Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead (7 page)

She is so whacked,
Stacie thought as she copied and pasted the entire conversation, forwarding it in an IM to Jessica next door.

MetsGoStacie (8:11 p.m.): btw . . . wat is up with yor mom????

And then because Stacie was thirteen and accustomed to transmitting her every thought instantaneously to as many people as she liked, she also forwarded the convo to her best friend, Danielle Cooper, and nine other friends and wrote, Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead

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*omg . . . Jessies rents mite b gettin devorct
And then because she was thirteen and texting was the next best thing to being there, she popped this little grounder to her softball team:

so not lookin good for jessies rents

And then because she was thirteen trying to act sixteen, she went on Facebook and wrote on Jessie’s wall:
sorry bout ur rents. . . . here if ya wanna talk xoxoxoxo lyl
And then because today gossip traveled at laser speed with precision accuracy, within seconds of Beth’s signing off the computer and pouring herself a glass of wine, Jessica was in her room sobbing over the awful rumors.

Beth heard the crying but assumed that her hormonal teen was still carrying on about her Juicy outfit being ruined. Jessica should only know what it was like to have real problems. Only to turn and find Jessica crying as if she’d just received devastating news. But as any parent of a middle school child knew, it just meant that she’d found out someone was having a party and, horror of horrors, she wasn’t invited. Cue up lecture number sixty-two. Life is not fair.

“I hate you so much!” Jessica screamed, throwing a copy of her mother’s conversation in her face. “Why do you always have to be so mean to Daddy? And don’t think me and Emma are gonna live with you ’cause we’re not. We don’t wanna be like Corey Halpert. Oh, wow! He’s real lucky! He gets to see his dad on a Webcam. . . . great life, Mom! Thanks! Just what we always wanted. Virtual visits!”

“What are you talking about?” Beth recognized the conversation and felt faint. “Oh my God . . . where did you get this?”

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“From Stacie and like sixteen other people. Isn’t that great?

You’re such a lovely mother I had to find out from like the whole world my parents are getting a divorce. God I hate you so much.

You are the worst mother evah!”

“Would you stop saying that?” Beth shook. “Nobody’s getting a divorce. Oh my God, I can’t believe Mindy would do something so awful. Who does that, Jessica? Who gives a child a copy of a private conversation?”

“Mommy!” Emma yelled from her room. “Everyone is saying bad things about you and Daddy. Amanda’s mom wants you to call her right away because her sister is the best lawyer. Why do you need a lawyer?”

“Oh my God, ohmygod, OH MY GOD!” Beth handed her wineglass to Jessica and demanded her shoes so she could run next door. “Both of you turn off your computers and your cell phones this instant! You speak to no one the rest of the night!”

What to call the boy? That was what Mindy had been pondering ever since seventeen-year-old Aaron replied to Artie’s e-mail and said yeah, he guessed he would go with them on the cruise to celebrate his grandparents’ anniversary, though he hadn’t seen them since he was three, he’d never met his half-siblings or cousins, and didn’t much care for big crowds or Calypso.

What had prompted Artie to invite him Mindy didn’t know either, though her husband was prone to doing most things on impulse. Case in point, they were the owners of both a failing franchise and a Mini Cooper. (“At least we could say we drove a BMW.”)

Not that Mindy blamed Artie for desperately wanting to repair the damage done by Davida, his bizarre ex-wife, who fourteen years earlier had taken their then toddler son to visit her childhood friend in Allentown, Pennsylvania, and decided, presumably on a whim, that it would be an awesome adventure Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead

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if she and Aaron joined Ellie on a little jaunt to San Francisco by way of a used station wagon and enough dime bags of pot to make them rich by Cleveland.

Ten days later they stopped in Portland, Oregon, to visit Ellie’s cousin, Walter, a biker/musician/name the stereotype, where a doped-up Davida fell in love over hash brownies and something called Starbucks, then called an already terrified Artie to say,

“Queens sucks! We’re staying.”

Thus began a prolonged and expensive custody battle for Aaron, resulting in Artie getting nothing more from the judge’s decree than holiday visitations and attorneys’ fees.

