I think my neighbors are in witness protection

She and her 3 teenagers moved into a modest bungalow around the end of February. They say they’re from Vancouver and moved here because the oldest son, “Tyler” is going to Carleton in September and because they’re tired of the rain in Vancouver. But they have American accents.

The other two kids, “Emma” and “Max” attend a local high school. The mother, “Rae Presley” doesn’t have a job.[1]

They seem like nice, ordinary people. I’ve been over for tea a couple of times and Rae has been over to my place a couple of times. I haven’t been able to convince her to go anywhere else. She says that other than the grocery store, she pretty much stays home.

When I casually asked if that was an American accent I detected, Rae said, “No". Just like that.

One day when I was there, Max called his older brother, Kevin.

One day Rae was telling me something about her daughter and called her Brianne. “Who’s Brianne?” I asked. “Oh,” she stammered. “What? Um…Brianne is Emma’s middle name – sometimes I call her that…I should stop…she doesn’t like it.”

(Okaaaaay)

Everything in their house is new. Everything. They have no old knickknacks or bits of furniture or even dishes. All brand spankin’ new.

They have a lot of locks on their doors and windows; an alarm system and an elaborate spy-hole in their front door that lets them see the sides of the house, a big expanse of the front yard and whether or not someone is crouching behind the door. It always takes them a really long time to answer.

Rae has offered to cat sit for me next time we go away.
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[1] All names have been changed to protect everyone, just in case.

PS: I've been having huge difficulties with stupid Googleblogger. Is it just me?