Lisa.
The woman who had knocked on our door and complained about the noise.
Their teenage children, Emma and Jake, were there too.
They were laughing, eating snacks, and relaxing as though they were in their own backyard.
For several seconds, neither Tom nor I spoke.
Finally, I whispered:
“Lisa.”
Tom stared at the screen.
“She came to our house.”
“I know.”
“She asked us to keep the noise down.”
“I know.”
And then I understood.
Lisa had never come over to complain.