Over the years he had begged Davida to let him have a real and meaningful relationship with the boy, only to hear a young Aaron say in a phone call that he didn’t remember who Artie was, his dad was Walter, but it would be okay if Artie sent him birthday and Christmas gifts.

Christmas gifts? His son who had been blessed by two genera-tions of rabbis at his bris wasn’t being raised Jewish? His heart-break was incalculable, yet to his credit, he remained hopeful that one day he and Aaron would reunite. That day took fourteen years to arrive, yet Artie was prepared for active duty when the call came. “My mom’s in rehab again. Walter’s dead . . . an overdose . . . Would you maybe wanna hang out one day?”

Artie flew out the next night, met his son at a Holiday Inn near the airport, and gave him his word that they would never lose contact again.

Now as they waited at LaGuardia, a nervous Mindy fretted over how the kids would respond to him, how Artie’s family would treat him, how she would feel about him, and, mostly, what to call him. Technically she could refer to him as her step-son, but doubted that would roll off her tongue. Perhaps Artie’s boy? His Royal Highness, the Prince of Portland?

Didn’t matter, for it was a sullen young man who got off the 54

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plane and said all of four words (“My suitcase is green”). En route to Long Island, he mumbled that he was tired and slept the entire ride, as if he were still the sleepy toddler Artie used to strap into a car seat and take to the Bronx Zoo. Probably best, Mindy thought. For of all the things making her nervous about this night, the most perverse was that Aaron would judge them based on where and how they lived.

Though lot sizes in south Merrick were so nominal that home-owners would be woken by the sounds of garbage pails being hauled down their neighbor’s driveway, and though the streets were so narrow, oncoming cars had to wait their turn to pass, the suburb was home to some of the most exclusive waterfront houses on Long Island’s south shore, particularly the gated estates, once headquarters to mob bosses who needed to be close to the rum-running action off Hempstead Bay.

And though their block was not quite in that league, every home had undergone major renovations and was a shining example of what refinancing could buy. Save for one: 1359 Daffo-dil Drive, aka the Sherman house, the lone vestige of proof that these dwellings started as modest split-levels and high ranches.

Number thirteen fifty-nine had no distinctive landscaping, no brick exterior or Belgian block walkways. Not even their cars were updated.

But funny how the things you worried about never happened, while the stuff you never saw coming could completely blindside you. When at last they pulled into their driveway, there was a welcome committee to greet them. Only it wasn’t their kids who ran out of their house, it was Beth and Richard Diamond.

Five

“I can not believe your mean, irresponsible daughter!” Beth shouted the second Mindy got out of the car. “I hope to God you ground her for a good, long time!”

“She’s just a kid, Beth.” Richard trailed her. “Why are you blaming her for something you did?”

“Hey, guys?” Artie was so mortified his voice quivered.

“What’s going on here? Sounds like a little misunderstanding.”

“Oh no.” Beth went nose to nose. “There’s been no misunderstanding. I don’t know how you are raising your children, but mine would know better than to—”

“Do you hear yourself?” Richard pulled her aside. “You’re such a hypocrite. You expect a thirteen-year-old to take responsibility for her actions, but you’re an adult who can’t do that.”

“For the last time, nothing happened! Okay? But will that stop the whole neighborhood from talking behind my back now? I don’t think so.”

“Guys. Guys,” Artie pleaded. “Can we just put it on pause for a second? I want you to meet my son, Aaron Findley.”

Aaron gestured hello and headed to the front door singing.

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“Every single day and every word you say. Every game you play, every
night you stay, I’ ll be watchin’ you . . .”

“Cool,” Richard nodded. “Your boy likes Sting. . . . Look, I’m really sorry about this, Artie. We’ll straighten everything out. I promise.”

“Forget it,” Artie gritted. “Aaron hold up.”

“What is going on?” Mindy asked Beth and Richard, though she had some idea.

“I’ll tell you what.” Beth stood with hands on hips. “Your daughter pretended to be you on line when we had this whole conversation. Then she had the nerve to make a copy of that conversation and send it to Jessica and apparently a hundred other people, and then, are you ready? She started this rumor that Richard and I are getting a divorce!”

“Really?” Mindy had to fight the giggles. “Does this mean you unblocked me?”

