Right Next Door (17 page)

In loving memory of
David Adler, Doug Adler and Bill Stirwalt
Beloved Cousins
Beloved Friends

 

Special thanks to
Pat Kennedy and her endearing Italian mother,
and Ted Macomber and Bill Hall
for the contribution of their rap music
and all the lessons about living with teenage boys

C
arol Sommars swore the entire house shook from her fifteen-year-old son's sound system, which was blasting out his favorite rap song.

“Peter!” Carol screamed from the kitchen, covering her ears. She figured a squad of dive-bombers would've made less of a racket.

Realizing that Peter would never be able to hear her above the din, she marched down the narrow hallway and pounded on his door.

Peter and his best friend, Jim Preston, were sitting on Peter's bed, their heads bobbing in tempo with the music. They both looked shocked to see her.

Peter turned down the volume. “Did you want something, Mom?”

“Boys, please, that music is too loud.”

Her son and his friend exchanged a knowing glance, no doubt commenting silently on her advancing age.

“Mom, it wasn't
that
bad, was it?”

Carol met her son's cynical look. “The walls and floors were vibrating.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Sommars.”

“It's okay, Jim. I just thought I'd save the stemware while I had a chance.” Not to mention warding off further hearing loss…

“Mom, can Jim stay for dinner? His dad's got a hot date.”

“Not tonight, I'm afraid,” Carol said, casting her son's friend an apologetic smile. “I'm teaching my birthing class, but Jim can stay some other evening.”

Peter nodded. Then, in an apparent effort not to be outdone by his friend, he added, “My mom goes out on hot dates almost every weekend herself.”

Carol did an admirable job of disguising her laugh behind a cough. Oh, sure! The last time she'd gone out had been…she had to think about it…two months ago. And that had been as a favor to a friend. She wasn't interested in remarrying. Bruce had died nearly thirteen years earlier, and if she hadn't found another man in that time, she wasn't going to now. Besides, there was a lot to be said for the benefits of living independently.

She closed Peter's bedroom door and braced her shoulder against the wall as she sighed. A jolt of deafening music brought her upright once more. It was immediately lowered to a respectable level, and she continued back to the kitchen.

At fifteen, Peter was moving into the most awkward teenage years. Jim, too. Both boys had recently obtained their learner's permits from the Department of Motor Vehicles and were in the same fifth-period driver training class at school.

Checking the time, Carol hurried into the kitchen and turned on the oven before popping two frozen meat pies inside.

“Hey, Mom, can we drive Jim home now?”

The operative word was
we,
which of course, meant Peter would be doing the driving. He was constantly reminding her how much practice he needed if he was going to pass the driving part of the test when he turned sixteen. The fact was, Peter used any excuse he could to get behind the wheel.

“Sure,” she said, forcing a smile. These “practice” runs with Peter demanded nerves of steel.

Actually, his driving skill had improved considerably in the last few weeks, but the armrest on the passenger side of the car had permanent indentations. Their first times on the road together had been more hair-raising than a horror movie—another favorite pastime of her son's.

Thanks to Peter, Carol had been spiritually renewed when he'd run the stop sign at Jackson and Bethel. As if to make up for his mistake, he'd slammed on the brakes as soon as they'd cleared the intersection, catapulting them both forward. They'd been saved from injury by their seat belts.

They all clambered into her ten-year-old Ford.

“My dad's going to buy me a truck as soon as I get my license,” Jim said, fastening his seat belt. “A red four-by-four with flames painted along the sidewalls.”

Peter tossed Carol an accusing glare. With their budget,
they'd have to share her cantankerous old sedan for a while. The increase in the car insurance premiums with an additional driver—a male teenage driver—meant frozen meat pies every third night as it was. As far as Carol was concerned, nurses were overworked, underpaid and underappreciated.

“Mom—hide!”

Her heart vaulted into her throat at the panic in her son's voice. “What is it?”

“Melody Wohlford.”

“Who?”

“Mom, please, just scoot down a little, would you?”

Still not understanding, she slid down until her eyes were level with the dashboard.

“More,” Peter instructed from between clenched teeth. He placed his hand on her shoulder, pushing her down even farther. “I can't let Melody see me driving with my
mother!
”

Carol muttered under her breath and did her best to keep her cool. She exhaled slowly, reminding herself
this, too, shall pass.

Peter's speed decreased to a mere crawl. He inadvertently poked her in the ribs as he clumsily lowered the window, then draped his left elbow outside. Carol bit her lower lip to prevent a yelp, which probably would've ruined everything for her son.

“Hey, Melody,” he said casually, raising his hand.

The soft feminine greeting drifted back to them. “Hello, Peter.”

“Melody,” Jim said, leaning across the backseat. He spoke in a suave voice Carol hardly recognized.

“Hi, Jimmy,” Melody called. “Where you guys off to?”

“I'm driving Jim home.”

“Yeah,” Jim added, half leaning over Carol, shoving her forward so that her head practically touched her knees. “My dad's ordered me a truck, but it hasn't come in yet.”

“Boys,” Carol said in a strangled voice. “I can't breathe.”

“Just a minute, Mom,” Peter muttered under his breath, pressing down on the accelerator and hurrying ahead.

Carol struggled into an upright position, dragging in several deep gulps of oxygen. She was about to deliver a much-needed lecture when Peter pulled into his friend's driveway. Seconds later, the front door banged open.

