it was one she wanted, then dropped down on a couch that was a rather ugly shade of mauve.

Tara frowned at the strange scene, then shrugged and headed inside to find another Popsicle.

Very uncharacteristically, Tara had gotten the lawnmower and attacked the front lawn with a relish, not so much because she was expecting a reward or cared very much about the already millimetred grass, but she wanted to see how the situation across the street played it.

It was about fiveish when the next episode finally started. Another unfamiliar car, but recognizable as a taxi thanks to the sign on its roof. It rolled to neat stop in front of the Brigman place, then let out its two passengers.

The first out was the now vaguely familiar redhead, Chrissy, followed by a tall man that sported the same fiery mane. He was dressed in jeans and a work shirt that had the sleeves rolled up just far enough to show a slight difference between his tanned underarms and the natural pale skin above it.

He paid the driver, then finally seemed to register the world around him.

Mrs Brigman had noticed him, but had kept reading briefly, then closed the book, neatly placed it on the couch, then walked up to the man to take him in a long, loving embrace. When she was sure made to show that she loved the man, she gave him a playful slap in the face.

Tara leaned down on the lawnmower and tried hear what was being said across the road, but all she could catch was the occasional ‘idiot’.

When Chrissy spotted her, she gave Tara a sly wave and bounded across the street to join her.

“What’s going on?” Tara wanted to know.

“Dad thought it was smart to save money by only paying for curbside delivery. … Now we’re here.”

“Uh-huh… Isn’t your dad a scientist or something? Doesn’t seem very smart now.”

Chrissy shrugged, “He’s a geologist! He’s smart, I think…”

Tara wasn’t convinced, especially looking at the piles of boxes and furniture that surrounded the Brigman couple. She noticed there were no beds.

“Hey, girl!” the man, who Tara now was sure was Mister Brigman, yelled from across the street to her, “Want to make five dollars?”

Tara raised a brow.

“Just need some help carrying this stuff!”

“Fifteen!” Tara yelled back.

“Ten!” Mrs Brigman interrupted the negotiations, before her husband could call another offer.

“Deal!” Tara shouted.

She dropped the lawnmower and skipped across the street, delighted at getting an extra ten dollars for the bookstore tomorrow. She introduced herself to the man.

“Adrian Brigman,” was the offered name after Tara gave hers. Mister Brigman had a friendly smile, twinkling green eyes, and a nose slightly too big for his face that Chrissy seemed to be set to inherit.

“Do you think we can get the couch,” he asked, “The four of us?”

Tara glanced at the mauve monstrosity and shook her head, “I don’t think so, but my dad should be home soon.”

“I’m not paying him,” Mister Brigman countered, then chuckled to himself as if what he said was hysterical. Tara didn’t see the joke, but she supposed the rocks a geologist works with weren’t that demanding an audience.

“And there’s my brother,” Tara observed, making sure she wouldn’t have to continue that conversation.

An orange sports car, known to Tara as the General Pee, swerved into the cul-de-sac and came to one of her brother’s trademark squeaking tire stops. He waved to his sister as he left the car, made sure to carefully close the eagle wing door and was about to head into the house when Tara stopped him.

“Sawyer, wait!” she called, “Can you help with this couch.”

Sawyer, who was dressed in blue overalls covered in gunk sighed, “I want to take a shower!”

“I’ll let you have the last pudding pop!”

Sawyer considered this, shrugged his shoulders, then dropped the overalls and headed over to help.

“Can you put on some clean first?” Mrs Brigman asked, “You smell like…”

She looked at Tara as she looked for a word.

“Shit,” Tara finished helpfully, “You smell like shit.”