“What?” Beth snapped.

“Oh, come on . . . you don’t think I figured out that you blocked me? ”

“You blocked her?” Richard said. “Why?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Mindy, but clearly you are not hearing me. Stacie did a despicable thing to me and she owes me an apology. . . .”

“Would you stop?” Richard raised his normally calm voice.

“Clearly you feel guilty about something or you wouldn’t be—”

“Oh my God! Shut the hell up! Nothing happened. NOTHING!”

So this was the trick to fighting with Beth, Mindy thought.

Get Richard to do the heavy lifting, though she did feel sorry that he was the unwitting victim here. And at least she was getting validation that she hadn’t imagined the scene in the parking lot earlier in the day.

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“Okay look,” Mindy said. “This is awful timing, but I’ll go in and talk to Stacie and try to get her side of the story.”

“There is no other side to the story.” Beth fought tears. “That little brat decided to be a big shot and ruin my good name and now everyone is making these awful assumptions and—”

“Hey!” She felt another power surge like the one that came over her when she took on Stan. “Whatever she did, you have no right to call my daughter a brat, okay?”

“Really? Then what do you call a child who doesn’t know right from wrong?”

“I don’t know. The same thing you’d call an adult who doesn’t know right from wrong? I saw you at the mall today in that man’s car and it sure looked like you guys were having fun. And where there’s smoke, there’s—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Beth choked. “There is no smoke, no fire—”

“You were in his car?” Richard looked ready to cry, too.

“Where are you going?” Beth watched him leave. “Now look what you’ve done, Mindy!”

“Look what I’ve done? Wow. You are unbelievable. But you know what? If Stacie did do something wrong, then I’m glad she did it to you!” Mindy walked off.

Her only regret was that she couldn’t turn to see the look on Beth’s face after that knockout punch. But at least she could gloat.

For the first time, she was the reigning champ. Pity the trophy ceremony would have to wait.

“Can you explain any of that?” An angry Artie was pacing in the kitchen.

“Possibly,” she replied. “Where is he?”

“Bathroom.”

“Did the kids come down to meet him?”

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“Nope. Stacie is in her room balling her eyes out and Jamie and Ricky are hiding in the basement. Beth scared the crap out of them.”

“Oh my God . . .”

“Yeah. Not exactly the John Boy returns to Walton Mountain party I expected.”

“He’s very cute though,” Mindy whispered. “Just, you know, a little strange.”

“And we look normal? He’s probably on the phone trying to book the next flight home.”

“We’ll explain everything. I’m sure he’ll understand. Let me just go talk to Stacie and try to calm her down.”

But then Aaron returned looking so helpless and confused, his wavy brown hair still matted from the car ride, Mindy offered him a hug and a snack. He declined both as he drummed on the table and asked for a beer.

Her first instinct was to say hello, we don’t serve minors and please stop tapping on the table. But Artie, a soft touch and a once aspiring drummer, didn’t want to offend. He found an Amstel Light in the garage and showed Aaron to the TV in the den.

“Relax. It’s not like he’ll be driving,” Artie whispered. “Plus I’m sure he’s done a lot worse than this.”

“Great . . . a wonderful role model for the kids.”

“Oh stop. I drank when I was in high school and I turned out okay.”

“I know . . . it’s just, he looks so depressed. His clothes are ratty, his hair is scraggly, his teeth . . . They do have dentists in Oregon, right?”

“Why are you already judging him? So he’s a little rough around the edges? He’s been through hell, but he’s basically a sweet kid.”

“Sorry. You’re right. He’s great. Very cute. Can’t wait to fatten him up.”

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* * *

Mindy had to maneuver through a minefield of dirty clothes, clean clothes, books, and several pairs of UGGs before she could reach an inconsolable Stacie, who was slumped in a corner of her room holding her stuffed animals. She stroked her daughter’s hair and said she could win a hundred bucks if she could recall the color of her carpet. It didn’t make her laugh.

Stacie cried that she felt very sorry about what she had done, but was mostly worried that if Beth and Richard got a divorce, Jessica would blame her, get their entire grade to hate her, then she wouldn’t be invited to any more bar or bat mitzvahs.