Slice (7 page)

“Mommy.”

Abby was tugging on her hand.

Jessie looked down at her daughter. “What is it, sweetie?”

“Those kids are back on the swings and won't let me swing again.”

“Come on, baby,” she said, taking Abby's hand. “Let's go over and talk with them.”

“No!” shouted Piper, when Jessie asked her to give Abby a turn, as she swung higher and higher into the sky.

“No!” echoed her brother Ashton, desperately trying to keep up with her.

“Well, they are Abby's swings, after all,” Jessie said.

“But we're your guests,” Piper shrieked, as she whizzed past Jessie and Abby, flying higher with each rotation. “My mother says guests come first.”

“That's right,” came a voice behind Jessie.

It was Heather. She had wandered over to the swing set, attracted by her children's voices.

“But we must be good guests, too,” she told Piper. “Five more minutes, then let Abby have a turn.”

Jessie was about to tell Heather “five minutes my ass” and order the little brat off the swing pronto. But she held her tongue. She didn't want to cause friction with the neighbors on their first day of contact. Besides, she thought part of her anger was still, absurdly, rooted in the little scene back by the grill between she, Manning, and Inga.

It seemed Heather had observed that interaction as well. “Tell me, Jessie,” she said, her voice reminiscent of a cat's purr. “Does that girl you have working for you always pounce so quickly on available men?”

Jessie laughed a little. “Oh, I wouldn't say that Inga pounced. . . .”

“No? John walked into the yard and suddenly she was all over him.”

Jessie looked at her old friend. Heather seemed upset, even jealous. This was getting crazier. What kind of effect did this John Manning have on women?

“You called him John,” Jessie said. “Do you know him well?”

Heather averted her eyes. “We're friendly. We're neighbors, after all.”

“Monica said he keeps to himself. I was surprised he came by today.”

Heather was watching the conversation between Manning and Inga, still proceeding intensely beside the grill.

“He's a lonely man,” Heather said. “His wife's death really affected him. I'd hate to see some gold-digging teenager take advantage of him.”

Jessie's momentary pique at Inga dissipated and she came to her defense. “Inga is no gold digger, Heather. She's a hardworking girl. All she did was tell Mr. Manning she was enjoying his book, and then was delighted to find he could speak German.”

“I assume she's in this country legally?” Heather asked, her eyes finally returning to Jessie.

For a moment Jessie was flabbergasted. “Of course, she is,” she finally managed to respond.

Heather just shrugged and walked away.

“Wheeee!” came the voice of little Piper, behind them on the swings.

Jessie turned and made a beeline over to the kid.

“Off,” she ordered.

“But my mommy said five minutes.”

“Yeah, and those five minutes are up. Off!”

Piper let her feet touch the earth and then sprung off the swing. Jessie caught it in midair and motioned for Abby to get on.

As Piper ran crying over to her mother, Ashton giggled. “Wanta race?” he asked Abby, who nodded, and soon they were off.

Even as she kept up her running conversation in German with John Manning, Inga managed to grill the burgers, and soon everyone had one in their hands, except for Abby and Ashton, who kept up their swinging. A pouty Piper refused to eat, her big lower lip protruding, her little freckled face scrunched up like an old lady. Jessie noticed how Heather managed to get a seat next to John Manning at the picnic table, and how she whispered something in his ear. The handsome author seemed to pay no notice to what she said, keeping his attention on Inga. Heather seemed furious.

What the hell was going on here?

Jessie took a seat beside Aunt Paulette, who was applying relish to her burger—a veggie patty, since the older woman didn't eat meat.

“You notice anything weird between Heather and Mr. Manning?” Jessie whispered.

Her aunt lifted an eyebrow. “Gert Gorin was just telling me she's seen Heather leaving Manning's house several times late at night.”

“Gosh,” Jessie said, grinning despite herself. “The things those binoculars have seen.”

“Remember to keep your blinds closed,” Aunt Paulette cautioned.