“James, where have you been? I told you to come directly home after school.”

Carol blinked. Since this was the boys' first year of high school and they'd come from different middle schools, Carol had never met Jim's father. Now, however, didn't seem the appropriate moment to leap out and introduce herself.

Alex Preston was so angry with Jim that he barely glanced in their direction. When he did, he dismissed her and Peter without a word. His dark brows lifted derisively over gray eyes as he scowled at his son.

Carol suspected that if Jim hadn't gotten out of the car on his own, Alex would have pulled him through the window.

Carol couldn't help noting that Alex Preston was an imposing man; he had to be easily six-two. His forehead was high and his jaw well-defined. But his eyes were what immediately captured her attention. They held his son's with uncompromising authority.

There was an arrogant set to his mouth that Carol found herself disliking. Normally she didn't make snap judgments, but one look told her she wasn't going to get along
with Jim's father, which was unfortunate since the boys had become such fast friends.

Not that it really mattered. Other than an occasional phone conversation, there'd be no reason for them to have any contact with each other.

She didn't know much about the man, other than his marital status (single—divorced, she assumed) and the fact that he ran some sort of construction company.

“I told you I was going out tonight,” Alex was saying. “The least you could've done was have the consideration to let me know where you were. You're lucky I don't ground you for the next ten years.”

Jim dropped his head, looking guilty. “Sorry, Dad.”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Preston,” Peter said.

“It's not your fault.”

To his credit, Alex Preston glanced apologetically at Peter and Carol as if to say he regretted this scene.

“It might be a good idea if you hurried home yourself,” Alex told her son.

Carol stiffened in the front seat. She felt like jumping out of the car and informing him that they had no intention of staying anyway. “We should leave now,” she said to Peter with as much dignity as she could muster.

“Later,” Peter called to his friend.

“Later,” Jim called back, still looking chagrined.

Peter had reversed the car out of the driveway and was headed toward the house before either of them spoke.

“Did you know Jim was supposed to go home right after school?” Carol asked.

“How could I know something like that?” Peter flared. “I asked him over to listen to my new CD. I didn't know his dad was going to come unglued over it.”

“He's just being a parent.”

“Maybe, but at least you don't scream at me in front of my friends.”

“I try not to.”

“I've never seen Mr. Preston blow his cool before. He sure was mad.”

“I don't think we should be so hard on him,” she said, feeling generous despite her earlier annoyance. Adults needed to stick together. “He was obviously worried.”

“But, Mom, Jim's fifteen! You shouldn't have to know where a kid is every minute of the day.”

“Wanna bet?”

Peter was diplomatic enough not to respond to that.

By the time they'd arrived at the house and Carol had changed clothes for her class, their dinner was ready.

“Mom,” Peter said thoughtfully as she brought a fresh green salad to the table. “You should think about going out more yourself.”

“I'm going out tonight.”

“I mean on dates and stuff.”

“Stuff?” Carol repeated, swallowing a smile.

“You know what I mean.” He sighed loudly. “You haven't lost it yet, you know.”

Carol wasn't sure she did. But she was fairly certain he meant to compliment her, so she nodded solemnly. “Thanks.”

“You don't even need to use Oil of Olay.”

She nodded, although she didn't appreciate such close scrutiny of her skin.

“I was looking at your hair and I don't see any gray, and you don't have fat folds or anything.”

Carol couldn't help it—she laughed.

“Mom, I'm serious. You could probably pass for thirty.”

“Thanks…I think.”

“I'm not kidding. Jim's dad is going out with someone who's twenty-one, and Jim told me she's tall and blond and pretty with great big…you know.” He cupped his hands over his chest.

Carol sat down at the table. Leaning her elbows on it, she dangled her fork over her plate. “Are you suggesting I find myself a twenty-one-year-old guy with bulging muscles and compete with Jim's dad?”

“Of course not,” Peter said scornfully. “Well, not exactly. I'm just saying you're not over the hill. You could be dating a whole lot more than you do. And you should before…well, before it's too late.”

Carol pierced a fork full of lettuce and offered a convenient excuse. “I don't have time to get involved with anyone.”

Peter took a bite of his own salad. “If the right guy came along, you'd make time.”

“Perhaps.”

“Mr. Preston does. Jim says his dad's always busy with work, but he finds time to date lots of women.”

“Right, but most of the women he sees are too young to vote.” Instantly feeling guilty for the catty remark, Carol shook her head. “That wasn't nice. I apologize.”

“I understand,” Peter said, sounding mature beyond his years. “The way I see it, though, you need a man.”

That was news to her. “Why? I've got you.”

“True, but I won't be around much longer, and I hate the thought of you getting old and gray all alone.”

“I won't be alone. Grandma will move in with me and the two of us will sit side by side in our rocking chairs and
crochet afghans. For entertainment we'll play bingo every Saturday afternoon.” Even as she spoke, Carol realized how ridiculous that was.

“Grandma would drive you crazy in three days,” Peter said with a know-it-all smile, waving his fork in her direction. “Besides, you'd get fat eating all her homemade pasta.”

“Maybe so,” Carol agreed, unwilling to argue the point. “But I have plenty of time before I have to worry about it. Anything can happen in the next few years.”

“I'm worried
now,
” Peter said. “You're letting your life slip through your fingers like…like the sand in an hourglass.”