Jessie was suddenly aware of Bryan sitting down beside her. With his wife trying—in vain—to get the attention of Mr. Manning, Bryan was apparently left free to make his own moves. And Jessie was startled to realize he was moving in on her.

“I have to tell you, Jessaloo, you look amazing,” he breathed in her ear as he sat down.

Jessaloo was the name he'd called her in college. Jessie blushed despite herself.

“Really, really amazing,” he said, keeping his eyes on her as he took a bite of his hamburger, juice running down over his chin.

“Thanks,” Jessie said, stiffening.

“Look,” Bryan said, smiling at her, “it can either be comfortable or uncomfortable living down the street from each other.” He paused. “I vote for comfortable.”

“Of course,” Jessie said, keeping her shoulder from touching his and her eyes from returning his gaze. “That's why I had this picnic. I want us all to be good neighbors.”

“You know I'm sorry for how everything happened.. . .”

“It's ancient history, Bryan,” Jessie said. She turned to Aunt Paulette and asked how she liked her veggie burger, but before her aunt could reply, Bryan was touching her shoulder, indicating he had more to say.

“I made the wrong choice, you know,” he whispered. “I never should have married Heather. I should have—”

“Don't say any more,” Jessie said harshly, spinning around to look at him. “Don't you dare say another word.”

Gathering her plate and napkin, she stood up from the picnic table and stalked off. Aunt Paulette followed.

“You okay, honey?”

“Yes,” Jessie said. “Just need to use the little girl's room.”

She hurried back inside the house, letting the screen door slam behind her.

She took a deep breath. Then another, and another.

She couldn't eat any more of her burger, so she tossed her plate into the trash.

How dare Bryan say such a thing, after all this time, and with Heather sitting just a few feet away at the other table?

Was it even true?

Jessie felt certain that something was going on between Heather and John Manning. If his wife was having an affair, Bryan would naturally want to lash out. And who better to make Heather jealous than Bryan's former girlfriend, the woman he'd left on her account?

That was all it was. Bryan was trying to use her in a ploy against his wife, to get back at Heather, to have a little revenge.

But what if what he'd said was true?

Jessie looked at herself in the hallway mirror. She
did
look good. She was finally starting to see that about herself again. She was pretty. She could admit that now.

Maybe Bryan really did feel he'd been wrong to choose Heather over her.

What if seeing Jessie again had rekindled his feelings for her? What if he really did regret hurting her the way he had, and wanted to see if he still had a chance?

“All the more reason to spit in his face,” Jessie whispered again.

What a lout for saying such a thing—
now
, in front of everyone.

Jessie couldn't believe how furious she was. Maybe this whole housewarming party was a mistake. What had she accomplished? She knew Monica and Todd weren't happy about the idea. They guarded their privacy closely; they never liked socializing with the neighbors. And Jessie had gone and invited that snoop, Gert Gorin, right into their yard. Moreover, she'd brought Todd into contact with Bryan, a man he loathed, and she'd forced Abby to endure the brattiness of Bryan's two spoiled, selfish kids. She'd dredged up all sorts of emotions she'd thought she'd banished forever: insecurity, rejection, jealousy, heartbreak. Jessie just wanted all these people to go home, right now.

But she couldn't exactly head back out there and order them all off her property. She looked again at the photo of Mom and the words she'd written. Jessie could get through this. She'd gotten through far worse.

She returned to the party.

The first thing she noticed was that John Manning was gone. When she inquired of Aunt Paulette, she was told the author had asked her to give Jessie his thanks, but he really had to get back to his writing. He was on a deadline. Jessie felt it was rude for him to leave without saying good-bye to her in person. She'd only been inside for a few minutes, after all. But then she noticed Heather and Bryan off to the side of the yard in the midst of a rather intense conversation themselves, and she suspected something had happened that had caused John Manning to make a quick getaway.

Within a few minutes, the dueling couple were gathering their kids and making their own farewells.

“It was wonderful to see you again, Jessie, it truly was,” Heather said, taking her by the shoulders and kissing the air beside her face. “Sorry we can't stay, but I have a ton of work to do. Catering a big party tomorrow.”

“I'm glad you could come,” Jessie said, reflecting on the irony of her words.

“Good-bye, Jessie,” Bryan said, “and thanks.”

His eyes barely made contact with hers. Jessie noticed she wasn't “Jessaloo” anymore.

Bryan and Heather hurried back down the hill, their kids screaming after them.

Mr. Thayer was the next to leave, thanking them far more authentically and telling Jessie once again how pleased he was that she had returned to the neighborhood. Monica and Todd took that as their cue to leave as well. Monica asked her sister—halfheartedly, Jessie thought—if she needed any help cleaning up, but Aunt Paulette piped in that she'd take care of everything. Monica didn't object, and she and Todd headed back to their house. That left the Gorins, who didn't leave until Inga had wrapped the last of the uneaten burgers in cellophane and Jessie had begun peeling the plastic covers off the picnic tables.

“Well,” Aunt Paulette said with a sigh when they were finally alone, “was it so bad?”

“I guess it was good as a way to break the ice,” Jessie acknowledged, “but I'm glad it's over.”

“Do I have to play with those kids again?” Abby asked.

“Not if you don't want to,” Jessie told her.

“They weren't very nice.”

“I know, baby.” She smiled sadly. “But apples don't tend to fall too far from the tree.”

She saw something suddenly, out by the brook.

It was a child.

A little boy . . .

Had Ashton returned?

No, it wasn't Ashton. The boy was standing down at the brook, staring up at them. Jessie couldn't make out his face, but she could see he wasn't a redhead like Ashton.

“Abby,” she called. “Look down there. Is that your little friend—?”

But in the moment Jessie had moved her eyes over to look at her daughter, the little boy had disappeared. When Jessie looked back at the brook, there was no one standing there anymore.

“Where, Mommy?” Abby asked.

“Never mind, honey. I guess I made a mistake.”

The sun was dropping lower in the sky and the yard was filling up with shadows.

“Jessie,” came Inga's voice. “Everything's cleaned up here. Do you mind if I run over to Mr. Manning's house for a moment?”

Jessie looked at her. “Whatever for?”

“He told me he'd give me a couple more of his books, and an autographed copy I could send home to my mother.”

Jessie approached her. “You sure were in quite the conversation with him.”

“I know.” Inga blushed. “He was very charming, a very nice man. He knew the town where I was born. He's been all over the world.”

Jessie tried to push away the ridiculous feelings of jealousy she felt. “Of course, Inga,” she said. “Go on over. Everything's under control here.”

“Thanks. I won't be gone long. I'll be back to help get Abby ready for bed.”

Jessie watched the nanny scurry across the lawn toward the line of fir trees that divided their property with John Manning's. She hadn't noticed how skimpy Inga's shorts were before, or how perfectly they showed off her long, shapely legs.

She sighed.

“Abby,” she called to her daughter, who was heading back over to the swing set. “Let's go inside and watch television okay?”

For some reason, she wanted Abby close to her tonight, and inside the house. A smile stretched across Jessie's face as the child hurried over to her and took her hand.

E
IGHT

“D
id you see what happened over there?” Gert Gorin gushed to her husband as they returned to their own house. “Did you see the way Bryan grabbed Heather and practically yanked her away from that wife-killer?”

“You know, Gert, you really ought to be a headline writer for the
National Enquirer
.”

Arthur was about to settle into his favorite, frayed, worn-down armchair. Pointing the remote control at the television set, he pressed his thumb and the Yankees game appeared like magic on the screen. He settled back into his chair.

“I'm telling you, Arthur, something very peculiar is going on in this neighborhood. I've seen Heather Pierce go in and out of John Manning's dark, gloomy castle more times than I can count. And today, I saw the way she was looking at him, her eyes all filled with jealousy and rage, while he carried on with that German teenager.” Gert was taking down her binoculars, which she kept hanging on the wall from a hook. “But the joke was on him! He didn't know that girl is actually Jessie's lover.” She placed the binoculars against the glass of the picture window and pressed her eyes into them to peer outside. “I don't really blame Jessie for going lesbionic after all the crap she's been through with men.”

“Maybe you oughta try it, Gert,” Arthur said, not really paying attention to her, keeping his eyes on the ball game.

“But I wasn't the only one to notice Heather's raging eyes. Her husband saw it all too well. And you saw what he did, didn't you, Arthur?”

Her husband didn't reply. The bases were loaded. He leaned forward in his chair, watching the television.

Gert pulled away from the binoculars and looked over at him. “You saw what Bryan did, didn't you, Arthur?”

“Not really,” he said, watching the guy at bat strike out and cursing under his breath. “But I'm sure you're going to tell me.”

“He decided two could play that game so he started hitting on Jessie. You know they used to date in college. I remember the day she brought him up here to meet her mother. And I also remember that fast-and-loose Heather swinging her butt up the road in her short shorts and stealing Bryan right away from innocent little Jessie.” Gert shook her head and returned her eyes to the binoculars. “Back in those days Jessie was still innocent. My, how times change.”

“Except for one thing.”

“What's that?”

“You, poking your nose into other people's business.”

Gert spun around at him. “I don't get involved! I just watch! Because it's better to know what's going on in the neighborhood than be surprised. Remember, I was fully aware of how dangerous that Emil Deetz was months before he killed that man. I'd been watching him and Jessie fly up and down the road on that ungodly loud motorbike of his. I knew something bad was going to happen, so I was prepared. When everyone else was shocked to see the police cars across the street, I wasn't. I had expected something like that all along.”

The guy up at bat got a hit, and the guy on third base slid home. Arthur let out a whoop.

“Oh, Arthur, stop yelling! It scares me!” Gert gave up on the binoculars. It was getting too dark to see anything. “But I tell you, seeing Bryan try to hit on Jessie was something else entirely. Really, the man has no shame. I understand that his wife was embarrassing him, plopping herself down next to John Manning and making goo-goo eyes at him. But after how Bryan dumped Jessie, for him to start whispering to her . . .” Gert shuddered. “I mean, did you see the way she stood up so quickly and stormed off? I can only imagine what he said to her.”

For the next hour, as the last of the sun disappeared behind the trees, Gert kept up her watch of the neighborhood, peering out the window, hoping to see something, anything. Finally, just as she was about ready to call it a night, something caught Gert's eye. She quickly grabbed the binoculars again.

“Somebody's coming out of John Manning's house,” she announced. “I can't see who, though. Too many trees.”

“I'm sure Mr. Manning will be glad to dig them up to give you a better view.”

“Whoever it was didn't walk out into the street,” Gert said, straining her eyes to make something out in the darkness. “He—or she—must have cut through the trees toward Jessie's house.”

A flash of movement, a hint of color, suddenly appeared among the shadows. Then it was gone.

But it was quickly followed by what sounded like a scream.

“Arthur!” Gert shrieked. “Did you hear that?”

But he didn't reply, All he could hear were the horns and chants coming from the bleachers at Yankee Stadium.

“Arthur!” Gert said, waving at him to get his attention. “I just heard a scream.”

“Of course you did, Gert. You
live
to hear screams.”

“No, I did! Seriously! Please come here! Put the ball game on mute and come over to the window. Please, Arthur!”

He groaned, but he did as his wife asked. He knew if he resisted, she'd keep caterwauling until he followed her instructions. So he turned off the volume on the television and pushed himself up and out of his chair. His back was aching him, so he walked extra slowly over to the picture window.

“Hurry up, Arthur!”

“I don't hear anything.”

“I'm telling you, I heard a—”

The sound came again. It was high-pitched and shrill.

A strange sort of sound. Maybe a scream . . . but maybe laughter.

“That's what you heard, Gert,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “The little girl is over there playing. Sorry to tell you, but the show's over for tonight.”

He shuffled back over to his chair. Within moments the sounds of Yankee Stadium were once again filling their living room.

Gert peered outside. She tried to see something. Anything. But finally she gave up. Arthur was right. The show was over.

But she'd be back at the window the next morning. Who knew what she might see then?